TheNightofoftheJack-o’-Lantern

“Pleasepassthetommy-toes,”saidRamona,hopingtomakesomeoneinthefamilysmile.Shefeltgoodwhenherfathersmiledashepassedherthebowlofstewedtomatoes.Hesmiledlessandlessasthedayswentbyandhehadnotfoundwork.Toooftenhewasjustplaincross.Ramonahadlearnednottorushhomefromschoolandask,“Didyoufindajobtoday,Daddy?”Mrs.

Quimbyalwaysseemedtolookanxiousthesedays,eitheroverthecostofgroceriesormoneythefamilyowed.Beezushadturnedintoaregularoldgrouch,becauseshedreadedCreativeWritingandperhapsbecauseshehadreachedthatdifficultageMrs.Quimbywasalwaystalkingabout,althoughRamonafoundthishardtobelieve.EvenPicky-pickywasnothimself.HelashedhistailandstalkedangrilyawayfromhisdishwhenBeezusservedhimPuss-puddy,thecheapestbrandofcatfoodMrs.Quimbycouldfindinthemarket.AllthisworriedRamona.Shewantedherfathertosmileandjoke,hermothertolookhappy,hersistertobecheerful,andPickypickytoeathisfood,washhiswhiskers,andpurrthewayheusedto.“Andso,”Mr.Quimbywassaying,“attheendoftheinterviewforthejob,themansaidhewouldletmeknowifanythingturnedup.”50

Mrs.Quimbysighed.“Let’shopeyouhearfromhim.Oh,bytheway,thecarhasbeenmakingafunnynoise.Asortoftappetytappetysound.”“It’sMurphy’sLaw,”saidMr.Quimby.“Anythingthatcangowrongwill.”Ramonaknewherfatherwasnotjokingthistime.Lastweek,whenthewashingmachinerefusedtowork,theQuimbyshadbeenhorrifiedbythesizeoftherepairbill.“Iliketommy-toes,”saidRamona,hopingherlittlejokewouldworkasecondtime.Thiswasnotexactlytrue,butshewaswillingtosacrificetruthforasmile.Sincenoonepaidanyattention,Ramonaspokelouderassheliftedthebowlofstewedtomatoes.“Doesanybodywantanytommytoes?”sheasked.Thebowltipped.Mrs.Quimbysilentlyreachedoverandwipedspilledjuicefromthetablewithhernapkin.Crestfallen,Ramonasetthebowldown.Noonehadsmiled.“Ramona,”saidMr.Quimby,“mygrandmotherusedtohaveasaying.‘Firsttimeisfunny,secondtimeissilly,thirdtimeisaspanking.’”Ramonalookeddownatherplacemat.Nothingseemedtogorightlately.Picky-pickymusthavefeltthesameway.HesatdownbesideBeezusandmeowedhiscrossestmeow.Mr.Quimbylitacigaretteandaskedhisolderdaughter,“Haven’tyoufedthatcatyet?”Beezusrosetoclearthetable.“Itwouldn’tdoanygood.Hehasn’teatenhisbreakfast.Hewon’teatthatcheapPuss-puddy.”“Toobadabouthim.”Mr.Quimbyblewacloudofsmoketowardtheceiling.“Hegoesnextdoorandmewsasifwenevergivehimanythingtoeat,”saidBeezus.“It’sembarrassing.”“He’lljusthavetolearntoeatwhatwecanafford,”saidMr.Quimby.“Orwewillgetridofhim.”ThisstatementshockedRamona.Pickypickyhadbeenamemberofthefamilysincebeforeshewasborn.“Well,Idon’tblamehim,”saidBeezus,pickingupthecatandpressinghercheekagainsthisfur.“Puss-puddystinks.”Mr.Quimbygroundouthiscigarette.“Guesswhat?”saidMrs.Quimby,asiftochangethesubject.“Howie’sgrandmotherdroveouttovisithersister,wholivesonafarm,andhersistersentinalotofpumpkinsforjack-o’-lanternsfortheneighborhoodchildren.Mrs.Kempgaveusabigone,andit’sdowninthebasementnow,waitingtobecarved.“Me!Me!”criedRamona.“Letmegetit!”“Let’sgiveitarealscaryface,”saidBeezus,nolongerdifficult.“I’llhavetosharpenmyknife,”saidMr.Quimby.“Runalongandbringitup,Ramona,”saidMrs.Quimbywitharealsmile.RelieffloodedthroughRamona.Herfamilyhadreturnedtonormal.Shesnappedonthebasementlight,thumpeddownthestairs,andthereintheshadowofthefurnacepipes,whichreachedoutlikeghostlyarms,wasabig,roundpumpkin.Ramonagraspeditsscratchystem,foundthepumpkintoobigtoliftthatway,bentover,huggeditinbotharms,andraiseditfromthecementfloor.Thepumpkinwasheavierthanshehadexpected,andshemustnotletitdropandsmashallovertheconcretefloor.“Needsomehelp,Ramona?”

