TRICK ‘EM ALL

Travis Raines couldn’t believe it. He had been stuck with the menial task of pushing the sweets out the door when the trick-or-treat festivities got under way. At sixteen, he was considered too old to go out and take part in the real fun, but his parents refused to allow him the honor of escorting his brother and sister around while they went door to door collecting their booty.

Staring down into his bowl of corn flakes, he muttered, “Why can’t I take them out?”

He had known it was pointless to ask the question, but he was not known for his tactfulness. And he was pissed.

A troubled look passed between the two adults.

“We don’t feel you’re ready for that kind of responsibility. You’re manning the candy dish and that’s final. We shouldn’t have to explain all of our decisions, anyway.”

“Maybe next year you can chaperone, kiddo,” his mom added.

Travis looked first at his dad, then at his mom, his breakfast forgotten. ”I know what it is. You can try to bullshit me all you want, but I get it.”

“Watch your language, young man,” his dad warned, brow furrowed. “And if you already know why we don’t want you doing it, you shouldn’t have to ask.”

Travis imagined how good it would feel to lunge across the table and scoop out his old man’s eye ball with his spoon. His stomach squelched like a giant fist had squeezed its contents into his upper intestine with malice and he excused himself from the breakfast table without another word.

He had no desire to drag those little shits around the neighborhood, anyway. What irritated him was the lack of trust afforded him by his parents. He saw himself as mature for his age and the fact that they still treated him like a child was preposterous.

He marched upstairs and set to work carving the massive pumpkin he had stored in his closet. He was supposed to do it outside, but he didn’t care anymore. He was just going to do what he wanted.

Yesterday, he had drawn an evil face on the giant pumpkin with a Sharpie. As he chiseled out the demonic features and emptied its gooey innards into a popcorn bowl, he seethed with hatred. He imagined the knife sliding in and out of his father’s chubby body instead of the pumpkin, gouging holes in his mother’s makeup-caked face rather than putting eyes and a mouth on a hopeless gourd.

After he finished, and the wicked face had been crafted just to his liking, he lit a candle, lifted the top off the pumpkin, and set it aside, and inserted the lit candle into the guts of his pumpkin. He knew that if he got caught with a jack-o’-lantern in his room, it would only illustrate his parents’ point in regard to his immaturity, but fuck ‘em. They could rot for all he cared.

Travis had never been able to make friends. In fact, he had never been involved in a meaningful relationship with another kid, not even his own siblings.

He glanced at his carved jack-o’-lantern, silently lamenting his lonely existence. Finally, he sighed and began to clean his pumpkin mess.

When finished, he regarded his work.

“And you shall be called Jackass, my friend,” he said.

A moment later, the pumpkin replied.

So you want to be friends, huh, Travis?

Travis blinked.

He shook his head and laughed. Yeah, right, dumbass. The jack-o’-lantern is alive.

Once again, it spoke, its soft voice mellifluous, inviting.

I’ll be your friend, if you want, Travis. How about it?

This time he thought he actually saw the jack-o’-lantern’s mouth move.

”Sure, I’ll be friends with a talking pumpkin.”

Good. Thanks for that, young man. I knew we had similar tastes. We’re going to get along just fine.

I’ve sought release from the darkness for so long, Travis, Jackass said. You’ve brought me into the light, and I am more grateful than I can put into words.

Travis was floored. This couldn’t really be happening. He had finally lost his mind.

“This is just great. I’m such a loser, I’m having a conversation with a vegetable. Jesus Christ.”

You made me, Travis. I’m here because you wanted me to be here. This is real, and you’re not a loser. In fact, I think you’re pretty terrific.

Travis sat in stunned silence, his mouth hanging open. He watched the pumpkin’s features, the mouth and eyes he himself had cut out of the thing, come to life and move in an exaggerated mockery of a human face.

You created me, but I fear the job is only halfway finished. I’m just a head! A low throated, mischievous laugh erupted from the candlelit mouth. It made Travis’s flesh crawl. I need to be whole. I’m in a pretty compromised position right now. I need you to complete me. And I know how to make your problems go away, too, by the way.

Jackass winked conspiratorially at him, and Travis grinned.

Travis’s mom called him downstairs, and though he had no desire to move at all, he figured he’d better go find out what was going on. The last thing he needed was for one or both his parents to come storming in to find a lit jack-o’-lantern in his room.

