Pumpkin's Dance

[stevensenechal]

Though NOT an entry for the Halloween Quicksand Story Contest, this is a short Halloween story...enjoy.

Pumpkin's Dance

The baleful, orange glow cast from between eyes and teeth flickered and danced upon the quiet mire, barely brighter than the silvery light of the crescent moon on this final October's night, an orange luminescence like that which is cast from a flame but no candle was present within the hollow confines of the immense pumpkin hovering a few feet above the mire. As if searching the bottomless pits and pools, twin beams from carved eyes panned to and fro, searching. Moonlight competed with the inner fire giving the great, bloated orb an otherworldly glow in the darkness. As the pumpkin drifted and bobbed, it's shadow dragged over the pools of quicksand between grassy islands and hummocks, a round blackness swallowing features in the darkness. As it searched, other orange glows appeared in the distance, first one, then a second, then others. As they approached, slits for eyes, nose, mouth became discernable, others of it's kind. They to glowed from within with the preternatural orange light of this auspicious night, a night coming once a year for past hundreds.

They approached the large pumpkin and in silent acknowledgement joined it's deliberate search of the quaking pools. Sad carved visages joined with fiendish slashed grins and unhappy, menacing smiles as their solemn quest continued slowly throught the swampy night. A large, smooth expanse of undisturbed quicksand became dotted with shadows as the otherworldly procession continued it's fateful flight. The lights from a distant town, the pale glow from streetlamps, automobiles and marquees did not reach the mire. Only cold moonlight illuminated the surrounding fens. The pumpkins hovered, congregating above the mire and circled slowly as the larger pumpkin seemed to pause over this deep, deadly pit. Round and rimmed with sparse strands of hardy, coarse grasses and tufts of damp, mottled moss, the quicksand pool warmed with the fiery glow from it's nocturnal visitors.

As the strange, orbiting dance continued, circular rings began to form on the surface of the bog. At first they were tiny waves, eminating from a central point and spreading outward in even, deliberate, undulating pulses. Then, the quicksand at the center of the pool began to rise and fall with the erratic bouncing of a quaking trampoline. Crests and troughs formed in the orange light and the taller of the neighboring grasses and rushes waved in unison, mute audience to the spectral ballet. The pit became a wild, dancing cauldron as waves of heavy mud jumped and bulged causing the hummocks to ride a stormy sea of sand. Then there was nothing. The pit became still and the floating orbs ceased their circling. Orange light flickered from dozens of transfixed, smiling faces as the pumpkins hovered silently...then a hand appeared at the pit's center.

It was a slender, female hand thrust up from deep below, reaching with outstretched fingers into the moonlight as if tasting the cool freedom of the night air for the first time. The fingers curled downward, grasping the yielding quicksand in their desperate grip as a second slender hand appeared, it too clawing at the smooth surface. Alternately, each reached and grasped franticly as the unseen owner struggled below the surface in a pitiful swimming motion which gained no headway in the indifferent liquid. Finally, a face breached the surface with a deep exhalation as lungs exploded with stale air and drank in the cool night. The face was white with terror, plastered with ooze and matted black hair, fine, delicate features covered with rivulets of quicksand from the silky prison below.

Frantic panting echoed through the mire as the woman struggled, eyes shut tight in the orange glow of her floating audience. The pumpkins japed and smiled, frowned and grimaced in flickering indifference as she groped for solid ground, unaware of their silent presence. Frail shoulders appeared as the woman crawled and clawed at the mire, trying to seek purchase while each desperate breath accompanied a terrified moan. Slowly, terribly, she pulled herself along the surface of the quaking pit, soaked animal skins, the remnants of clothing, barely covered her sinewy, muscular form. Firm glutes and thighs worked themselves free of the clinging mud and flexed as she writhed on the surface of the pool, desperate to find firmness. She wiped the muck from her eyes.

Firey light cast upon grassy islands before her caused the woman to renew her struggle. She pushed upwards with her arms in a bid to stand but her haunches dissappeared below the surface as the pit began to reclaim her. The woman screamed as she realized her mistake, struggling wildly as the undulating blanket crawled up her back. Again, she stretched herself upon the surface and slowly pulled along with her tired arms. She kicked her calves free of the sand and reached again for the grassy outcroppings. Outstretched fingers touched course vegetation and she grasped the tough grasses with ebbing strength and hoarse gasps from her tired lungs. Pulling herself upon the small patch of ground, she rolled over, her legs came free with sucking sounds as the mire reluctantly gave her one last caress. She gazed up at the night.

The stars were familiar, tracing the night sky as they had for aeons, they winked and shimmered in the waning moonlight. Her breathing became slower and she began to shiver as the cold night air chilled the slimy residue upon her body. The vestiges of her clothing could not keep the cold at bay. Shards of animal skin and fur were all that remained of her attire and provided scant covering in the chill night. Then she saw them. The pumpkins floated nearby, mute witnesses to her victory over the clutching mire and she recoiled at the sight of the hovering orbs. Scrambling to her feet, she lurched forward, stumbling on the boggy ground. Coarse shards of vegetation slashed her legs and cut the soles of her feet as she weaved through the mire, blindly seeking escape from the misty warren of deep pools. The pumpkins did not follow, this night's work was finished.

The woman stumbled frequently, at times narrowly avoiding another deep death trap as she navigated the marsh. The landscape, barely discernable in the darkness, was vaguely familiar and she longed to find the path which led away from the swamp, the path back to her village and the warm firelight of her home. She scanned the darkened horizon and discerned many cool lights, searchers perhaps? Her breathing quickened as she ran and she trembled both from the cold and the uncertainty in the pit of her stomach which told her something was wrong. She ran, desperate to find her village but, unknown to her it had vanished some five thousand years ago.
Now there was only the pale glow from streetlamps, automobiles and marquees...

[PM2K]

Sorry to have overlooked this... a great tale indeed! Love the mood!

[jack c]

Neat story idea, and well written, as usual for you.