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Linus Van Pelt sat in a pumpkin patch on Halloween night. Alone, with a worn blue blanket draped around his shoulders for protection against the autumn chill and to provide much-needed comfort.
The skies were cloudless. If they had been too overcast and ominous, such as earlier that morning, Lucy would have hidden his blanket somewhere in the house. “As your big sister, I feel it is my responsibility to do certain things for your own good,” she warned at breakfast, and Linus knew she would take great satisfaction from the privilege despite his ensuing terror. “Maybe if you spend all night searching for your blanket, you won’t spend it under an umbrella in that stupid pumpkin patch, waiting for a ridiculous figment of your own imagination.”
Of course, then Linus had prayed on his knees for more than an hour to have good weather, and the skies had miraculously cleared. Perhaps it was a good sign. A signal that this year would be different from all the rest.
Laughter echoed from the neighborhood beyond the high, white picket fence that surrounded the pumpkin patch. Laughter from kids dressed as all manner of ghosts and ghoulies, hurrying between houses to ring doorbells and cry out, “Trick-or-Treat!”
Lucy was out there somewhere, alongside his best friend Charlie Brown, Charlie Brown’s sister Sally, and all their schoolmates.
“Yep,” Linus murmured as he tapped the particularly massive gourd he laid across, “None of them know the wonderful experience they are missing.” Being the sole believer in someone or something could be difficult, he considered, especially when everyone else made fun of you for it—as many children had on his way to the pumpkin patch. And this year, an especially profound forlornness about the whole situation weighed him down.
A shadow passed overhead, and Linus sprang to his feet, instantly alert. He smiled and gazed upwards, but it was only a small yellow bird flying in loops and corkscrews through the air to land atop the sign Linus had brought and stuck deep into the soil. Painted on the front in large black letters was this message: “WELCOME TO THE GREAT PUMPKIN!”
Linus sighed. “Oh, it’s just you, Woodstock. I almost thought—” He trailed off and gave another, this time much longer, sigh. “I thought you were someone else.” He flopped back across the pumpkin, and Woodstock cocked his head at him in curiosity.
Maybe Lucy was right. Perhaps he was being silly. After all, what chance did Linus have of meeting anyone as incredible as The Great Pumpkin?
He wasn’t anything special. . .
*****
Woodstock watched Linus sigh again. He had never fully understood humans, but this kid who always carried a blanket and wore a red shirt with black stripes was a true puzzle. It seemed strange that he would sit in a pumpkin patch for a whole night rather than have fun with everyone else.
Or he could have just liked pumpkins—a lot.
In any case, Woodstock took admittedly less of an of interest in figuring out Linus than he did in gathering warm material for his nest, and there was a scarecrow perched on a wooden stake just a few rows of pumpkins behind them. The strange thing was he hadn’t noticed it there during the daylight hours, or even in the late afternoon, nor had he seen anyone on their way over to set it up. He had also never come across a scarecrow quite like it before, which was so tall that its knees were bent nearly in half. And despite the stake being firmly stuck into the ground, likely deeper than Linus’ sign, the whole construction swayed at the slightest breeze, creaking from side-to-side like rusty door hinges.
If Linus hadn’t been so depressed and distracted, he probably would have heard it.
Rather than dress the scarecrow in baggy overalls stuffed with straw, a great deal of consideration had gone into giving this specific one well-defined, thin legs made from straw, an almost equally slim body covered in a loose, tan dress shirt, and lengthy arms which dangled as if in a restful posture over the back of a wooden board hammered horizontally near the top of the stake.
The scarecrow lacked a hat, exposing a slightly bowed, carved pumpkin head. Seemingly inoffensive and appropriate for the current settings. Yet still, for some unknown reason, it was as if a long, boney finger had reached out and tapped Woodstock on the back.
Woodstock gulped, then remembered his mission and took off in as straight a line as he could manage towards his intended target. He would grab some straw and hightail it out of there. Scary, but easy enough. However, halfway to his destination, two significant developments occurred: The limbs of the scarecrow twitched and pulled the figure upright in a single, graceful movement, and pupils like miniature bonfires ignited in each of the jack-o-lantern’s eye sockets.
Woodstock froze in mid-flight, tiny wings thrumming as frantically as those of a hummingbird.
To make matters worse, the scarecrow grinned at him.
Squeaking in horror, he fled at high speeds straight to his best beagle buddy, Snoopy, under whose aviator cap he remained hidden the rest of the night (traumatized, but at least otherwise warm).
******
Linus was half-dozing when a dark shadow slid along the ground beside him, accompanied by a chill colder than anything he had ever felt before that quivered down his spine. Dread swirled in his stomach, although that was quelled soon afterwards by an overwhelming sense of fearful anticipation.
Whispering a small prayer, Linus turned.
An incredible being loomed there with a rictus grin and eyes filled with fire. His arms were spread out wide, fingers tensed as if prepared to reach out and grab him. The pale light from the full moon upon the contours of the pumpkin seemed to suggest skull features, for an odd reason Linus could never have defined.
“Hello, little boy.” The voice was like the music of wind rustling the leaves on trees, powerful and ancient. “Why are you here on All Hallows’ Night, rather than out causing mischief?”
Linus stared at him—eyes wide, mouth agape, and hair ruffled.
“Well, answer me. Hello?” This time, the voice sounded closer to the whispers from a long-forgotten crypt, laced with something approaching concern at something the figure must have glimpsed in his expression—which could have been caused by the frenzied excitement Linus felt bubbling up from his deepest reserves of faith and devotion, saved up over the course of years and allowed to gush to the surface at this fateful hour.
At last, the explosion came.