“I’ll be back soon, Jackass,” he said, and ran out of his room, still unsure whether Jackass was real, or if he had simply fallen down the rabbit hole, not really caring too much either way. Maybe he’d had a nervous breakdown and was really sitting in a padded cell right now, the whole thing a hallucination.

Regardless, the wicked witch waited, and he had to find out what she wanted.

It was time for dinner. Travis could barely contain his elation.

The twins were not at the table. His dad revealed that one of the neighbors, whose kids were friends with the twins, was going to do the chaperoning, and had come over and gotten them a little while ago.

And they still insisted that Travis pass candy out to the trick-or-treaters.

The lousy fucks.

Travis’s bitterness about being relegated to such an asinine job on this wondrous night rekindled, and though his attitude was acrimonious, he kept his temper in check. Keeping a plastic smile pasted across his mug while he thought about what waited upstairs for him, he endured the pain of sitting with his parents. Jackass consumed his every thought.

Unfortunately, his mom and dad prattled on and on, over explaining that Travis wasn’t old enough, or responsible enough, to walk his younger siblings around the fucking block. As far back as he could remember, they had treated him this way. As if he didn’t understand them the first time they said things.

And they had already started drinking.

The old man and the witch had been out to get him for a long time. They treated him like shit right to his face, showing him no respect at all. He knew they talked about him behind his back, too. He had overheard the talks they had when they thought he wasn’t able to hear them. Fucking hypocrites.

Like the time he found that Golden Retriever in the woods behind his school playground. The dog had been old and sick and he’d done it a favor by putting it out of its misery.

Then, he’d been inclined to see what made the animal tick. So he’d taken it apart. He thought back on that day with a mixture of emotions. Touching the organs and bones he’d pulled from the animal’s furry flesh had excited him so much his penis had bulged against the inside of his jeans. He hadn’t understood why that had happened at the time. He only knew that it was exhilarating, and the urgent throbbing in his loins had been his introduction to sexual arousal.

He’d been caught by teachers dispatched to find him when he didn’t show up for class after recess. His dad had been called to come get him from school, after which they drove home in silence.

When his mother returned home from work that night, she’d had a loud discussion with his dad. Thinking Travis was asleep, they once again spoke openly about their disdain for him, about how he sickened them, about how they were afraid to sleep in their own home with him there.

“Jesus Christ, Tom. Where in the hell did this come from? Because it certainly didn’t come from my side of the family.”

“Now, Judy, I don’t think that’s necessary. Sometimes people are just born . . . different.”

“So we’re two perfectly normal people who brought a psychopath into the world, then? Is that it? Jesus Christ.”

Travis heard them loud and clear. It was awful. His own parents hated and feared him.

His father beat him within an inch of his life the next day. It was a savage thrashing, and Travis had, for a frightening moment, thought his dad had meant to kill him.

“You tell your mom what just went down, you sick little fuck, and you can kiss your ass goodbye. This’ll seem like a day trip to Disneyland, got me?”

Travis had nodded, tears still streaming down his face, swearing vengeance on the bastard until the day he died.

“Seriously, Travis. Your ass is headed for boarding school if you fuck up one more time.” His face flushed and he was sweating so profusely, he looked like he had just finished a marathon. He didn’t wait for a reply and stormed out of the room. Travis heard the tell-tale sound of the liquor cabinet opening and slamming as his father retrieved a bottle of something strong.

He’d been kicked out of grade school at the tender age of ten after the incident with the dog. His mother had to quit her job so he could be home-schooled. Therapy was administered, but not well-received.

All these thoughts weighing heavy on his mind, Travis unceremoniously excused himself from the table, mumbled “fuck both of you” under his breath, and hurried up the stairs.

Back in his room, he watched as the sun drooped low outside the window, casting a blinding glare through the dusty glass as it crept closer to the edge of the sky. He turned on some death metal and cranked up the speakers.

He then sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Jackass, shoving his glasses instinctively up onto his nose with a forefinger.

“Sorry to make you wait so long, buddy. I had to deal with the assholes who brought me into this world.” The pumpkin’s gaze went straight through him. Its mouth twitched, though, its evil grin expanding.

It’s time for us to help each other, Travis.

“Okay. But, um, how does that work, exactly? What else can I do for you?”

We both know how you feel about those two fools you call your parents. Do we not?

“I guess.”

I need to ambulate. I’m not meant to sit here in this little patch of bum-fucked-nowhere for the rest of eternity. I need your help with that.

