Katie Pumpkinhead’s Pumpkin Patch

 I think I've always believed in ghosts. From monsters under the bed, to energies in particular spaces.  I've seen things. I've felt things. Some people believe it and some don't, and that's of no real concern to me. You can invalidate the existence of ghosts in the spiritual sense all you want; maybe it's hard to prove, for some people. Maybe it really can all be explained away, if you want it to be. Need it to be. But ghosts can exist in other forms as well. I think that most buildings are haunted. Not all in the traditional ghostly sense, but by the ghosts of what they once were, and memories left imprinted by the people who made them that way. As I walk through the corridors of an old hotel, one I knew long ago as a place where many prestigious events were held, the ghosts call loudly to me from every corner . The halls now house people on budgets; perhaps even those with nowhere else to go. The outside is overgrown; only a gazebo and an ornate gate to nowhe...

  Many years ago, there was no 'Halloween Community', as we now know it.  There were only us, the children drifting like dry, wayward leaves in a cool breeze, never quite knowing where to land. We were the children whose friends looked at them strangely when we said our favorite holiday wasn't Christmas. We were the children who were called 'creepy' because we preferred ghost stories to fairy tales. If you were one of these children, one of us, you know. Me, personally? I was the little girl who cried when Halloween ended and never brightened at the mention of Christmas on the horizon. I was the little girl who pitched the idea of turning the Jack o' Lanterns around, hiding their scary faces, so that they could linger through Thanksgiving. I was the little girl who tried to start a leaf collection and then was devastated when they all turned brown.  I was the little girl who just wanted Halloween to stay. I was also the little girl who grew into perhaps a more a...

  It was the one gloomy day we really had all October. It had been unseasonably warm. So sunny. The atmosphere of Halloween, of   'spooky season', if you will, was nearly lost.  But that day was different. Good things loomed on the horizon for me. I was about to go off in celebration of my favorite holiday, in my favorite place. If I was lucky, which I was, I might complete the final leg of a particular piece of my healing journey on that trip. I don't know that I've ever been more excited. I called my mother that morning, as I took a walk around the block. Her birthday was the next day. We talked about everything, but mostly how happy I was.  It felt like magic. I came home and sat out in the yard, looking around as I always do, taking in one last glimpse of my home in October. It's always so strange to look at anything, any place, and think, ' Next time I'm here, it won't be October anymore.' I may as well say: Next time I'm here's I won...

I went for a walk tonight. My first in a long time. The last walk I went on, there were still pumpkins out there. Many of them lined up for disposal, some even sitting near garbage cans, awaiting their fate. I wished I could have saved them all.  It's always strange to go on walks when I haven't in awhile. The timing is interesting. Usually, as the last pumpkins left out in the world rot, it becomes too cold to go out again until March arrives.  An interesting cycle; a strange coincidence. In my mind's eye, I can see what once was. And as I walk, I feel like I am in some dream state version of my neighborhood. Like when you dream of your home, but it's not quite your home. An extra hallway, a missing window, a gateway to something that isn't really there, or nothingness where there should be something. It's real, but it isn't. It's familiar, but it's foreign.  I think of the movie Skinamarink, where the children ask, 'Where did it go?' as the...

 Five years ago today, I started this blog.  I've never truly been one for "New Year's resolutions", or New Year's at all, really, but just before 2020, I promised myself that I would start blogging again. I've loved to write since I was six years old. I very clearly remember the first little "picture book" I put together. I had actually just watched an episode of Lamb Chop's Play-Along,  where Shari Lewis gave instructions on how to make a little flip book of sorts of a girl jumping rope. I've always been a DIY disaster, so my attempt at recreating this little scene did not go according to plan. It frustrated me, but I somehow got the idea to turn it into a story that I titled "Jill's Bike". I don't remember the specifics of the story, but I believe it was about a girl, obviously named Jill, getting frustrated with her attempts to jump rope, and finally deciding to go and ride her bike instead. It was a short little story, ...

  Maybe it's time for me to just come right out and say, "I hate Christmas." Do I hate Christmas, though? I don't really know. I know it hasn't been the same for me in many years now, and I know the glow of mechanical lights and the imagery of a mystical being who doesn't actually exist, don't make things go away, or get better.  This time of year makes people so angry and hostile, even those who claim to love it.  I'd rather just skip it. I think of how much happier people seem to be during Halloween, when nothing is forced. People celebrate because they want to; perhaps having the desire to be someone else, or escape their own reality for a little while. Pretend not to be so afraid. Whatever it is. It's total freedom.  I look around as Christmas gets closer and feel like everyone has forgotten. As if they'd rather be obligated than free. I look at the houses that used to seem so alive, ironic in the season of death, and see pumpkins lined up ...

