majority of the space was given over to pumpkins. Scads of pumpkins. Oceans of pumpkins. Pumpkins galore.
There were so many pumpkins I couldn’t find the drive that led back to the house. I could see a light on the porch and one inside the house. But I couldn’t figure out how to drive back there. I honked the van’s horn, thinking it might bring Silas out onto the porch, but there was no reaction.
“I’ll just have to walk,” I said aloud. I dug my big square flashlight out of the bin under the passenger’s seat, got out, and started picking my way through the pumpkins. It was quiet, since Haven Road doesn’t lead to anything but a bunch of summer cottages, and nearly all of those would be empty in mid-October. The interstate was only a few hundred yards away, true, but the trees still had enough leaves to hide the lights of the cars and trucks passing. The traffic sounds were loud, but the silence at Silas Snow’s farm soaked them up like a blotter. I told myself that it wasn’t really spooky, despite the way my imagination magnified every sound.
I had to keep the beam of the flash right where I was stepping, of course, since I didn’t want to break either a pumpkin or my leg. This meant I was keeping my head down and concentrating on the ground right in front of my feet, but periodically I did a sweep of the pumpkin patch, planning a route.
I wasn’t making very fast progress, but I eventually got around behind the fruit stand, with the building between me and the road. It was at that point that my flashlight swept over a huge heap of pumpkins. Some of them were smashed.
“Oh!” I guess I said it aloud. “The trespassers have been back!”
After seeing those broken pumpkins, I couldn’t deny the spookiness of the situation. If Silas Snow was lying in wait for the treasure hunters who’d been trespassing on his property, I was in danger of getting hit by that shotgun blast he’d promised them. Or I might run into the trespassers themselves, and that wasn’t a happy idea.
The Snow farm was not a good place to be in the dark, when neither Silas nor I could see what was going on. I decided I’d better wait until the next day to ask Mr. Snow for Aubrey Andrews Armstrong’s business card. I began to turn around, ready to pick my way back through that sea of pumpkins and head for home.
But my flashlight’s beam danced over something that wasn’t round and that wasn’t orange. It definitely wasn’t a pumpkin. I moved the beam back to get a better look.
It was blue and oblong and it was sticking out of the heap of pumpkins. And there was something brown on the end of it. I had to concentrate for a long moment before my eyes made the object take a recognizable form.
It was the leg of a pair of blue jeans, and a brown workboot was sticking out the end of it.
“Scarecrow,” I said, my voice a whisper. “It’s got to be one of those scarecrows.”
But what if it wasn’t a scarecrow? I couldn’t leave without making sure.
I tiptoed through more pumpkins, pushing some aside. Then I knelt beside the leg. I had to touch it. Thank God I was wearing gloves, I thought. Then I realized that was the dumbest thought I’d had in a long time. All I could touch was a boot.
I forced myself to reach out, and I nudged the boot. It moved, just a little. But it didn’t move like a scarecrow’s foot. It moved like a human foot attached to a very weak ankle.
I didn’t scream, though I’m not sure why I didn’t. I played the beam of the flashlight around, and now I saw something else sticking out of the heap of pumpkins.
It was a hand. A gnarled, dirty hand—the hand of a farmer who’d been working hard all his life.
Someone was buried under that heap of pumpkins.
Could that person be alive? I pulled my glove off, reached over, and touched the hand. It didn’t respond to my touch, and it was cold.
I don’t know if I smashed any pumpkins or not, but I ran all the way back to the van.
Chapter 5
O
There were so many pumpkins I couldn’t find the drive that led back to the house. I could see a light on the porch and one inside the house. But I couldn’t figure out how to drive back there. I honked the van’s horn, thinking it might bring Silas out onto the porch, but there was no reaction.
“I’ll just have to walk,” I said aloud. I dug my big square flashlight out of the bin under the passenger’s seat, got out, and started picking my way through the pumpkins. It was quiet, since Haven Road doesn’t lead to anything but a bunch of summer cottages, and nearly all of those would be empty in mid-October. The interstate was only a few hundred yards away, true, but the trees still had enough leaves to hide the lights of the cars and trucks passing. The traffic sounds were loud, but the silence at Silas Snow’s farm soaked them up like a blotter. I told myself that it wasn’t really spooky, despite the way my imagination magnified every sound.
I had to keep the beam of the flash right where I was stepping, of course, since I didn’t want to break either a pumpkin or my leg. This meant I was keeping my head down and concentrating on the ground right in front of my feet, but periodically I did a sweep of the pumpkin patch, planning a route.
I wasn’t making very fast progress, but I eventually got around behind the fruit stand, with the building between me and the road. It was at that point that my flashlight swept over a huge heap of pumpkins. Some of them were smashed.
“Oh!” I guess I said it aloud. “The trespassers have been back!”
After seeing those broken pumpkins, I couldn’t deny the spookiness of the situation. If Silas Snow was lying in wait for the treasure hunters who’d been trespassing on his property, I was in danger of getting hit by that shotgun blast he’d promised them. Or I might run into the trespassers themselves, and that wasn’t a happy idea.
The Snow farm was not a good place to be in the dark, when neither Silas nor I could see what was going on. I decided I’d better wait until the next day to ask Mr. Snow for Aubrey Andrews Armstrong’s business card. I began to turn around, ready to pick my way back through that sea of pumpkins and head for home.
But my flashlight’s beam danced over something that wasn’t round and that wasn’t orange. It definitely wasn’t a pumpkin. I moved the beam back to get a better look.
It was blue and oblong and it was sticking out of the heap of pumpkins. And there was something brown on the end of it. I had to concentrate for a long moment before my eyes made the object take a recognizable form.
It was the leg of a pair of blue jeans, and a brown workboot was sticking out the end of it.
“Scarecrow,” I said, my voice a whisper. “It’s got to be one of those scarecrows.”
But what if it wasn’t a scarecrow? I couldn’t leave without making sure.
I tiptoed through more pumpkins, pushing some aside. Then I knelt beside the leg. I had to touch it. Thank God I was wearing gloves, I thought. Then I realized that was the dumbest thought I’d had in a long time. All I could touch was a boot.
I forced myself to reach out, and I nudged the boot. It moved, just a little. But it didn’t move like a scarecrow’s foot. It moved like a human foot attached to a very weak ankle.
I didn’t scream, though I’m not sure why I didn’t. I played the beam of the flashlight around, and now I saw something else sticking out of the heap of pumpkins.
It was a hand. A gnarled, dirty hand—the hand of a farmer who’d been working hard all his life.
Someone was buried under that heap of pumpkins.
Could that person be alive? I pulled my glove off, reached over, and touched the hand. It didn’t respond to my touch, and it was cold.
I don’t know if I smashed any pumpkins or not, but I ran all the way back to the van.
Chapter 5
O
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