“Okay. It would suck to be just a head. I feel for you.”

I know what you need. You need to be free from your parents’ iron fist. . I can help you get rid of them for good, Travis.

“How?”

I think you know the answer to that, Travis. I will not suffer a fool for a companion. You need them out of the way and I need them to make me whole again. It’s that simple. I can’t exist inside this rotten gourd for very much longer. In order for me to come fully to life, I need some of their . . . parts.

“What exactly are you saying, Jackass? You want me to . . . kill my parents?”

It was your hatred for them that fueled your creativity when you made me. I am born of your rage. You know that this is what you want.

Jackass explained what had to be done, laying it out in detail for the boy. As the explanation spilled forth, Travis grew anxious, his alarm growing every minute.

Finally, the pumpkin said: I’m the only friend you’ve got, dear boy. You will do what needs to be done, and if you prove you’re worthy of taking a most esteemed position at my right hand side, I can give you so much more than freedom. You’ll know what it’s like to be somebody. To be really important.

“I just don’t think I can do what you’re saying. I don’t particularly like them, but I’m no killer.”

Time runs short, even now, dear boy. If you don’t act soon, all will be lost. You’d be crazy not to take this opportunity.

“I hate them, I really do. I’m just not capable of doing anything like that,” Travis answered.

Travis knew that he could just stomp the jack-o’-lantern into the floor and this would all be over, but the damned pumpkin had him mesmerized.

Do as I say, or you may as well kill yourself, Travis. Those fools have wanted you dead all along. They wish you’d never been born. Look at your pathetic little life. Yours is a soul yearning to unfurl its beautiful wings and fly free. Don’t you want to soar free, Travis? You’re in prison. You’re nothing. Nothing! They’ll see you into an early grave, and laugh the whole time.

Though it was insane, the pumpkin made some good arguments. His family had been against him all along. They had never tried to understand him. They didn’t care if he lived or died. In a moment of panic, Travis dashed out of his room and charged headlong into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind him.

Jackass was in his head, waiting for him. No more running, my friend. The world is ours. Just set me free and the world is ours.

Finally, Travis could not stand it anymore, and screamed out, “Please just leave me the fuck alone! Why are you doing this to me? Why, Goddammit?”

Then he broke down, head in hands, sobbing loudly.

His dad’s footsteps rumbled up the stairs. Travis felt the first cracks appear in his sanity and knew he was teetering too close to the edge

He knew, as the pounding footfalls approached the bathroom door, his only option was to get the hell out of the house. Just run away, hide out in the woods for a while.

You can’t run away from me, my dear Travis. You and I are forever bound to one another. And we have so much work to do. Gather your tools, and let’s get on with it. No more bullshit.

Travis’s brain suffered a vicious cramp and panic seized him, and he feared he was having an aneurysm.

Through the anguished pulsing headache which gnawed on his skull like a pack of rats, Jackass’s soothing voice coaxed him, encouraging him to kill.

Travis composed himself as well as he could, splashed cold water on his face at the sink, and slung open the bathroom door at the exact moment his dad was preparing to open the door and walk in.

Father and son stood speechless for a moment, staring at each other, silent in the awkward moment. Finally, Travis edged past his dad and hurried down the hall.

He took the stairs at a gallop, sprinted down the hall toward the foyer, and slid to a stop on the wooden floor mere inches from the front door.

Outside, trees swayed to and fro, gusting winds denuding branches as orange, yellow, and crimson leaves swirled through the crisp autumn twilight. Running around the side of the house, he unlatched the gate, launched himself into the backyard, and headed for the tool shed.

Everything he needed was there in the shed. He grabbed a small hatchet, a machete, a vicious looking filet knife with a razor sharp blade, a heavy duty battery powered jigsaw, and an assortment of other large hunting knives his dad kept in a locker, which was conveniently unlocked. All of it went into one of his dad’s old weather-beaten rucksacks. On the way out, he spotted a large, gleaming hacksaw with a nearly two foot blade. He took it, too.

Hauling the sack of tools into the house and up to his room proved easier than he had figured. His parents were nowhere in sight. The television in the family room was turned up too loud, so he couldn’t hear anything else, but there was no doubt they were lounging on the sofa, getting soused, probably unaware he was even still around

Travis sorted the tools out and advanced the plan to its next phase. The sky was darkening outside, and there would soon be kids streaming through the neighborhood. He had to make the best of the precious little time remaining before then.