Mrs.Quimbycalleddownthestairs.“Icandoit.”Ramonafeltforeachstepwithherfeetandemerged,victorious,intothekitchen.“Wow!Thatisabigone.”Mr.QuimbywassharpeninghisjackknifeonawhetstonewhileBeezusandhermotherhurriedthroughthedishes.“Apumpkinthatsizewouldcostalotatthemarket,”Mrs.Quimbyremarked.“Acoupleofdollars,atleast.”“Let’sgiveiteyebrowslikelastyear,”saidRamona.“Andears,”saidBeezus.“Andlotsofteeth,”addedRamona.Therewouldbenojack-o’-lanternwithonetoothandthreetrianglesforeyesandnoseintheQuimbys’frontwindowonHalloween.Mr.QuimbywasthebestpumpkincarveronKlickitatStreet.Everybodyknewthat.“Hmm.Let’sseenow.”Mr.Quimbystudiedthepumpkin,turningittofindthebestsidefortheface.“Ithinkthenoseshouldgoabouthere.Withapencilhesketchedanose-shapednose,notatriangle,whilehisdaughtersleanedontheirelbowstowatch.“Shallwehaveitsmileorfrown?”heasked.“Smile!”saidRamona,whohadhadenoughoffrowning.“Frown!”saidBeezus.Themouthturnedupononesideanddownontheother.Eyesweresketchedandeyebrows.“Veryexpressive,”saidMr.Quimby.“Somethingbetweenaleerandasneer.”Hecutacirclearoundthetopofthepumpkinandlifteditoffforalid.Withoutbeingasked,Ramonafoundabigspoonforscoopingouttheseeds.Picky-pickycameintothekitchentoseeifsomethingbesidePuss-puddyhadbeenplacedinhisdish.Whenhefoundthatithadnot,hepaused,sniffedtheunfamiliarpumpkinsmell,andwithhistailtwitchingangrilystalkedoutofthekitchen.RamonawasgladBeezusdidnotnotice.“Ifwedon’tletthecandleburnthejacko’-lantern,wecanhavepumpkinpie,”saidMrs.Quimby.“IcanevenfreezesomeofthepumpkinforThanksgiving.”Mr.Quimbybegantowhistleashecarvedwithskillandcare,firstamouthfulofteeth,eachoneneatandsquare,theneyesandjagged,ferociouseyebrows.Hewasworkingontwoearsshapedlikequestionmarks,whenMrs.Quimbysaid,“Bedtime,Ramona.”“IamgoingtostayupuntilDaddyfinishes,”Ramonainformedherfamily.“Noifs,ands,orbuts.”

