big knife out of Ryan’s fingers. “Jesus. To think you might be a surgeon one day.”
“Probably not,” Ryan said cheerfully. “Too much standing involved. Can you get a metal spoon out of the drawer?”
John passed it over and stood, hovering, as Ryan began scooping handfuls of slimy pumpkin guts out of the shell.
He really should go do some work. There were things that needed his attention. Or he could put some time in on the carved cane he was working on. It was going to be good. Not five-hundred-dollars good. For that money, he figured he’d be making Ryan a series of canes. But this one was coming out fun. Although if he was going to carve something… “Where’s the other pumpkin? At least I can fetch it for you.”
“By the back door.”
John trailed through the house and stepped out onto the back porch. The warmth of the late-October Sunday turned the yard to gold and green. No jackets needed for trick-or-treating this year. The sun was getting low, but it would be a couple of hours before the little mendicants came out.
The pumpkin was sitting against the siding beside the door, and it was no runt either. John grunted as he hefted it up and lugged it back to the kitchen. “You had this one, and you needed more?” He slid it onto the counter a couple of feet down from Ryan’s.
Ryan stepped back and compared the two for a moment. “Well, that one’s not shabby. But this one is fucking fantastic.” He dug back into the slime.
“So what are you making?”
“Making?”
“Yeah. On the pumpkin. What are you carving?”
“A face.” Ryan made an exaggerated grimace at him. “That’s why they’re jack-o-lanterns, because they have a face.”
“I liked to do other stuff,” John told him. “One year, I made a pumpkin with cats all over it, in front of a full moon.”
Ryan glanced at him. “You would. I’m making a face. If I’m lucky, the teeth won’t fall out from being cut through too far, and it will have the right number of eyebrows.”
“And what about this one?” John laid a proprietary hand on the big pumpkin he’d set down.
“Another face. My best pumpkins have cool faces. My worst pumpkins have kind of screwed-up faces.”
“You don’t want two the same, though. Maybe I could…I guess I could do something with this one, so we wouldn’t have two the same.”
“If you like,” Ryan grunted, hauling slimy strings from the bowels of his squash.
John looked at the tall round shape, considering. Bats, perhaps. He’d had a design he didn’t use once, for bats hanging in front of the opening of a cavern, and then flying off, silhouetted against a moon. Like the cats, but even better. Considering, he hauled out another bowl. He’d need to scoop it out first. It would give him some planning time.
He lost track, working with the firm orange shell. It was much easier to carve than wood, but you had to be careful about strength. He made the last bat’s wing a bit wider. It overlapped the rim of the moon, providing the free-flying shape with its anchor point. Too narrow and the bat would just break off. He should have scraped the wall of the pumpkin down thinner, but he had been impatient.
Then John shuddered and yelped as something cold and slimy went down the neck of his shirt. He jumped back, digging the pumpkin guts out of the back of his hair. Ryan was eyeing him from a safe distance.
“What the hell was that for?”
“Fairness. Take a look. Your pumpkin. My pumpkin. I figured a little slime down the shirt was required to balance the equation.”
John glanced at the two pumpkins. Okay, so his had a cluster of slit-eyed bats with taloned wings hanging from stalactites, while two more soared off across the moon. Ryan’s had…a nose, two eyes, fangs, and was that one eyebrow, all the way across?
John snorted involuntarily. “Um, it’s very nice.”
“Right.”
“Halloweeny.”
“Do tell.”
“I think it will take more than pumpkin guts to even the
“Probably not,” Ryan said cheerfully. “Too much standing involved. Can you get a metal spoon out of the drawer?”
John passed it over and stood, hovering, as Ryan began scooping handfuls of slimy pumpkin guts out of the shell.
He really should go do some work. There were things that needed his attention. Or he could put some time in on the carved cane he was working on. It was going to be good. Not five-hundred-dollars good. For that money, he figured he’d be making Ryan a series of canes. But this one was coming out fun. Although if he was going to carve something… “Where’s the other pumpkin? At least I can fetch it for you.”
“By the back door.”
John trailed through the house and stepped out onto the back porch. The warmth of the late-October Sunday turned the yard to gold and green. No jackets needed for trick-or-treating this year. The sun was getting low, but it would be a couple of hours before the little mendicants came out.
The pumpkin was sitting against the siding beside the door, and it was no runt either. John grunted as he hefted it up and lugged it back to the kitchen. “You had this one, and you needed more?” He slid it onto the counter a couple of feet down from Ryan’s.
Ryan stepped back and compared the two for a moment. “Well, that one’s not shabby. But this one is fucking fantastic.” He dug back into the slime.
“So what are you making?”
“Making?”
“Yeah. On the pumpkin. What are you carving?”
“A face.” Ryan made an exaggerated grimace at him. “That’s why they’re jack-o-lanterns, because they have a face.”
“I liked to do other stuff,” John told him. “One year, I made a pumpkin with cats all over it, in front of a full moon.”
Ryan glanced at him. “You would. I’m making a face. If I’m lucky, the teeth won’t fall out from being cut through too far, and it will have the right number of eyebrows.”
“And what about this one?” John laid a proprietary hand on the big pumpkin he’d set down.
“Another face. My best pumpkins have cool faces. My worst pumpkins have kind of screwed-up faces.”
“You don’t want two the same, though. Maybe I could…I guess I could do something with this one, so we wouldn’t have two the same.”
“If you like,” Ryan grunted, hauling slimy strings from the bowels of his squash.
John looked at the tall round shape, considering. Bats, perhaps. He’d had a design he didn’t use once, for bats hanging in front of the opening of a cavern, and then flying off, silhouetted against a moon. Like the cats, but even better. Considering, he hauled out another bowl. He’d need to scoop it out first. It would give him some planning time.
He lost track, working with the firm orange shell. It was much easier to carve than wood, but you had to be careful about strength. He made the last bat’s wing a bit wider. It overlapped the rim of the moon, providing the free-flying shape with its anchor point. Too narrow and the bat would just break off. He should have scraped the wall of the pumpkin down thinner, but he had been impatient.
Then John shuddered and yelped as something cold and slimy went down the neck of his shirt. He jumped back, digging the pumpkin guts out of the back of his hair. Ryan was eyeing him from a safe distance.
“What the hell was that for?”
“Fairness. Take a look. Your pumpkin. My pumpkin. I figured a little slime down the shirt was required to balance the equation.”
John glanced at the two pumpkins. Okay, so his had a cluster of slit-eyed bats with taloned wings hanging from stalactites, while two more soared off across the moon. Ryan’s had…a nose, two eyes, fangs, and was that one eyebrow, all the way across?
John snorted involuntarily. “Um, it’s very nice.”
“Right.”
“Halloweeny.”
“Do tell.”
“I think it will take more than pumpkin guts to even the
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