Pumpkin & his Chainsaw 

© By Gary L Morton

A Walking Dead Man Tale
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Late afternoon bit Pumpkin like a mangy dog, leaving him quivering with agitation as he stared out at the wilted leaves falling in the wood lot. Autumn made him feel crumpled and dead like the rest of the city. It was a season he hated and a time when he needed regular fixes to feel alive again.

Halloween always came around the corner as his biggest fix.  The bewitched day was really the only good thing about fall. It was also the reason he'd been nicknamed Pumpkin. On all other days, he existed as the watcher and the voyeur, yet on Halloween he became the doer. Rubber worms in the candy apples, puke pills in the orange kisses, firecrackers in the doorways, obscene messages sprayed on the courthouse windows, LSD in the prom punch, paint bombs and spikes on the highway, burning hay on the tracks, firing blanks at the suckers near the mall while dressed as the Reaper. Pumpkin had pulled just about every mean prank going, and he’d never been caught.

This year he’d settle for nothing less than the spectacular. Something grand that would get him remembered as more than an aging smart-ass wearing orange clothes half of the time. More than a pathetic fool needing quick stunts to even get noticed.

He did have a plan in motion, and he grinned at the thought. Getting up he went over to his computer. “Time to check my e-mail, and see if Marvin bought the bait,” he muttered.

Knocking the mouse he watched the screen light up and he grinned when he saw the tiny e-mail jack-o-lantern waving a Jolly Roger.


To: pumpkin@interlog.com
From: coolmarvin@screwview.com

Yo Pumpkin! Hear at ScrewView web we pay close attention to the groovy ideas of our top subscribers. Youre idea to web broadcast a Halloween orgy is a great one. Consider it on - beginnin at 9 p.m. on the bewitched evening. Start page for this live webcam video extravaganza is screwview.com/hallofilm.htm And we have more then 3000 paying viewers lined up for a show with ten full camera angles.
We'd appreciate any donations for costumes and setup as this is on short notice. Contact me immediately if you know any partners who can help.
* Life is just a bowl of cherries, waiting to get popped.
(Cool Marvin)

To: coolmarvin@screwview.com
From: pumpkin@interlog.com

Cool! Cool! Cool! Marvin.  I can help with costumes and stuff. Not just money wise. I mean, I have the real stuff. A friend of mine has a costume store and I can twist his arm for a lot of costumes and black webbing and rubber bats and stuff. Believe it or not I also have a pumpkin patch at my house so I can bring some pumpkins. As you should recall I also live in Toronto. So get back to me as to when I can drop a vanload of the stuff out to you people at the screwview penthouse.
* Just livin’ on the pussy's cutting edge.

An orange explosion marked the end of sunset in the west. Standing by the chain link fence Pumpkin watched as twilight blue filtered into the mist trails down in the valley. A line of cops in navy uniforms poked through the tall weeds by the watercourse there. They'd been combing through the area for about a week, looking for clues on a bedroom rapist who used those tunnels and gullies as an escape route. Personally, Pumpkin hoped they would corner the guy and blast his head off. The jerk just had no right to commit crimes like that without filming them for everyone else to see.

As the cops faded into the mist, he perceived them as little toy men locked inside a small bubble of right and wrong. Another bubble of petty desire contained the rampaging rapist. And perhaps the darkening sky was the biggest bubble - sealing everyone in Toronto in a prison.

If gods lived they were voyeurs, Pumpkin was sure of that. Because you never saw them but they were always there like evil jack-o-lanterns looking through the glass at people and their follies. They could shake the whole world like a bauble, and play the biggest prank of all by snowing down shit on everyone.

They'd rained shit on Pumpkin's life since he was a kid. Some of it was sexual abuse crap he wanted to forget but often couldn't. And now that he was remembering it, the gods were making him mad.

Sudden fury filled him and he turned away from the fence. Powering up his Greenwood chainsaw he eased the spinning blade forward and leaned into the trunk of a dying pine.