“Runalongandtakeyourbath,”saidMrs.Quimby,“andyoucanwatchawhilelonger.”Becauseherfamilywashappyoncemore,Ramonadidnotprotest.Shereturnedquickly,however,stilldampunderherpajamas,toseewhatherfatherhadthoughtofnext.Hair,that’swhathehadthoughtof,somethinghecouldcarvebecausethepumpkinwassobig.HecutafewC-shapedcurlsaroundtheholeinthetopofthepumpkinbeforehereachedinsideandhollowedoutacandleholderinthebottom.“There,”hesaidandrinsedhisjackknifeunderthekitchenfaucet.“Aworkofart.”Mrs.Quimbyfoundacandlestub,inserteditinthepumpkin,litit,andsetthelidinplace.Ramonaswitchedoffthelight.Thejack-o’-lanternleeredandsneeredwithaflickeringflame.“Oh,Daddy!”Ramonathrewherarmsaroundherfather.“It’sthewickedestjacko’-lanterninthewholeworld.”Mr.QuimbykissedthetopofRamona’shead.“Thankyou.Itakethatasacompliment.Nowrunalongtobed.”Ramonacouldtellbythesoundofherfather’svoicethathewassmiling.Sheranofftoherroomwithoutthinkingupexcusesforstayingupjustfivemoreminutes,addedapostscripttoherprayersthankingGodforthebigpumpkin,andanotheraskinghimtofindherfatherajob,andfellasleepatonce,notbotheringtotuckherpandabearinbesideherforcomfort.InthemiddleofthenightRamonafoundherselfsuddenlyawakewithoutknowingwhyshewasawake.Hadsheheardanoise?Yes,shehad.Tense,shelistenedhard.Thereitwasagain,asortofthumping,scufflingnoise,notveryloudbuttherejustthesame.Silence.Thenshehearditagain.Insidethehouse.Inthekitchen.Somethingwasinthekitchen,anditwasmoving.Ramona’smouthwassodryshecouldbarelywhisper,“Daddy!”Noanswer.Morethumping.Someonebumpedagainstthewall.Someone,somethingwascomingtogetthem.Ramonathoughtabouttheleering,sneeringfaceonthekitchentable.Alltheghoststoriesshehadeverheard,alltheghostlypicturesshehadeverseenflewthroughhermind.Couldthejack-o’-lanternhavecometolife?Ofcoursenot.Itwasonlyapumpkin,butstill—Abodyless,leeringheadwastoohorrifyingtothinkabout.Ramonasatupinbedandshrieked,“Daddy!”Alightcameoninherparents’room,feetthumpedtothefloor,Ramona’stousledfatherinrumpledpajamaswassilhouettedinRamona’sdoorway,followedbyhermothertuggingarobeonoverhershortnightgown.“Whatisit,Baby?”askedMr.Quimby.BothRamona’sparentscalledherBabywhentheywereworriedabouther,andtonightRamonawassorelievedtoseethemshedidnotmind.“Wasitabaddream?”askedMrs.Quimby.“Th-there’ssomethinginthekitchen.”Ramona’svoicequavered.Beezus,onlyhalf-awake,joinedthefamily.“What’shappening?”sheasked.“What’sgoingon?”“There’ssomethinginthekitchen,”saidRamona,feelingbraver.“Somethingmoving.”“Sh-h!”commandedMr.Quimby.Tense,thefamilylistenedtosilence.“Youjusthadabaddream.”Mrs.Quimbycameintotheroom,kissedRamona,andstartedtotuckherin.