I have probably spent a significant part of my adult life chasing the high of Christmas Eve in my childhood. Though Halloween was always my favorite holiday, Christmas Eve felt like this otherworldly time, when the whole world sat on edge, waiting for something magical to happen. And once the morning came, everything would be as it had been the year before. A homecoming. I haven’t felt that way about Christmas in a very long time, but tonight I feel that excitement once more. I see the pieces coming back together. The decorations I mourned last year reappearing, on neighbors’ lawns and doorsteps, in stores I visit. Pumpkins, real  pumpkins, are alive and waiting once more, relevant again, no longer the rotting forms left over from a night no one seems to remember. We are seen.  The world looks like a place I recognize again, and I don’t have to squint so hard to see it. I don’t look across the lake and imagine the green trees turning orange and red and yellow, because now they...

  It's hard, sometimes, not to feel like a costumed clown, out in a world that you feel no real connection to, except for during that one specific time.  I wonder, sometimes, am I the fool? Or is it everyone else? Do I sit behind a billowing black veil, unable to see past the shadows, or is it that no one else really sees me, or even the potential within themselves to be more than they are? Sometimes it feels like a cruel joke, to fit in for a season and then be cast out once again.  But how, I must ask, can it be foolish to simply live your own truth? To do what makes you happy, regardless of how others perceive you?  Perhaps I will sit behind this veil forever then, or at least until my time comes again. I don't think it's foolish, at all.

The start of autumn, to me, always feels like seeing something in real life that you've seen in a dream. I remember once, during one of my many, many dreams about trick-or-treating on a day other than October 31st, seeing a house. I think the house, in the dream, was owned by a vampire man with a yard full of bats. Sometime later, I was in another state visiting family, and, because my father was in training for a marathon at the time, he insisted we go for a walk. On that walk that night, I saw a house that greatly resembled the one from my dream. It invoked a similar emotion, and lit up a spark inside of me, of excitement and curiosity. I believe this was the first time I ever experienced that, seeing something from a dream in reality, but it certainly wasn't the last.  I don't remember all of my dreams, but the ones I do remember tend to stay with me. The imagery, the emotions, the general feeling of it.  And autumn itself is very similar.  It's no secret that I thin...

  It's September 9th and I've spent the day depressed. Yesterday was my birthday. I briefly think about the fact that when I was younger, on the internet, I always said my birthday was the 9th rather than the 8th, because back then, giving out personal information online was a terrifying idea.  It's funny how things change. My birthday this year, well, it was a disaster. And that had everything to do with how hot and sunny it was.  I've never considered myself a summer baby. September is fall, whether it's the 1st or the 30th. The last stepping stone on the way to October; one of two months that truly feels similar to it. September the Hopeful, and November the Mournful.  But I guess this year, Mother Nature just had to tell me I was wrong. I won't forgive the demon summer for striking me down on what was supposed to be my special day. Seasonal depression can only be endured for so long. Tonight, though, I step outside, and the wind picks up. It sounds like a ho...

  It’s truly a strange feeling to look at something and think “I can’t wait to watch you die.” But yet, as the Gregorian months of April and May drone on, propelling us closer to summer with every passing hour, as the leaves emerge and everything becomes an endless sea of green, lightly peppered with other colors that seem manufactured even if they aren’t, that is all I can think. I can’t wait to watch them die. Green leaves are so boring. And the world is so green in the spring. It seems like the decor of a minimalist, married to one color scheme, clean but blah . And I am anything but a minimalist. I don't understand why spring and summer are considered so beautiful; why they make people seem to feel so alive.  I can't wait to watch them die. As I look up at the thick, green leaves, remembering a restaurant I frequented as a child that was built to look like a rainforest, I start to picture them in all sorts of vibrant hues of orange, yellow, red, even brown. I can't wait...

  I don't think I ever understood the world's obsession with spring. Perhaps it's because I've always found new beginnings ominous, as opposed to exciting. You could say I'm averse to change. But then, autumn is a time of change as well, isn't it? Regardless of the reason, I never understood what is so exciting about baking sun and bright skies. Or how the flowers, in shades of pink, purple, yellow...or the green grass and leaves, for that matter, were supposedly more beautiful, more inviting, than the explosions of different shades of orange against a spooky gray sky.  Most people want to fast forward to this time of year, but I wish I could fast-forward through it. Spring and summer...what is so lovely to the rest of the world, is a time of physical and mental exhaustion for me. It's a strange thing, when I really think about it. The countdown to Halloween is longest in the winter months, as the clock resets. We cling to the memories of last Halloween, so ...

 If you’ve followed me on social media long enough, you’ll probably recall me mentioning a song I made up as a child, titled “The Halloween Flame Is Still Burning.”  This post  is probably where I’ve talked about in the most detail.  I was around eight or nine years old, thinking about Halloween as usual, even though it was spring time, and of course, what is the thought of Halloween for someone like me, without the accompanying thought of post-Halloween depression?  “The Halloween Flame Is Still Burning” was about the combination of sadness that Halloween was over, at least to those around me, but also the burst of hope and intrigue that came from seeing Halloween decorations still out in the wild, even after the day itself had passed. Sadly, I don’t think I ever actually wrote the song down. I’ve spent probably sad amounts of time trying to remember it, usually during the month of November, but only a few lines have ever found their way back to me. The song wa...

