Goblin Bites: Scary Stories 6

Long ago, there was a boy named Sean. He was a mischeivious little lad, with a talent for pranks and getting himself in trouble. He was just as talented, however, at getting himself out of trouble, being naturally gifted as a fast talker with lots of charm. Despite his antics, the people in his village were fond of him, and had taken to calling him "Jack" instead of his given name. This seemed to fit his impish nature more, and he found he quite liked the moniker. His mother and father loved him dearly, but often warned about him taking his pranks and jokes too far. "Having fun was all well and good," they would say, "but someday you'll have to grow up, and take responsibility for your deeds." Jack would brush off these warnings, being the heedless youth he was, and often just did as he pleased.

One crisp fall day when he was about the age of ten, Jack found himself wandering in the bog that bordered his small village. It was growing very late, almost time for him to come back for supper, but he was having far too much fun exploring to mind the hour. Suddenly, an old peddlar appeared in his path. The peddlar was dressed in a heavy black cloak with a hood and leaning on a strange, knobbly staff. The staff held a hollowed-out pumpkin hanging off it, with a candle inside that the peddlar seemed to be using as a lantern. "Top o' the evening to ya, Lad," the old peddlar croaked, "Can ya spare a crust o' bread or a swallow o' water for a weary old man?"

Jack had a bit of bread still on him left over from his lunch, wrapped in a cloth that was hanging off his belt. The old peddlar seemed to have poor eyesight though, and - Jack thought - was a perfect candidate for a prank. "I have no bread," he lied, with a smile on his lips, "but I know where we can get some. Come, good sir; follow me!" He then led the old peddlar a piece further into the bog, stopping at a small patch of mushrooms. "Here is some bread," he grinned, picking one of the slime-covered toadstools and placing it into the old man's thin, bony hand, "Please, eat your fill; there's plenty more!"

The old man took a bite of the cap, which made Jack burst into a fit of giggles, but he didn't have the reaction the boy expected. Jack knew the toadstool he'd selected was foul and bitter to taste, and certainly not good for eating, and yet the old man devoured the whole thing as if it were a fine, sweet cake. "Thank ya, Lad," the old peddlar grinned, "that was a grand meal. Permit me ta reward ya for yer kindness." He reached into the folds of his cloak then and produced a small burlap pouch, which he pressed into Jack's hands. "Cultivate these seeds wit the same kindness an' selflessness ya've shown me," the peddler croaked, "an' yer shure ta be blessed wit wealth an' good fortune." The old man then headed deeper into the bog, cackling to himself, and disappeared into the mist.

Jack peered curiously into the pouch, then tipped the contents out into his palm with a frown. All it contained was a handful of dried-out pumpkin seeds, more husk than seed they were so old. Angry that his prank had failed and that he'd been given such a worthless prize, Jack hurled the pouch into the bog with all his might and headed for home. His mother and father chided him for being out so late, as the lanterns were being lit by the time he got back. He was sent to bed without his supper as a punishment, and told that he'd be spending the next few days in the field with his father and the other men to teach him a lesson on responsibility.

By the next morning, he had all but forgotten about the peddlar and the pouch of seeds. He was far too busy to think of such things while digging potatoes for the village with his father all day. Once his father deemed he'd done enough work for the day, Jack ran off to play in the bog once more. When he came to the mushroom patch he brought the old peddlar to the night before, he stumbled across a small pumpkin patch. He was almost certain it hadn't been there the previous evening, almost as if it had sprung up overnight by magic. Jack dismissed the thought quickly, deciding that there was no such thing as magic, and that the fog must have simply hidden the patch from view before. Taking up a sturdy, fallen branch he'd dug out of the muck, Jack then made good fun in smashing every single gourd in the patch to bits. The pumpkins were all old, practically rotten on the vine, so they squished and split in the most satisfactory manner that filled him with glee. Thoroughly exhausted after destroying the gourds, Jack then headed home for the night.

The next day was much like the previous one, consisting mostly of work with his father and the other men from the village in the field and ending with a few hours to himself in the bog. Jack was feeling very proud of himself this particular day, as he'd managed to pull off a few pranks on the others while working in the field. When he got back to where the pumpkin patch was - expecting to find nothing but dried pumpkin husks and rotting seeds - he was stunned to discover one large, yellow pumpkin remaining. This made no sense, as he made sure to leave no pumpkins in-tact the night before and he certainly wouldn't have missed the opportunity to flatten a pumpkin of that size. The gourd was almost as tall as he was, and bigger around than the old iron cauldron his mother used for washing the linens. Unable to resist, Jack took up his branch again and took a mighty swing at the pumpkin, already excited at the thought of how it would split open on impact.

When the sturdy branch struck the pumpkin however, the gourd did not split. Its flesh was as hard as stone, and instead it broke the branch in two. Jack cried out, as the shock of the stick breaking traveled all the way up to his shoulder, and hurt quite a lot. After making sure his arm was alright, Jack then began getting very angry. He hurled stones and other sticks at the pumpkin, trying with all his might to destroy it, but to no avail. He stomped and beat and swore at the large gourd, declaring how much he hated it and demanding to know why it wouldn't be squashed. When he had finally worn himself out and stopped to take a breath, he made a startling observation: during all this time, the pumpkin had been growing bigger and bigger, until it entirely dwarfed him. Completely shocked and puzzled at how such a thing could be, Jack touched the side of the pumpkin gingerly.

Surprisingly, the pumpkin flesh was quite warm to the touch, almost hot. He detected a very soft pulsing within it as well, as if the massive gourd was somehow alive. Jack began to grow afraid, but before he could run or cry out the enormous pumpkin moved. Great chasms appeared on the unmarred wall of the pumpkin, which slowly arranged themselves into a menacing face with a horrid, snaggle-toothed grin. A mysterious green light shone from within the gourd, holding Jack frozen with fear. Then, the massive grinning jack-o-lantern began to speak:

Good Little Lads

And Little Girls sweet,

Their deeds are bless'd with Treasures

And lots of fine, good Treats.

Spiteful, vain Lasses

And Rotten Wee Boys

Aren't quite so lucky, you see;

They get no rewards,

no Sweets and no Toys,

and instead are Treats for me!!

Little is known about what actually happened to Jack that night. Some say he ran away and never came home, living the rest of his days as a hermit in the bog. Others swore they saw him in the next village over a few years later; grown up with a family of his own, and a fine upstanding member of his community. Rumors circulated for decades though about a farmer who found a beautiful, large pumpkin growing by itself in the bog not long after Jack disappeared... and when he cut the gourd open, he supposedly found the skeleton of a young boy inside it.