“Mom!” he yelled. ”Can you come up here for a minute?”

Despite his intentions, he felt unusually calm. His palms were dry. He hefted the hatchet, and ran the blade lightly across his thumb. It was sharp enough.

The television volume lowered and his mom called up from the bottom of the stairs. ”Everything all right up there, Travis?”

“Yeah, it’s all good, mom. But can you come up here and look at something for me?”

His voice was steady, but he felt nervous and hoped his mom didn’t detect anything threatening in his voice.

After a moment, she came up the stairs.

Do it quick, Travis. If you hesitate, all is lost.

He tried to ignore Jackass, but he couldn’t. He just stood at the side of his bed with the hatchet held behind his back, gripping it fiercely. When his mother walked into the room, she immediately spotted the jack-o’-lantern and frowned at him.

Before she could speak, Travis made his move.

He lunged at her, swinging the hatchet down with all his might as he closed the distance between them.

She never suspected a thing, just stood there, her mouth opening up in a little puckered “o” right before the razor-sharp hatchet punched through the top of her face and nearly split her head in half.

His mother convulsed horribly and then went limp. Gravity claimed her remains and she hit the floor like a sack of flour, pulling the hatchet handle out of Travis’s hand as she went.

Travis gazed at his mother sprawled on her back, murdered by his own hand.

Quickly, Travis. Get your dad up here, now.

“I know.”

Travis dragged his mom’s cooling body over to his walk-in closet and pulled it inside, then shut the door, enclosing her defiled corpse with his toys and clothes.

He had to get his dad up here.

One down, one left to go.

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

He yelled to his father.

“This better be important, Travis,” his dad bellowed from below.

“It is! Something’s wrong with mom,” he answered, hoping he sounded panicked enough. ”I don’t think she’s breathing!”

The telltale footsteps thundered up the stairs. Travis pushed his bedroom door until it was nearly closed.

His dad came barreling into the room, slowed down only slightly by the door.

“Judy, are you all rii—”

The fish knife slid across his dad’s throat before he could finish his ultimate question.

Blood jettisoned across the room with incredible force. It splashed onto the walls and Travis’s bed before his dad’s hands went up to the ragged, gaping gash in a desperate bid to keep the rest from escaping.

Gurgling, he turned to look at Travis, eyes shocked and wide. There was no doubt in that look that he couldn’t believe his son had done this. Blood was sheeting down his front like water from a faucet. He went down in just a few seconds, thrashing violently on the carpet as he drowned in his own blood. It seemed to take an eternity.

The hour of resurrection is nearly at hand. Jackass was quick to assert his will.

Do it all exactly as I told you, Travis. Our destiny depends on your ability to carry out my instructions.

Travis nodded at the jack-o’-lantern. ”Okay, okay. I’ve got it together.”

He had to drag his mom’s body out of the closet. He laid her out beside her husband, who had curled up in a fetal position as he died, and went to work on her with the jigsaw. When he had the chest cavity chiseled out, he used the fish knife to cut out her heart. It was bigger than what he had expected, but still went into the top of the jack-o’-lantern easily enough.

Ah. Yes, that’s it, Travis. Keep going. You’re almost there.

The next part was the real bitch, and it didn’t help when the jigsaw’s battery died inches into the first cut, forcing him to resort to a hacksaw. It took forever, cutting through his dad’s skull, flipping the heavy body over three times in order to cut all the way around and remove the skull cap, being careful not to damage the brain.

While we’re young, Travis, Jackass quipped. Travis was not amused. This was awful. He had finally managed to detach the brain from his father’s cranium, but it was slippery, and kept sliding out of his hands.

At last, he stuffed the brain into the top of the pumpkin, and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted from the exertion.

He watched Jackass carefully. Waited for something to happen.

When nothing changed after several minutes, he stripped and got in the shower.

Refreshed after a good scrubbing, Travis went back to his room. He ran his fingers through his stringy wet hair, a few locks falling back over his glasses, blocking his view of the hideous creation sitting in the corner.

A crushing black metal dirge blasted from speakers hung around his room, demon-like vocals that sounded as if they’d conjured forth from the very bowels of the deepest hells sang over thick stuttering riffs from down-tuned guitars.

It was perfect. His gore-soaked clothes were balled up on his bed. He had changed into his favorite outfit: black leather pants, a Marilyn Manson t-shirt, leather jacket with jingling zippers everywhere, and combat boots.

