Note to Reader: After seeing Pinterest was trending VERY high for “Halloween pumpkin carving ideas” I decided to write this short story about what might happen on a spooky Halloween night. Enjoy! bc
How NOT to Carve a Halloween Pumpkin
Bobbi A. Chukran
Gourmet-level Pinterest-ready pumpkin carving requires precision, patience, and a vegetable that doesn’t possess a strong will to live. Apparently the pumpkin I brought home from the farmer’s market was not that vegetable.
To properly carve a Halloween pumpkin, your first job is always to select a sturdy, flat-bottomed specimen. My pumpkin looked perfect on the kitchen island. It was wide, gloriously orange, and deceptively heavy.
"Step one," I read aloud from my phone, brandishing a large serrated knife. "Cut a wide circle around the stem to create a lid.”
The moment the knife tip touched my pumpkin’s skin, a muffled, high-pitched screech echoed through the kitchen. The thing wobbled. Then, with a sudden, violent lurch, it tipped itself sideways and rolled off the counter, hitting the linoleum floor with a heavy thud. It bounced once, and began barreling toward the hallway like a rogue bowling ball.
"Hey! Get back here!" I yelled, dropping the knife. I scrambled after him. The big orange fiend was shockingly fast for a round, legless gourd.
According to official pumpkin-carving guides, step two is to scoop out the slimy innards and seeds using a large spoon.
Apparently, my pumpkin also had internet access and knew exactly what "scooping his brains out" meant. He was having none of it. The thing knew what I wanted to do.
I lunged, but it made a sharp circle around the coat rack, causing me to slide face-first into the wall.
"You can't run forever!" I shouted. "It's Halloween! You’re supposed to become art! A decoration for my front porch!”
The pumpkin rolled into the living room, frantically bumping against the patio sliding door.
Step three of carving is to tape a paper stencil to the front and poke holes to outline your design. I cautiously approached the thing, holding a stencil of a pointy-toothed vampire cat.
"Look, it's a cute design," I coaxed, cornering him behind the sofa. "You'll look very distinguished.”
That pumpkin shrieked. He looked at the stencil, looked at my roll of masking tape, and all of a sudden, he launched himself through the air, caught me square in the stomach—knocking the wind out of me—and then ricocheted back toward the front door.
"How can you even see?" I shrieked. "You don't even have eyes!"
By the time I caught my breath, that pumpkin had managed to throw his entire 15-pound weight against the doggy door. With one final, desperate lunge, he popped through the plastic flap and tumbled into the yard where it just kept on rolling.
I ran outside just in time to see it hit the driveway. It rolled down the pavement, hung a sharp right at the sidewalk, and joined a neighborhood group of trick-or-treaters. Dressed as a bunch of miniature spooks and witches, the kids laughed. I guess a runaway pumpkin was an everyday thing for them.
And off they all went!
I stopped at the edge of my lawn, exhausted and defeated. I watched as my pumpkin rolled happily into the twilight, completely un-carved, retaining all of its internal goop and seeds, living its best life as a free-range cucurbita.
I went back inside. Step Four. Find a plastic bucket and some orange and black paint.
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Author Bobbi A. Chukran loves pumpkins, gourds and cylindrical vegetables. She writes all manner of strange stories from her home in North Texas. Come follow her on Pinterest where she pins things.
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