The Missing SKull

When I got home that night, I noticed the smiling jack-o-lantern in my front yard was crushed. The skull on the skeleton beside it went missing too. “No…” Over the decades, our family has followed a tradition.

Ravens and vultures—aloft shortly before.

Jack-o-lantern harvested up west terrain.

Real skeleton, with eerie secrets hidden.

Conjuring Halloween night—luminous and ghastly.

But this time, tradition wasn’t the only reason that fuels the rage in me. “I am Bob and I have to find the skull”. While I searched for the skull, memories flew back to the days of Halloween. For years, I had gotten my supplies from the same place. Down the stream, in the west, there was a farm of pumpkins—right for the tradition. The family that farms on the land had too many mouths to feed—little guilt to feel. Perfect. So, once Jim kept Jack-o-lantern company, next time it was Lucy, next Jasper. It was that time of the year again, and I went on a hunt. I wanted to pick Fernandez this time—their newborn. “It isn’t in the front. Damn. Where could it go?”

I picked their pumpkins as I always do: arriving a day early, waiting till night falls, and plucking the one that I liked the most. But the skeleton needed planning. I had to wait till everyone fell asleep. The strategy was to make no noise and get the job done. Sneaking an infant out was tough, yet I tried. Just when I slipped the baby out from under her mother’s hand, the infant cried, waking up the house. I disappeared into the woods, spinning on my black clock. A trick I learned to escape as a child. “Bloody hell, where could it have gone? Maybe inside the home?” On the way home, I promised the hovering vultures a successful hunt next time. Soon, the forest lit up with fire and I was blinded by the smoke. A heavy thing knocked me to the ground from behind. “Maybe in the backyard?”

The burning afternoon sun woke me up. I could feel the ambiance; it was almost Halloween time. I lift myself, leaving behind the torn clock. I stumbled while I walked. I had to stop often to rest. “Okay, Jack-o-lantern is broke; that means a high chance something happened around it, or maybe the skull dropped on it. I will have to check it.”

I reached home exhausted and weak. In the front yard, I see Jack-o-lantern in his usual location—smiling straight at me. I didn’t do it. I am Bob, an unwanted orphan. I had no one to do it for me. “Where is it? the bush? under the mud ? heap of leaves?” I snapped my weak fingers, and the Jack-o-lantern was lit. I smiled with the joy of my magic, but the visibility jolted my soul. I lifted my head, and there was a skeleton hanging beside the Jack-o-lantern to the tree. I didn’t get it, but I recognized it.

“Got you. Here you are. Stuck in the pothole, soaked in water.”

Because that’s me. I... I am D...

“Let’s get you cleaned, Bob.”