“You’re him! You’re really him!” Linus shouted, pointing a finger at his nocturnal visitor, “Oh, thank you, thank you!” Caught up in the fervor of a dream come true, he hugged the figure by the legs, a gesture that clearly surprised his visitor a great deal. “The Great Pumpkin is finally here!”
“Umm, pardon me—”
Linus pulled away. “Everyone, come quickly!” he shouted, on the edge of hysteria. “The Great Pumpkin is here! He is actually here!”
The laughter from the children past the white picket fence pressed on, unabated. If anyone heard Linus, they ignored him.
Of course they would, Linus thought. He had had so many false alarms and tried so hard to tell everyone he could about The Great Pumpkin (even when they resisted the idea), they probably thought this was just another occasion of him spouting nonsense.
The proclaimed Great Pumpkin straightened up and dusted himself off, while studying what he must have seen as the most peculiar child he had ever encountered.
Linus realized he was blowing what could be a singular opportunity to speak with one of his greatest role models, so he rushed to twist around his welcome sign for The Great Pumpkin to read.
“I’m so s-sorry, s-s-sir,” he stammered, then took a deep breath to compose himself. It was hard. “In my defense, I’ve waited a very long time to meet you, Great Pumpkin. Even though no one else believed in you, I did. I knew you would come to visit the sincerest pumpkin patch in the world and deliver presents to all the good little boys and girls.”
“I am not well known for delivering gifts,” The Great Pumpkin replied, in a gentler—yet still melodic—tone. He appeared mystified by this whole interaction.
“Don’t worry, sir, I know Santa Claus gets all the recognition,” Linus persisted. “But I know you work just as hard, maybe even harder, to bring joy to children everywhere.” Conviction had calmed his nerves and fervor had steadied his words. He was in the presence of a legend. His own private blessing. “I think you’re the best.”
The Great Pumpkin’s mouth formed a perfect O in surprise, then spread into a genuine smile. Linus’ declaration had clearly touched him. “I thank you for the praise—”
“Linus Van Pelt.”
“I thank you, Linus Van Pelt.” The Great Pumpkin gave him a sweeping bow. “I suppose you would like a present, then.”
“If it isn’t too much trouble, sir,” Linus replied, turning red as he smiled sheepishly. He felt lighthearted, and hurried to add, “Please.”
It was happening.
It was all really happening.
The Great Pumpkin scratched his head as he gazed about the pumpkin patch, as if for inspiration, until his fiery eyes flared with an idea. He slipped a hand into the folds of his shirt.
Linus would receive an actual present from The Great Pumpkin. He began to have trouble breathing. Everything spun noticeably as the mystic figure reached down, clasped his hand with unnatural thin fingers, and pressed something against his palm.
The last thing Linus heard before darkness overwhelmed the scene was The Great Pumpkin telling him to have a “Happy Halloween,” and that perhaps he should “try joining in on some festivities next year.”
*******
As usual, Linus awoke the next morning in his bed. Lucy had come to get him well after midnight, although as always, he was unable to remembering being led back home. At first, he worried the encounter with The Great Pumpkin had been nothing more than some fanciful vision, except that he had found something remarkable clasped tightly in his hand—a black bowtie with a small skull at its center.
Unable to contain his enthusiasm, Linus expounded on his brief but wondrous experience the previous night during breakfast, ignoring the way Lucy kept rolling her eyes and groaning. She didn’t believe him, unsurprisingly.
“You blockhead, you dreamed the whole thing,” she grumbled.
Linus smiled, hugging the bowtie close. “No, I did see The Great Pumpkin, and he gave me this gift. He’s the best, and he even knows my name.”
“You probably found that bowtie on the ground somewhere,” Lucy protested. “It must have come from some kid’s costume.” Still, she was unable to completely explain its presence, or to recall anyone who might have worn it from their neighborhood.
What left her dumbstruck, however, was when Linus announced he planned to go trick-or-treating with everyone the following year—right before he went to sit in the pumpkin patch again. Because then he could give some of his candy to The Great Pumpkin as thanks for the best Halloween ever.
******
In another land, far from anywhere Linus could have imagined, there was a town where monsters such as vampires and werewolves roamed the streets on a regular basis. It was their home. Dark buildings leaned against each other like tombstones.
It was a realm born from a long history of nightmares and traditions, and a sign above its entryway read: Halloween Town.
As “The Great Pumpkin” strode through the streets, residents turned, and their faces brightened. “There goes Jack,” a sharp-tooth clown riding a unicycle remarked to a walking tree with skeletons hanging from its branches.
“Welcome back, Jack!” Two witch sisters, one tall and one short, waved to him. “Have a horrible day.” They cackled.
“And a most horrible day to you as well,” Jack returned, nodding his skeletal head—for he was, indeed, a skeleton dressed in a black pinstripe suit. He had long since shed the scarecrow disguise, one of his favorites when visiting the much wider world to play his tricks.
Everyone had similarly friendly greetings to offer him, including the two-faced mayor. “Well, it looks like someone is in a good mood today,” the mayor said. His painted human face smiled broadly.
“Why, of course he does,” a swamp monster noted, gurgling his laughter. “He’s our illustrious Pumpkin King, back from spreading fear abroad on Halloween.”
Jack did indeed have an extra spring in his step. Possibilities glinted deep within his eye sockets. He couldn’t stop grinning. As he scaled the winding staircase towards the tall, dark tower that was his frightful abode, he could hardly wait to share all his adventures from the night before, particularly his last and most incredible one, with his lovely ragdoll wife, Sally.
First, though, he swung her in a tender embrace and exchanged a long kiss.
“My dearest Jack,” Sally said, glancing down at the white shirt that peeked out from under his black suit, “whatever has become of your favorite bowtie?” She brushed his boney cheek with her fingers.
“Well, my queen,” Jack cackled, feeling alive with mischievous happiness, “allow me to tell you about The Great Pumpkin.”