“Yeah,” Doug said. “We were digging around, making holes and stuff, to see if they went away the next day. It was part of our testing to see if whoever it is came every night. Here.” He stopped and pointed at the ground. “Somewhere around here.”
“So, just a skull? No other bones?”
Doug sighed. “Well, the truth is, when we found the skull…which was the last time we were here, you know…we pretty much just freaked out and ran. I mean, have you ever found a buried skull before? Before that it was just messing around. Trying to figure out why some weirdo kept a pumpkin patch at night hidden in the middle of the woods. But when we found the skull we realized that it was something more and…well, it freaked us out.”
“We got outa here quick,” Randy said. “You’ve never seen us run so fast I’m telling you. That was three days ago.”
“It took us a bit to get up the courage to come back,” Doug said. “Speaking of which, we better hide before whoever it is shows up.”
Randy nodded. “I was thinking over there.” He pointed to a dark area of thick brambles. “Let’s see if we can find a way behind there and we can watch from there.”
“Okay,” Peter said. Randy turned and Peter moved to follow him, but Doug did not turn. He stood, watching the other side of the pumpkin patch, his mouth slightly agape and his skin blanched white.
Peter looked back over his shoulder and stopped cold. A man stood at the far end of the pumpkin patch. In the darkness Peter could not see more than his silhouette — enough to see that he was big, wore a large hat, and carried a pitchfork. Peter glance back at Randy who had also stopped to gape at the man.
Peter looked back at the man. “What do we…?” he began, but there was no time to finish the question because the man raised the pitchfork above his head and charged.
Doug let out a shriek and turned. “Run!” he cried — not that Peter needed the command as he had already turned to run himself. He sprinted after Randy and Doug as they headed for the forest at the far end.
Peter glanced back over his shoulder. The man had covered half the distance already. They were not going to make it. He turned back and pushed himself harder, catching Doug. “Come on!” he shouted. “He’d gaining.”
Doug glance back and then surged forward as well. Randy reached the brambles ahead of them and pushed heedlessly through them. Doug dove in after his brother, but before Peter could follow him a hand grabbed his collar and he felt himself lifted from the ground. He kicked his feet as hard as he could backward at the man but it did no good. Then he found himself face to face with the man, expect there was no man there, but just a red bandana pulled and a set of glowing, yellow eyes.
Peter gaped at the eyes. They were not human. They looked more like cat eyes or some other kind of animal.
“Why are you in my pumpkin patch?” a gravelly voice said.
“We were just…”
The man — or whatever it was — roared and hoisted Peter higher, then tossed him like a rag doll toward a tree. He felt himself hit the tree, the wind knocked from him with the blow. He gasped for breath but could not find it. The man tromped forward to stand over him.
“Please,” Peter said with a gasp. “I’m…sorry.”
THUNK. The pitchfork sunk into the tree trunk near Peter’s head. Peter jumped aside and scrambled backward on his hands and knees.
“Get out!” the yellow-eyed man said. “Get out of my pumpkin patch!”
end of 7
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