The Halloween Curse

By M. R. James

Billy and Amanda Walker aren't too sure about the new shop that just opened up in their small town of Boo, Pennsylvania. They're even more unsure of the shop's owner. A tall, spooky looking man who goes by the name of Mr. Night.

When pumpkins mysteriously begin attacking people and children go missing, Billy and Amanda are positive it's tied to Mr. Night and his new antique bookstore that's filled with strange spell books and spiders. Unfortunately, no one will believe them.

With Halloween threatened and the lives of their friends in danger, it's up to Billy and Amanda to figure out what's going on, and save their favorite holiday before it's too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gemineo
• Release date: Sep 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386091257

M. R. James

Montague Rhodes James was born in 1862 at Goodnestone Parsonage, Kent, where his father was a curate, but the family moved soon afterwards to Great Livermere in Suffolk. James attended Eton College and later King's College Cambridge where he won many awards and scholarships. From 1894 to 1908 he was Director of the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge and from 1905 to 1918 was Provost of King's College. In 1913, he became Vice-Chancellor of the University for two years. In 1918 he was installed as Provost of Eton. A distinguished medievalist and scholar of international status, James published many works on biblical and historical antiquarian subjects. He was awarded the Order of Merit in 1930. His ghost story writing began almost as a divertissement from his academic work and as a form of entertainment for his colleagues. His first collection, Ghost Stories of an Antiquary was published in 1904. He never married and died in 1936.

Book preview

THE

HALLOWEEN

CURSE

M.R. JAMES

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The Halloween Curse

Copyright © 2013 M.R. James

Published by Gemineo

All rights reserved.

By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, compiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the expressed written permission of M.R. James.

- 1 -

Bethany Little placed her small hands on the kitchen table and with her big, brown eyes, gazed upon the pumpkin her father bought for her.

It was a pumpkin like any other. Big, orange, and round. Plump, you could say. But to Bethany, it wasn’t just any old pumpkin. It was the first one she was helping her father carve. Ever.

Halloween was just a week away and she had been bugging him day in and day out to buy a pumpkin so she could watch him carve it, but he surprised her this year and said she would get to help.

At first she was scared. She didn’t know if she had the confidence to hold a knife and cut into anything, let alone a pumpkin. Her father told her that she wouldn’t be using a knife, though. Not only did he buy the pumpkin for Bethany, but he also bought a small, child-safe carving tool made especially for kids between the ages of eight and twelve so they wouldn’t cut themselves.

Bethany was nine.

Her face lit up when he told her this, and then it was time to carve the pumpkin.

I’ll cut the top off first, and then you can help me pull the guts out, her father said. He was a short, stocky man who sort of resembled a pumpkin himself. Round in the middle, with very little hair on top that sometimes stuck up when he ran his hand through it.

Bethany cringed at the word guts. Although she had watched him year after year carve a pumpkin on his own, she never dared to touch any of the guts, as he called them.

She had her own word for the wet, sloshy insides of the pumpkin that contained the seeds..

Brains.

They were gooey and sticky and smelled weird. Like dirty feet soaked in sour milk.

She took a deep, determined breath. Bethany wanted to show her father that she was a big girl now, and that handling a few pumpkin brains was no problem, though on the inside she was secretly dreading the experience.

She watched as her father plunged his knife into the top of the pumpkin and began carving a hole. He was wearing a short sleeved shirt and she could see his muscles working hard to keep the knife steady.

This part’s always the hardest, he said, grinding his teeth together until the knife was all the way around. There, he gasped. Done.

He clutched the stem in his hand and started pulling. There was a loud, sucking sound when the top pulled off and Bethany giggled. It reminded her of the toy dart gun she used to shoot at the wall, and the sound the suction cups made when she pulled them loose.

Okay, honey, her father said. Dig in.

He reached his hand in first and scooped out a handful of guts, dropping them on the newspaper that covered the kitchen table. Then he tilted the pumpkin so that Bethany could put her hand in.

It’s okay, he said. They won’t bite.

She rolled up the sleeves on her sweater until they were just past her elbows, and tucked a few strands of her long, blonde hair behind her ears.

Here goes nothing, she thought, and then counted down.

Five…four…three…two…one!

Her arm darted forward and she plunged her hand deep inside the pumpkin. It was wet and cold and her fingers felt around before grasping onto the brains and tugging. They squished through her fingers, coating them in slime, as she tore at the stringy membranes. She finally separated some from the pumpkin and dropped them onto the newspaper, looking at her father. He was smiling at her.

Very good, Bethany. I’m so proud of you, he said.

