A story carved into a pumpkin

The tradition of carving Jack-O’-Lanterns began over a thousand years ago in the misty hills of ancient Ireland.and when you hear the name Jack-O’-Lantern, it almost feels like the answer was hiding in plain sight all along.

But to truly understand why the Irish began crafting these eerie glowing faces, you need to hear the tale of a man known only as Stingy Jack.Jack was no ordinary sinner—he was a deceitful trickster, a cunning manipulator, and a drunk so vile that even the Devil himself looked upon his soul with envy.

The first version of Stingy Jack’s tale—the one I’ll share with you now—I like to call the classic version.

Strangely enough, for perhaps the first time in folklore history, there are no ancient manuscripts, no dusty pamphlets, not even a faded collection to trace it back to.

And yet, despite the lack of written record, this version was by far the most commonly told—the one whispered around firesides and passed from generation to generation across Ireland.

As you already know, Stingy Jack was no saint. He was a master manipulator—deceitful, cold-hearted, and entirely self-serving.

Word of his misdeeds and silver tongue eventually reached even the depths of the underworld. Intrigued, Satan decided it was time to pay Jack a personal visit.

One moonless night, Jack was staggering home from the tavern, the scent of ale thick in the air, when he noticed something strange lying in the middle of the path ahead.

It was too dark to make out clearly, so he cautiously stepped closer to investigate.as the shape began to take form in the dim light, Jack froze—it was a body, motionless and pale, with a twisted, unnatural expression frozen on its face. he stared for a long moment, unsure of what he was seeing… when suddenly, the figure’s eyes flicked open and locked onto his.

Then its mouth moved, and from it came a voice—not of man, but something far older and darker. It claimed to be none other than Satan himself.Jack, sensing his end had come and the gates of Hell awaited, did what he did best—he improvised.

He asked Satan for one final favor: a last drink at the bar before facing his fate. to Jack’s surprise, Satan agreed. “What harm could it do?” he thought.

So the two returned to the tavern, where they drank deeply into the night—far more than any mortal could safely handle. when the Devil finally said it was time to leave, Jack, ever the schemer, held up a hand.

“Come on,” he said, slurring only slightly. “You’re dragging me to Hell—the least you can do is pay for my drinks.”

Satan blinked, momentarily thrown by the audacity. But… fair was fair. Jack did have a point.

The only issue? The Prince of Darkness didn’t carry cash.

“No problem,” Jack grinned. “Just turn yourself into a silver coin. I’ll use you to pay, and once the bartender looks away, you can change back. Easy.”

Now, you’d think the Devil might be wise to a trick like that. But whether out of arrogance or amusement, he agreed—and in a flash of fire and brimstone, transformed into a gleaming silver coin.

But Jack didn’t pay the tab. Instead, he slipped the coin into his pocket… right next to a small silver cross. with that one move, the Devil was trapped—unable to change form, unable to escape.

Jack had him.

The Devil fumed inside the pocket while Jack bartered. He wouldn’t let him go until Satan promised to leave him alone for another ten years.

Cornered, the Devil agreed. and so Jack walked free again—drinking, lying, and charming his way through life for another decade.

But ten years later, right on time, Satan returned. he came straight to Jack’s home to collect the soul he’d been promised. yet before they began their journey to the underworld, Jack—never one to go quietly—had one last request.

Before they could begin their descent into Hell, Jack paused and looked up at a gnarled old tree nearby."Hey," he said casually, "before we go… mind grabbing me an apple from that tree? Little something for the road?"

Satan narrowed his eyes. "Absolutely not."

But Jack, ever the charmer, gave a sly grin. "Come on, you really wanna listen to my stomach growl the whole way down? That’s just awkward for both of us."

Faced with that particular kind of torment, the Devil sighed and relented. He climbed the tree to fetch an apple, figuring it was the lesser of two evils.

But while Satan was among the branches, Jack acted fast—he carved crosses into the bark around the base of the tree.

With the holy symbols surrounding it, the Devil was trapped once again—unable to descend.

Now completely at Jack’s mercy, Satan had no choice but to listen as Jack made his final demand: that his soul never be taken to Hell. after some furious negotiation—and perhaps a bit of swearing—Satan agreed. The pact was made.

At first, it seemed like the ultimate win. Jack was free. No Heaven. No Hell. Just life, on his own terms. he spent the next few years doing what he did best—cheating, drinking, lying, and laughing his way through whatever time he had left.

But eventually, as all stories must, Jack’s came to an end. His body gave out, and his soul left the mortal world behind. when he approached the gates of Heaven, God Himself appeared.

“There is no way in Hell you’re getting in here,” He said flatly. and with that, Jack was cast down toward the underworld.

At the gates of Hell, the Devil was already waiting. Jack, now desperate, pleaded, “Please—let me in. I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

but Satan, with a grin as cold as the grave, shook his head. “Sorry, Jack. I made a promise—I can’t take your soul.”

And upholding deals,” the Devil said with a smirk, “is kind of my thing.”

With that, Jack was doomed.

He had nowhere to go—rejected by Heaven, barred from Hell. His soul was cursed to wander endlessly through the in-between, a shadow drifting through the darkness of purgatory.

As a twisted parting gift, the Devil gave Jack a single glowing ember to light his way. Jack carved out a hollow turnip to carry it, shielding the flickering flame as he roamed the night.

From that moment on, he was no longer just Stingy Jack. he became Jack of the Lantern— or, as time wore it down, Jack-O’-Lantern.

And legend has it that every year, on the night of October 31st, Jack’s spirit still wanders—his dim ember glowing in the dark— drifting through forests and swamps, forever searching for another soul to share in his eternal misery.