  A skeleton is once again just a reminder of death. Are you offended, or scared? Did you forget what it meant just days ago? Every leaf is now just a dried-out inconvenience. Not long ago you traveled just to watch them all die. It's so hypocritical, when you think about it. Those pumpkins on the porch decay, and you say they have to go. There's no place in the world for their unique, wary faces anymore. What's different is no longer beautiful. You remember you hate spiders, you think black cats bring bad luck. Do you even remember Halloween night, once you've extinguished the last Jack O'Lantern flame?  Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one without seasonal amnesia. Or maybe I'm just the only one brave enough to say, "This is who I am", as I stand tall, trying to achieve the scarecrow's confidence, still dressed in orange and black. The skeletons still dance for me. Even the rotten pumpkins glow.  Even the brownest leaves are beautiful to me...

  There is an image that many of us keep in our minds, of a child waiting for Santa Claus on the evening of December 24th.  Many of us can recall being that child, jumping up hopefully at every slight little sound, thinking it may be reindeer on the roof.  These memories and images represent our belief in magic in its truest form.  And for many people, this goes away after so many years. I no longer wait to see a sleigh flying past me, but for me, magic...anticipation...is still very much a part of my life.  On the evening of September 30th I look outside. I catch sight of a leaf with a tint of orange or yellow or red. I feel a chill in the air. A strange aura of spookiness. I see pumpkins on porches and can almost sense the excitement of the people that placed them there.  The greatest gifts of my year don't come from a man on a sleigh with a sack full of items.  I wake up on the morning of October first and run into the waiting arms of the time of ye...

  Sometimes, the coming of autumn feels like a faraway dream. One that can never be truly realized, much like falling in love with a fictional world. It feels tangible, yet not, at the same time, when the world is blanketed in snow, or scorching with the heat of summer.  You remember autumn existing, but does it? You wonder. It feels so far away, like it happened, but didn’t. Like some fuzzy dream of something that could have happened, but seems too perfect to have been real. Summer does its best to destroy any hope of that beautiful dream existing again. The stifling heat overtakes the world like an ominous shadow, draining the life out of everything. Every task feels exhausting as the sun burns through another day, burning our energy, burning our eyes. It feels like a perpetual headache; this constant persistent heaviness over your day, your life, that feels like it will never break. You think of the pumpkins from your beloved dream of autumn, and how they wilt and wither at...

  Where does October go when its time has passed? Everyone has a home to retreat to when the party is over, don’t they? I’ve always thought of October like an old friend, one I don’t get to see frequently throughout the year, and one who, sadly, has a tendency to leave without saying goodbye. So many November mornings I woke up, trying to find the traces of my beloved, who’d just been there the night before. And, although certain things remained the same, the comfort of knowing that October was there was almost entirely gone, as if it never existed at all.  As the years have gone on, October’s exit has only become more abrupt, with the bully December trying to block out November, and memories of October, entirely.  But still, where does it go? I’ve spent much of my life trying to find October’s home. If it can’t come to me, all year round, then why shouldn’t I be able to go to it? I’ve found that October doesn’t retreat to one place. Maybe it’s cliche to say that it lives...

  Is winter the most hopeless time within the countdown to Halloween? There is definitely a case to be made.  The cold air comes, making everything brittle. The snow falls, and buries beneath it any last remnants of autumn that there may have been. The Christmas decorations, which seem to have been up forever, are still there well past Valentine’s Day, as it’s always too cold or too snow-covered or ice-glazed to go outside and take them down. The lights blink tirelessly, almost as if they, too, have grown weary of being up all this time. The countdown seems to move in a very reluctant way, away from three-hundred days. The days feel like an endless frozen wasteland, as if autumn and Halloween are an entire world away. But Halloween never strays too far from the ones that love and believe in it. As a new patch of pumpkins waits to be born, don’t forget about the ones that are still lingering. Somewhere, out there in the cold, buried within the snow, are the rotting pumpkins who...

  What is a calendar, anyway? It’s just a series of tiny little paper boxes, but people treat them as if they are of the utmost importance.  It’s become almost a joke, among most people that you know. Everyone always asking what your plans are for whichever holiday, and you replying that you don’t really care what you do; it’s just another day. You’ve come to sort of lean into it, in almost a Wednesday Addams-ish type way, but you know that very few people would actually understand how you really feel. New Year’s is probably the holiday that baffles you most of all. People act as though midnight, as December thirty-first turns into January first, is some sort of magical transition time when suddenly, everything changes. Yet every year, January comes, and most things stay the same. Life can change, or stay the same, for that matter, no matter what the calendar says. Nothing is guaranteed to change just because it’s midnight on January first, or guaranteed to not change just bec...