Ramonapushedtheblanketaway.“Itwasnotabaddream,”sheinsisted.“Ididtoohearsomething.Somethingspooky.”“Allwehavetodoislook,”saidMr.Quimby,reasonably—andbravely,Ramonathought.Nobodywouldgetherintothatkitchen.Ramonawaited,scarcelybreathing,fearingforherfather’ssafetyashewalkeddownthehallandflippedonthekitchenlight.Noshout,noyellcamefromthatpartofthehouse.Insteadherfatherlaughed,andRamonafeltbraveenoughtofollowtherestofthefamilytoseewhatwasfunny.Therewasastrongsmellofcatfoodinthekitchen.WhatRamonasaw,andwhatBeezussaw,didnotstrikethemasonebitfunny.Theirjack-o’-lantern,thejack-o’lanterntheirfatherhadworkedsohardtocarve,nolongerhadawholeface.Partofitsforehead,oneferociouseyebrow,oneeye,andpartofitsnoseweregone,replacedbyajaggedholeedgedbylittleteethmarks.Picky-pickywascrouchedinguiltunderthekitchentable.Thenerveofthatcat.“Badcat!Badcat!”shriekedRamona,stampingherbarefootonthecoldlinoleum.Theoldyellowcatfledtothediningroom,wherehecrouchedunderthetable,hiseyesglitteringoutofthedarkness.Mrs.Quimbylaughedasmallruefullaugh.“Iknewhelikedcanteloupe,butIhadnoideahelikedpumpkin,too.”Withabutcher’sknifeshebegantocutuptheremainsofthejack-o’-lantern,carefullyremoving,Ramonanoticed,thepartswithteethmarks.“Itoldyouhewouldn’teatthatawfulPuss-puddy.”Beezuswasaccusingherfatherofdenyingtheircat.“Ofcoursehehadtoeatourjack-o’-lantern.He’sstarving.”“Beezus,dear,”saidMrs.Quimby.“WesimplycannotaffordthebrandoffoodPickypickyusedtoeat.Nowbereasonable.”Beezuswasinnomoodtobereasonable.

“ThenhowcomeDaddycanaffordtosmoke?”shedemandedtoknow.Ramonawasastonishedtohearhersisterspeakthiswaytohermother.Mr.Quimbylookedangry.“Younglady,”hesaid,andwhenhecalledBeezusyounglady,Ramonaknewhersisterhadbetterwatchout.“Younglady,I’veheardenoughaboutthatoldtomcatandhisfood.Mycigarettesarenoneofyourbusiness.”RamonaexpectedBeezustosayshewassorryormaybeburstintotearsandruntoherroom.InsteadshepulledPicky-pickyoutfromunderthetableandheldhimtoherchestasifshewereshieldinghimfromdanger.“Theyaretoomybusiness,”sheinformedherfather.“Cigarettescankillyou.Yourlungswillturnblackandyou’lldie!Wemadepostersaboutitatschool.Andbesides,cigarettespollutetheair!”Ramonawashorrifiedbyhersister’sdaring,andatthesametimeshewasatinybitpleased.Beezuswasusuallywell-behavedwhileRamonawastheonewhohadtantrums.Thenshewasstruckbythemeaningofhersister’sangrywordsandwasfrightened.“That’senoughoutofyou,”Mr.QuimbytoldBeezus,“andletmeremindyouthatifyouhadshutthatcatinthebasementasyouweresupposedto,thiswouldneverhavehappened.”Mrs.Quimbyquietlystowedtheremainsofthejack-o’-lanterninaplasticbagintherefrigerator.BeezusopenedthebasementdoorandgentlysetPicky-pickyonthetopstep.“Nighty-night,”shesaidtenderly.“Younglady,”beganMr.Quimby.Youngladyagain!NowBeezuswasreallygoingtocatchit.“Youaregettingaltogethertoobigforyourbritcheslately.Justbecarefulhowyoutalkaroundthishouse.”StillBeezusdidnotsayshewassorry.Shedidnotburstintotears.Shesimplystalkedofftoherroom.Ramonawastheonewhoburstintotears.Shedidn’tmindwhensheandBeezusquarreled.Sheevenenjoyedagoodfightnowandthentocleartheair,butshecouldnotbearitwhenanyoneelseinthefamilyquarreled,andthoseawfulthingsBeezussaid—weretheytrue?“Don’tcry,Ramona.”Mrs.Quimbyputherarmaroundheryoungerdaughter.“We’llgetanotherpumpkin.”“B-butitwon’tbeas