The Terror

Pumpkin guts laid strewn across the table. Trash bags served as a tablecloth for easy cleanup, and the knives were destined for the dishwasher. The only evidence that would remain of this mutilation was the Jack-O-Lantern sitting at the edge of the table with his devilish smile.

All in all, it was a rather typical October scene. Or rather, it would have been if it weren’t for the very human guts strewn across the floor.

Police were packed into my apartment, and across the room, my downstairs neighbor entered my apartment. She introduced herself to the police the same way she had introduced herself to me when I brought her “Welcome to the apartment” cookies last winter.

“Jasmine. Just Jasmine.” She said.

They’ve taken my statement already. No, I don’t know what happened. Yes, I heard a scream, but that was all. No, I don’t know how they got in. Yes, I was in the bathroom the whole time.

Her statement corroborates mine. She heard the toilet flush at the same time she heard a scream.

Still, they had to take me in. According to the evidence, I was the only one in the apartment when it happened. And despite me telling them that I was checking on him, the fact remains that his blood was covering me. And most damning of all, it was my knife that was buried in his chest.

Before they could take me away though, Jasmine asked for a moment with me. She could help me calm down, she said.

She seemed kind. She asked if I was okay.

“It just doesn’t make any sense.” I said. “It’s so horrible that there are crazy people out there who do stuff like this.”

“Yes… but still,” she nodded slightly, “that’s a lot of pumpkin guts.”

She had always seemed a little off to be totally honest, so I didn’t think about her comment too hard. In retrospect, I definitely should have. But I didn’t know yet how the wheels in her head had started turning.

#

At the police station, I sat in the interrogation room and waited. I hadn’t asked for a lawyer. I would be out of here soon enough without one. Outside the room, a gruff voice argued on my behalf.

“Look, she seemed pretty shaken up. I don’t think you can fake that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, O’Connell.” Her voice was deep, but smooth. “I’ve seen some things.”

“Fair enough.” He sighed. “Still, the neighbor’s story matched up so well.”

“Look, if she’s innocent, then she’s innocent. Either way, we figure it out by going in there and doing our job.”

O’Connell grunted in agreement.

The door opened and the two detectives entered and took their seats opposite me. It began with the usual procedural stuff, and they had me repeat my statement again for them before getting to their deeper questions.

“I’m gonna be honest, miss,” the woman took the lead, “it doesn’t look good for you. Your alibi right now relies on the timing of a toilet flushing.” She held an earnest, kind expression on her face. “Is there any way you might not be remembering things right?”

“Um… Yeah, I guess.”

“And of course you’re not lying, miss, but we all can get a little mixed up sometimes.” She leaned back in her chair. “Your neighbor, for example, Jasmine, was it?”

I nodded.

She glanced at O’Connell. He cleared his throat and spoke in a soft, gentle tone. “Forgive me for being blunt, but this Jasmine… she doesn’t seem to have a great grasp on reality, does she?”

“I wouldn’t really know.” I said. “I don’t think I’ve seen her since she moved in.”

The detectives didn’t say anything.

“I mean, I guess she seems like she spends a lot of time daydreaming and stuff.”

The detectives exchanged glances. Leaning forward, O’Connell opened his mouth to speak again, but he was stopped by a knock at the door.

“Come in.” Said the woman.

The door opened, and a small man with round glasses opened the door carrying a thin manilla folder. He shuffled up to the table and handed it to her, bending down and whispering in her ear before he excused himself from the room.

The woman opened the file and looked over the information in front of her. Setting it on the table, she heaved a heavy sigh.

“It’s not looking better for you, miss. And we all know you’re keeping something from us. It’ll be better if you just come out with it now.”

“What do you mean?” I fidgeted with my handcuffs.

“There are no prints on this knife other than your own.”

“Well, I said–” I tried to explain, but she interrupted.

“And no evidence that anybody else held it. Even with gloves. So I’ll ask you again.” She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the table, interlocking her fingers. “What are you keeping from us?”

The power went out.

#

Meanwhile, back in her apartment, Jasmine had been hard at work doing research.

“So many pumpkin guts.” she muttered to herself again and again. “So many pumpkin guts.”

Now, an interesting fact about Jasmine, is that she was actually a witch. Well, she was as much of a witch as anyone can be in this world. But she had a very intimate knowledge of the energies of this world and was well respected in the witching community. And it was from this community that she acquired her research.

“So many pumpkin guts.”

Scurrying around her apartment, she gathered the necessary materials. A little wolf’s foot, some incense and candles, and the appropriate symbols drawn on the floor. Finally, she pricked her finger for a drop of blood.

As I sat in that police station eavesdropping, Jasmine kept a watchful eye on her ritual, and she waited. As I went through my questioning, Jasmine waited. And when the power went out, she got what she had been waiting for.

