Pumpkin Hollow

Pumpkin Hollow

A Chilling Tale for Kids and Adults Alike

Part One: The Pumpkin Patch That Shouldn’t Exist

No one knew when it first appeared.

Pumpkin Hollow wasn’t there one day, and then suddenly—it was.

Not on the first of October, or the second. It always arrived at random. Some years, it appeared on the fourth. Other times, the seventh. But by the time the air smelled of woodsmoke, and dead leaves crunched beneath hurried footsteps, the patch was there.

No one ever saw it being set up. No delivery trucks. No workers hammering signs into the dirt. One day, the field at the edge of Briar Hollow was empty, lifeless. The next, it had transformed into a sprawling pumpkin patch, its twisted vines stretching as far as the eye could see.

A wooden sign, old but never rotted, stood at its entrance. PUMPKIN HOLLOW, it read in looping, hand-painted letters. The paint was always fresh, no matter how many years passed.

The adults of Briar Hollow found it charming. “A hidden gem,” they’d say, sipping warm cider and running their fingers across the thick wood of the sign.

But the kids?

The kids knew better.

They whispered about the scarecrows—wooden figures with stitched burlap faces and hollow, sunken eyes that lined the entrance like silent guards. Unlike the ones in other pumpkin patches, these scarecrows didn’t slouch. They didn’t sway in the wind.

And if you stared at them long enough… they moved.

Not all at once. Not in any way an adult would notice. But kids? Kids saw everything.

A stitched mouth that was frowning yesterday might be grinning today. A scarecrow’s arm, once pointing west, might now be pointing east. The worst was when you saw them in the distance—and then blinked.

Because when your eyes opened again, they were closer.

And they were always watching.

Part Two: The Pumpkin That Chose You

Twelve-year-old Elliot Finch didn’t believe in the stories.

They were fun to tell in the dead of night, sure, when the only thing between you and the dark was a flashlight beam and a few layers of blankets. But they weren’t real.

Pumpkin Hollow was just a normal pumpkin patch. And scarecrows? They were just old, stitched-up sacks of hay.

“Besides,” Elliot muttered, staring at the sea of pumpkins before him, “I’m too old for this.”

He hadn’t wanted to come. His parents had insisted, dragging him and his little sister Nora to the patch after school.

Nora, at only eight years old, believed everything. She clutched Elliot’s sleeve, her tiny fingers digging into his sweater. “Pick a good one,” she whispered. “Not one that’s alive.”

Elliot rolled his eyes but gave her a reassuring smile. “Pumpkins don’t come alive, Nora.”

She didn’t look convinced.

Still, he wandered into the patch, letting the vines curl around his ankles as he moved.

That was another strange thing. The vines here were different.

They weren’t the thin, brittle kind that snapped underfoot. These were thick, gnarled things, twisting around each other like the roots of an ancient tree. Some were too thick—as if whatever was growing beneath the soil wasn’t just a pumpkin.

The deeper Elliot walked, the quieter it became. The laughter of other children faded. The crisp autumn air stilled. Even the distant sound of wind through the trees seemed to disappear.

Then—he saw it.

A pumpkin.

Not a pumpkin. The pumpkin.

It was bigger than the others. Too big. Its surface was smooth, almost polished, and its deep orange skin looked… wrong. Too bright. Too perfect. Like it was waiting for him.

And for some reason, Elliot couldn’t look away.

His hands moved on their own, reaching forward, his fingertips grazing the cool surface of the pumpkin’s skin—

The instant he touched it, something changed.

A deep, rumbling sound—almost like a growl—vibrated beneath his feet.

The vines at his ankles tightened.

And for the first time since he’d arrived at Pumpkin Hollow, Elliot felt something he hadn’t expected.

He felt like he wasn’t supposed to be here.

And something beneath the soil knew it.

Part Three: The Whispering Vines

Elliot yanked his hand away.

The moment he did, the growling stopped.

The vines loosened. The patch breathed again.

For a split second, he thought he’d imagined it. But the way his skin prickled, the way the hairs on his arms stood on end—he knew.

Something had just felt him.

“Elliot!” Nora’s voice cut through the thick silence. He turned to see her at the edge of the patch, bouncing on her toes. “Mom says hurry up! The sun’s going down!”

Elliot swallowed hard, casting one last glance at the pumpkin. He didn’t know why, but he had the strangest feeling… it was staring at him.

But pumpkins didn’t stare.

Pumpkins didn’t choose you.

Right?

Part Four: The Hollow Opens

That night, Elliot dreamed of roots.

Twisting, gnarled roots stretching deep into the soil. But the soil wasn’t black—it was red. Thick. Pulsing, like a heartbeat.

And something was moving beneath it.

Something waiting to rise.

Elliot woke with a gasp, his sheets tangled around his legs. His bedroom was dark, the moon casting long shadows through the blinds.

He turned his head—

And froze.

Something was at his window.

Not someone.

Something.

A shape—thin, twisted, stitched together—was staring at him through the glass. Its face wasn’t a face at all. Just a stretched burlap sack, stitched into a permanent, unnatural grin.

A scarecrow.

Elliot’s breath caught in his throat. His chest locked. He wanted to move, to scream, to wake his parents—

But the scarecrow raised a hand.

And pointed.

Not at Elliot.

At the pumpkin sitting on his nightstand.

The one his parents had bought for him.

The one he hadn’t picked.

The one that had chosen him.

Part Five: The Final Harvest

The next morning, Elliot’s parents found his room empty.

His bed was cold. The window was open. The only sign of him was the pumpkin on his nightstand, now split open—its insides not seeds, not pulp…

But vines.

And if you followed those vines?

They led straight back to Pumpkin Hollow.

Where a new scarecrow now stood.

Its stitched mouth grinning.

Its hollow eyes empty.

And its clothes?

They looked an awful lot like the ones Elliot Finch had been wearing.

Part Six: The Hollow Remains

Pumpkin Hollow was gone the next day.

The patch disappeared just as mysteriously as it had arrived. The field at the edge of Briar Hollow was empty once more.

But if you walked close enough, if you listened carefully, you could still hear it.

The whisper of vines beneath the dirt.

The soft, echoing sound of something calling your name.

Because next year?

Pumpkin Hollow will return.

And it will be waiting.

For you.

THE END.