Thanks, Dad, she replied sheepishly.

In all honesty, it wasn’t that bad. Certainly not as bad as she imagined it would be. Yeah, the pumpkin guts felt weird in her hand, but her father was right: they didn’t bite her.

She stuck out her chin and reached inside to pull out some more, feeling quite good about herself for facing her fears, and doing something she had never done before.

Together Bethany and her father cleaned out the entire inside of the pumpkin until it was completely hollowed out and the brains lay scattered across the table. Later they’d pick out all the seeds, clean them, place them on a baking sheet, sprinkle them with a bit of salt, and roast them in the oven to eat. That was her favorite part of the pumpkin, though carving it was becoming a close second.

Time to draw the face, her father said. He handed her a black magic marker. You do the honors this year.

Bethany popped the cap to the marker and looked at the pumpkin, trying to visualize in her mind what sort of face she wanted it to have. She drew a large mouth with sharp, vampire-like teeth, and rectangle eyes along with a triangle nose.

I think that might be the scariest face I’ve ever seen on a pumpkin, her father said seriously.

Bethany, thinking that she might have done something wrong, hung her head in shame.

It’s wonderful, she heard her dad say.

She looked up and saw that he was smiling a big, toothy grin and that made her laugh. He was just joking around with her like he always did.

Okay, I’ll get the mouth started and then you can take over with your carving tool.

He cut into the pumpkin and began tracing the knife around the face Bethany made, and when he got enough of a head start he handed her the pumpkin and she picked up her carving tool to take over where he left off.

She carefully sliced her way through the orange shell, being extra cautious to follow the lines she made so that it wouldn’t look weird and lopsided when they were finished.

That’s it, her dad encouraged. Very nice. Keep going. Carve around the teeth.

Bethany steadied her hand for the last bit. A bead of sweat dripped down her temple. Carving a pumpkin was hard work and she exhausted a lot of her energy trying to cut through it all. Finally she got to the end, which was where her father started, and let out a long sigh.

Her father patted her on the back and poked his finger at the mouth. The piece they had just cut fell into the pumpkin and he reached inside to pull it out. Bethany looked at the mouth she had carved. It was perfect. A smiling grin with sharp teeth, but not too sharp. Pumpkin teeth were never sharp. They just looked that way. The edges were too dull to actually cut you, but it still looked pretty scary.

Want me to do the rest? her father asked.

Can I do one of the eyes last? Bethany asked.

Of course you can, honey. Just take a break and catch your breath, You can watch me for a bit and then I’ll let you do the last eyeball.

She sat back in her seat and looked on while her dad carved out the triangle nose, and one of the rectangle eyes she had drawn. Not more than a few minutes had passed and already it was her turn again. He deposited the carved-out pieces on the newspaper and handed her her tool.

Last one, he said. I’m going to go rinse off the knife while you do the eye.

Bethany took her carving tool and moved the chair closer to the table. She felt proud that her father trusted her enough to carve out the last piece without any supervision, and she wanted to do a good job.

She stared at the pumpkin for a moment. It surprised her how scary it looked with its sharp (but not too sharp) teeth, nose, and one eye carved out. It looked back at her and suddenly Bethany felt very cold. Like someone had opened a window to let the cool, fall breeze blow through the house, but her father was at the sink, rinsing off the knife. She could hear the water running.

Bethany reached out her fingers and traced around the nose, eye, and finally the mouth. She felt the shell against her skin. It was cold and hard, and no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t look away from the pumpkin. Goosebumps rose up on her arms and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She didn’t feel too good about carving it herself anymore, but before she could tell her father that, the pumpkin bit her!

Ouch! Bethany cried. She quickly drew back her hand and saw a tiny spot of blood on the end of her finger, like it had been pricked with a needle. She scowled at the pumpkin and knocked it off the table.

Her father rushed back to where she was sitting and saw the mess. What happened? he asked.

Daddy, it bit me! she yelled. The pumpkin bit me!

Her father saw the blood pooling on the end of her finger and jumped to get a paper towel.

Tears formed at the corners of Bethany’s eyes. Her finger really hurt.

Here we go, her dad said, wrapping the paper towel around her wound. You must have cut yourself on the carving tool. I’m going to have words with that company. It’s supposed to be childproof.

It wasn’t the carving tool, Bethany protested. It was the pumpkin.

Come on, honey, he said, hoisting her out of the chair and into his arms. Don’t be silly. Pumpkins can’t bite you. Let’s go get a band-aid to put on your finger.

He carried her out of the kitchen and Bethany looked at