Vibrations shook his arms as the blade bit in deep and spat sawdust. The resistance jarred his bones and pulsed in his blood and brain. And it soothed him, causing his anger to fade and the disturbed feeling to vanish. It was the black magic of the chainsaw; it cut down trees and bad moods, leaving a neat pile of brush and logs.

Odors of fresh cut wood filled the cool autumn air. Pumpkin inhaled deeply, feeling a sort of relaxed euphoria as he crunched through the leaves and sawdust to the pumpkin patch. Pausing there, he studied his prize and aging melons. He patted a giant then his eyes went to the smaller ones that would soon be wearing Halloween faces. “Wonderful, wonderful things they'll see,” he thought. Then he turned and went up the steps to the porch. It was time to drive over to Marvin's penthouse and lay the final plans.


Leaves blew on the back alley wind and scratched Pumpkin like some dead fingers of the darkness and the season. He watched grimly as Marvin's lackeys unloaded the van of its Halloween fare.

For a moment, he stared up at the bright lights of the penthouse. Then he felt Marvin tap him on the shoulder.

“It's heaven up there,” Marvin said, his eyes like glowing like a cat's. “And whenever the action begins we seal the stairwells. Only one elevator for access. There's no way the police can raid us if we shut it down, and we got enough of them paid off, so a raid's not likely anyway.”

Pumpkin pulled a tiny orange orb from his pocket. It had the face of a jack-o-lantern. He handed it silently to Marvin.

“What's this?” Marvin said.

“It's a high definition web cam that looks like a pumpkin. I packed a few of them in with the decorations. I figure you can use them in place of the plain ones for better atmosphere.”

“Man, you thought of everything. Don't worry; you'll get your reward when my big black rod goes into action on some blonds. Just e-mail me a rap sheet. What you want to see. I'll pass it to the young ladies.”


Pumpkin waited as the autumn days passed. They were slow and dark like the smoke of bonfires and they seemed endless. When Halloween did finally come, he could feel the orange flames, burning in a jack-o-lantern in his brain.

In the early evening costumed children, their parents and all of the cute stuff fluttered by like cartoon bats as he impatiently walked the streets. And it was only as the clock neared 9 p.m. that he came alive.

Marvin also came to life at nine sharp and a web view appeared of a cavern-like penthouse and a lot of painted women, dressed mostly in leather and black netting. Marvin did his introduction wearing only a lion cloth and jewelry. His black skin gleamed with oil and if he wore a shit eater's grin, it was probably because he would eat shit if a subscriber paid him to do it.

The cameras also revealed two naked blonde women necking on the rug behind him. Other camera angles revealed more opening action. Screwview.com liked to give the impression of 24-hr sex at the penthouse.

“Tonight the forces of Halloween witchcraft have possessed us and we're having a party,” Marvin said. He spread his arms dramatically and was about to continue when a loud rattle and bang caused him to jump.

Paneling suddenly slid open behind him revealing an elevator and a man in an orange Halloween costume. Marvin glanced back and saw the man's skull mask and shopping bag and since it was only Pumpkin and not the cops, he turned back to the cameras. “Welcome to our big Halloween Screw at screwview.com,” he said, and then he signaled for the action to begin.

And as he did, Pumpkin pulled his rigged chainsaw from his shopping bag, powered it up as he stepped forward, and planted the whirring chains between Marvin's shoulder blades.

It cut through before Marvin could scream; though his expression became one of surprise as blood spurted out of his mouth.  A moment later, the blade and flying gore emerged from Marvin's chest. Then Pumpkin yanked it back out and shouldered the collapsing body aside.

Screaming began as the corpse thumped to the rug. Pumpkin pulled off his mask and spoke above the noise. “Everybody's screwed, just like Marvin said,” he announced. “Plus the title's been changed to Pumpkin's Halloween Chainsaw Massacre.”

With the stairwells sealed and the elevator out of order, only those who jumped to their death escaped the magic of the chainsaw. Pumpkin's face remained white and calm amid the storm of flying blood. He felt the vibrations lifting him, relaxing him with euphoria, just like when he cut a pine.

. . . . . . . . . .