If you believe the horror stories, you’d know it happens every year. 

Not everyone knows about the tales of the generations before us. None of us even know for certain what’s happened to them by the time we emerge. No one wants to believe that the stories are true. Despite that, we can sense that something evil has happened — and that something equally sinister awaits us. 

We are born in the late days of spring, hopeful for our new life ahead. We are cared for, nurtured, and protected. But something is always off. We can tell there is a deeper reason for the attention we receive as we grow. I’ve heard stories of a select few being chosen from a young stage to be champions and prize winners. I heard they’re forced to grow impossibly large, stretching themselves until they are too big to stay alive. 

Just as we come into adulthood, when it starts to seem like the stories are just myths, the picking begins. We are ripped away from our homes and forced to watch our friends and families as they are thrown onto trucks and driven away, unsure if we will ever see each other again. Those of us still together are hauled off to a gloomy field. Endless rows of cornfields and creatures of straw with beady eyes glare down at us as we pass by. We are piled on top of one another, suffocating and gasping for air. Fear leaves us immobilized, unable to do anything but sit and wait. The ones closest to the surface can breathe but are always the first ones taken. Those of us trapped beneath suffocate but are safe from the monstrous hands that take away our brothers and sisters. We think we are lucky until the rotting begins. 

Most pray to be taken, to be spared from the fate of slowly decaying beneath each other. It begins with the smell — a terrible stench of death that chokes the rest of us. Those who are truly unfortunate can feel their neighbors’ flesh turning to mush as they’re crushed under the weight of others, unable to escape. Eventually, once the flies and maggots have overrun the body, it is cleared out by the human in charge. But when I feel massive hands on my stem, gripping me tightly and lifting me into the air for closer examination, I realize that one death is merely the lesser of two evils. 

There is no way to prepare myself for what comes next. No one knows for certain how the gutting works — only rumors picked up from our time at the patch. As I am taken into a foreign place, I am paralyzed with terror: the corpses of other pumpkins are lined up along the walls and fences, each carved with a gruesome expression. Fire burns brightly from within them, illuminating the twisted faces and images carved into their flesh. I fear that they might still be alive, in an inescapable state of torture, waiting for the merciful release of death.

Once more, I am taken to a new location. This time, there is dead grass and I am fenced in by abandoned structures. The surface I am on is elevated. The monsters that have taken me sound gleeful, excited to proceed. Unsure of how much time I have left, I pray.

Suddenly, a searing pain encircles the area around my stem. Hands grip my stem, yanking it upward and decapitating me. I try to scream as freezing cold air rushes into me, but a hand reaches into me and tears away at my insides. Before I know it, a scraping sensation drags against my inner walls. A repetitive motion rakes away every last piece of my guts. My vision swoops, turning red at the edges. Little do I know, the worst is somehow yet to come.

A thin veil of white is pinned to my front. It blocks my vision, but perhaps for the better. I do not see the knife coming. I cannot see the violence I am subject to. I can only feel it sawing through my flesh at sharp angles, leaving me with a gruesome mouth and eyes.

All that remains of me is a hollow shell of who I once was, topped with a crooked smile carved onto my face. But the pain, as unbearable as it is, is not nearly enough to end my misery immediately.

Like the ones I saw on the way to my demise, like every other pumpkin before me, I am set out in the front where all others can behold. A flame is placed within me, burning what’s left of my being. As my life force fades away at a torturously slow speed, I realize that, much like the mere mortals who bring our deaths upon us, our only purpose is to meet our end. One way or another, every last one of my kind joins the careless, festive display of gutted corpses on Halloween.