Halloween at the Tropics

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
The predicaments of a Druid Pumpkin through the centuries until an odd Halloween in Brazil...

Submitted: October 30, 2016

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Submitted: October 30, 2016




I’m a pumpkin. I’m about to tell you the horrendous saga of my ancestors… that is, if I’m still alive to reach the end of the story. I feel I’m dying and in case no good soul comes to rescue me, it will be definitely the end of it all. With me will vanish from this world a more than two-thousand-year-old lineage of my Druid Pumpkin family.

It all began at a very small Celtic village by the western shores of Britain just before the coming of the Christian Era. Ethur, Lord of the Holy Cave, a fearful Druid, killed a goat to offer the deities as a sacrifice as he was used to doing for many years. However, this time something bizarre happened that overwhelmed him. The dying goat expelled through its mouth some pumpkin seeds glued into a kind of a slimy ball. The wise priest took it as a token sent by some otherworldly spirit willing to communicate with him. He made sure no one was around to see his next move and more than swiftly hid such obscure finding.

Ethur treasured the supernatural seeds and kept them to himself, very well hidden until he decided it was high time he himself planted them near to the Holy Cave. In due time the spirit-sent seeds produced huge orange pumpkins. When they were ripe, Ethur performed some secret Druid ritual to bless the Holy Vegetables and then picked one covetously. At this very moment, he felt the blood warm in his veins, his heartbeats pounded erratically in his chest. When he finally managed to take the huge pumpkin home, he shut himself as best as he possibly could. No risk could be allowed that jeopardized this prodigious undertaking.

In his secret researches of potions and even the summoning of the Great Goddess of the Harvest, Ethur tried his best to find out the mystery behind those Holy Seeds. Now, he felt ready to conjure up the spirits from them and unleash their prophetic essence…

To his utter amazement, the Holy Pumpkin spoke, or it rather started to make several predictions about the future which proved extremely accurate leaving the fearful Druid dumbfound. In time, he eventually mastered a form of extracting useful prophecies from the Holy Pumpkin much to his own advantage. Ethur’s power and leadership influence among the villagers exceeded his deeper expectations and the mere mention of his name caused great awe in the whole region.

Inevitably though, Ethur grew too old to even care for the Holy Pumpkin’s prophetic sayings. On his deathbed, Ethur chose his closest Druid priestess Morganta, Lady of the Sacred Pebbles, as the new guardian of the Holy Pumpkin. Thus, the relay of such secret has become tradition among the successive generations of the local Celtic priests and priestesses for centuries to come. The Holy Pumpkin’s longevity remained a mystery that no Druid ever claimed to have deciphered.

No significant fact marked the Holy Pumpkin’s unusual existence throughout centuries and its magic properties have made several of its guardians quite opulent. Nothing seemed to trammel its paths in life… until major developments affected dramatically the course of history. By the first half of the XVIIthC an unexpected turn of fortune would change the Holy Pumpkin’s life forever. Its current guardian had been charged with being a witch and sentenced to be burned in the fire.

Ironically, under torture this guardian had revealed the ancient secret to her torturer, a respectable Puritan leader. This man, on his turn, ended up by being himself persecuted by the Crown for his strict religious beliefs. Things came to the point that he felt forced to join the shiploads of colonists who resorted to the Massachusetts Bay Company to flee to the New World to become pilgrims there.

That’s how the Holy Pumpkin and its Puritan guardian started a new life somewhere in New England. Again, after the initial troubles of settling down, the Holy Pumpkin resumed its nature as a fortune teller. For several times it had close escapes of having its guardians burned for witchcraft. Time went by and life seemed to become cheaper by the dozen and easier by the century. Right now, the Holy Pumpkin’s newly-chosen guardian was Arthur King, the vocalist of a decadent hippy rock band in New York, The Psychics of Happy Doomsday. The young singer quickly learned the arts of speaking to the Holy Pumpkin from his mystic mother who died soon after having revealed him the ancient secret. Nevertheless, the astonishing predictions about the future he would get from the Pumpkin would have rather been credited to the loads of hemp in his mind than to his inseparable Pumpkin Pet. The fact is that he never even considered the possibility of making some money with those predictions.

Believe it or not, this decadent band happened to be a great success in distant Brazil. Its increasing number of Brazilian fans pressed them to go over for some concerts. Having nothing to lose, on the contrary, taking this odd Brazilian tour as a God-sent opportunity to pay off their escalading debts they signed the deal.

That’s when my predicaments started. Of course he would not travel without me. Arthur’s blamed it all on Superstar superstition and included me, his Pumpkin Pet, in the list of passengers. As soon as we set foot in Brazil, I realized I was in great danger and let my guardian know it. He paid little attention to my warnings as he was too busy looking for a trusty drug dealer. As he had never been a brilliant student, he just had not the slightest idea as to where he had landed at all. He supposed he was in Rio, which was about the only Brazilian city he had ever heard of. It happens that the concerts would take place in the State of Amazonas in the very North of the country… in the middle of the Amazon forest!

It was on a dreary Friday night, 31st October, that I met with my most appalling Halloween trick.On account of his difficulty with establishing real conversation with the locals he was led to a native Brazilian Indian’s tribe. There he was welcomed as a tourist but the natives misunderstood his urge for drugs and guessed he was willing to experience a pajelança, a ritual which boils down to the supernatural sorcery type. The Pajé, the conjurer, took us both to the centre of his cottage where there was a cauldron on a ground stove. The Pajé, all shaken-up by the presence of some forest sprite, started adding all sorts of herbs to the boiling water. Beside the cauldron there was a wooden bed where Arthur lied down as he had been directed by the natives.

So far, I had been left alone inside Arthur’s backpack, but as soon as they were sure he fell into a deep sleep, the Pajé dashed to pick me out of the backpack. As he grabbed me, he felt a momentary shudder. He held me in his old hands and stared mesmerized at me. I tried to communicate with him through my telepathic skills but all my efforts were in vain. Although I felt that the man could well sense my powers he gave me up way too soon and to my total despair just threw me into the cauldron which may result in my untimely death.

At this point of my narrative, you will find me still inside the cauldron waiting for some preternatural rescue! Temperature rises each minute, I’m feverish and about to faint. Yet, what am I sensing? Oh, yes, I can sense the coming of forest fairies and elves, yes, please, help me!!! How lucky I am, they were allowed to show up to the natives on account of the sacred Halloween pact with the otherworld. Flabbergasted, the natives just watched the scene, as if stunned. The fairies and elves took me out of the cauldron safe and sound.

As a form of compensation to the good natives, and with my heartfelt agreement, the Fairy Queen performed a ritualistic revelation of my magic properties to the Pajé. From now on, I’m going to live in the Amazon Forest with my new guardian and finally I’ll be worshiped as a sacred spiritual entity! No, nothing bad actually happened to Arthur King, except that he won’t ever remember me. Pity, I kind of liked him.

Oh, what an unforgettable Halloween to me. The forest sprites, by saving me from a horrible death, did also prevent me from revealing to you my own most treasured secret: my longevity. And all the untold story about the ancient lineage of my Druid Pumpkin relatives. No! Don’t push me, I won’t tell you… Well, maybe on another Halloween night!

© Copyright 2018 Ana Esther. All rights reserved.

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