Jasmine gave a small gasp before clasping her hands and giving an excited whisper. “I knew it!”

Hurriedly, she grabbed her own pumpkin carving knife and sterilized it in the candle flames. Quietly, so as to keep her breath from disturbing the flame, she gave the knife an enchantment.

Jasmine threw on her coat and boots before marching out her door with an adventurous glint in her eye.

#

She arrived at the police station just as I stepped outside. Blood drenched the wrists of my sweater and speckled the rest of my clothing.

“Jasmine!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” The wet squelch of my pumpkin head gave me a slight lisp as I spoke. 

“Hello, Headless.” She said with an eerily cheerful smile.

I have to admit, I respected her. Her lack of fear as she stood across from me was a refreshing change of pace. The ghostly flicker from inside my head tended to steal the breath away from those who saw me. My head’s loose and bobbling motions inspired a horror that brought most to their knees. But that eerie little smile remained on her face.

“How’d you know?” I asked.

“Too many pumpkin guts.”

My confusion must have been visible even on my pumpkin face because she explained.

“Your table was clearly covered in the guts of two pumpkins, but only one sat there. My neighbor accidentally summoned you with her Jack-O-Lantern, didn’t she?”

The pumpkin floating above my shoulders cracked and groaned as I threw my head back and laughed.

“After figuring that out, I used a spell.” She tilted her head with a smug smile. “To detect a demonic presence.”

“Very good, witch.” A carving knife appeared in my hand as I gestured with my other hand back at the police station. “But now it’s your turn to face the fate they faced.” With a crack of thunder, I flung my knife at her face, but she didn’t even blink as she deflected it with her own. Good. It’s been seventy years since I’ve had a real fight.

I conjured another knife, and we began to circle each other. “They never stood a chance in there, you know.” There wasn’t the slightest twitch in her face in response to my goading. “When the power went out, I could hardly restrain my glee. I allowed the magic to fade and this head to show, and the glow from inside drew absolutely delicious screams out of them.” Crack! Crack! Crack! Three concurrent thunderclaps broke the night as I launched my attacks.

Block. Block. Dodge. This witch was certainly skilled. But even she took a lot of effort to match me.

“And that silly boyfriend of this girl I wear.” As we had circled each other, our circles had shrunk. Closer and closer we drew until we were each just outside the reach of the other. It was then that she lunged at me. These silly mortals never learn, and centuries of ripping my way through entire crowds has helped me grow accustomed to my invulnerability. So I didn’t defend myself, but it allowed me to slip my blade between her ribs as we rushed past each other.

Pain. I didn’t believe it at first, but she had actually managed to hurt me. She had managed to carve an impressively large slice into my face from the right corner of my mouth to the back of my head.

Then, behind me, I heard her scream. The pain from where I had managed to get her had just set in. Chuckling, I turned around. My lisp was accentuated by the damage she had done.

“Do you know what sound a person makes when they’ve been stabbed?” I ask. Tears streamed down her face, and she desperately squeezed her hand against her side. “They don’t shout the way they do in your movies. The breath flies out of their bodies as they go into shock.” I dropped my voice so that it’s just above a whisper. “It was my shout you heard as the toilet flushed. But nobody could see it because you and I said it was a man’s scream.”

Shakily, she raised her enchanted knife. “You–” A coughing fit racked her body, and the pain bent her in half. Recovering herself, she continued. “You won’t go any further. You will stop here.”

“No, Jasmine. Ever since this began, centuries ago, the only way this has ended is that the pumpkin rots, and I fade away. But I always come back. Who are you to change that?”

She said nothing.

I marched forward. It was time to end this. She slashed wildly, but still managed to catch the tip of her blade in the hole meant to represent my nose. I flinched, and she pressed forward. Slash, slash, stab. Each time her blade found purchase, it did very little damage, but centuries without pain had left me ill-prepared to handle this.

Small chunks of pumpkin littered the ground around us. I swung my arms just as wildly as her in desperate attempts to block the knife and stop the pain. Finally, I caught her arm in my left hand and conjured one last knife with my right.

Shit. Her hand slipped out of mine, and this was my only chance. I plunged my knife into her throat just as she stuck hers straight down into my head.

Screeches filled the night as my head collapsed and my soul was whipped from the world.

And Jasmine the Witch, the first ever slayer of the Headless Horseman, died quickly and with little pain. 

#

“And that brings me to where I am now. Here, back in your halls, Dark Lord.”

Chaos leans forward in their throne. A gleeful smile splits their face. “You truly outdid yourself this time. Even despite the witch.” Their voice bellows through the halls and nearly tears apart the surroundings. “I can only hope that next Terror’s debrief is equally as fulfilling.”

“Thank you, your Devastation.” I reply. The awful squelch behind my voice is amplified here. “Seven years will go by fast. Even so, the next Terror can’t get here fast enough.”