He had gone back to the shed after he finished with his parents. The gas in the five gallon can had sloshed around at the bottom, but he figured he would not need a whole lot. It would be enough.

In his sixteen years, Travis had never felt more isolated, helpless, or doomed. He sat and brooded, flinching every time he looked around him. Tears of madness leaked from his eyes. A few candles strategically placed on the windowsill and headboard splayed otherworldly patterns on the otherwise night-darkened room. The bloated jigsaw smile of the jack-o’-lantern sat dark and oozing beneath the window.

For the last fifteen minutes, Travis had contemplated his next move, but he had been unable to stir himself into action. His ass simply refused to detach itself from the carpet.

He stared fearfully at Jackass as it leered at him, its demonic grin sending a chill through his spinal fluid.

It was Halloween, and darkness had fallen. In his neighborhood, trick-or-treating had just begun droves of children be knocking on the front door any minute.

Time had run out.

The night was already alive with the laughter of so many children. The shouts of joy and wild abandon as the children made their merry way from house to house dragged like fingernails across so many blackboards in Travis’s brain. He wished he could trade places with one of those kids. He longed to know such innocence again.

Somewhere out there, the twins were roaming with their friends, unaware of how their lives had been devastated as they had a night of fun.

Everything that has happened, I’ve brought upon myself.

He peeked out the window. The arc sodium street lights buzzed to life. Smaller lights further illuminated front porches of the homes whose residents participated in Halloween festivities. The wholesome sounds of children finally freed to gather their treats filled the chilly night. They capered about out there, blissfully unaware of the atrocities that happened every day in the sick, twisted world around them.

Travis thought about the acts he had committed. He was a murderer.

Am I evil? 

It was hard to believe, but he knew he was to blame for brutally destroying the two bodies now strewn across his bedroom carpet, his mom and dad, no less. Bodily fluids were spattered from one side of the room to the other, released by his own evil hands.

Travis glanced furtively around the room, as if seeing the aftermath of the evening’s carnage for the first time. In the midst of this human wreckage, he waited for something that was never going to happen. He didn’t know exactly what he’d expected to happen once he’d done Jackass’s bidding, but now he knew there would be no triumph tonight.

Jackass had been conspicuously silent ever since his dad’s brain had gone into its hand-carved cranium.

Had it ever really talked to him at all?

The smell of gasoline burned in his nostrils as he doused his bloody clothes and bed. When he was done, there was still some gas left in the can. He opened the lid and poured the remaining fuel on his head.

An eerie hush descended, making the room feel as if it had been sealed inside a deserted mausoleum for centuries. Travis sat at the foot of his bed, in his newly christened kingdom, averting his eyes from the mirror hanging on the back of his bedroom door. He picked up his television remote and hurled it violently into the mirror, showering thousands of pieces of glass onto the floor around him.

Travis pulled a match from the box he’d found in the shed and looked around at his room one last time. A peal of laughter boomed inside his head like thunder in a mason jar. He cried out, pain driving him to his knees

Foolish boy. What are you doing? You won’t be ruining it all now. I still need you to complete the ritual, Travis. You’re the last piece.

Jackass laughed like a crazed hyena and began to vibrate. The jack-o’-lantern was bigger than it had been before, and a tangle of green vines sprouted out from underneath its bloated, bloody face.

The new growths lifted the creature off the floor. The vines twined around each other, tighter and tighter, until they formed a thick stalk-like formation upon which the pumpkin rose until it stood a head taller than Travis.

Come to me, Travis. You need to finish your job.

Stepping over his dead father, Travis reached down and pulled at the hatchet still protruding from his mother’s face. It wouldn’t budge.

What are you doing, Travis? I have plans for you, boy.

The thing was laughing again. Its improvised arms stretched toward Travis, but they had not grown long enough to reach him.

Travis tried again to free the hatchet’s lodged blade, but it was no use. It just joggled his mom’s head up and down. He would have to tackle Jackass and take him apart with his bare hands. He whirled around and tried to step over his mom’s prone form, but his foot caught on her blood-streaked abdomen, tripping him. His face smacked the bedroom window, cracking, but not shattering it, and his jacket met the fat black candle sitting atop the sill.

An explosion of agonizing pain ripped through his head. Travis didn’t notice the fallen candle igniting his jacket, but he felt the sudden concussion of the gasoline catching light, setting his entire body aflame.

Jackass embraced the burning boy, smothering some, but not all, of the spreading flames. The boy screamed and screamed as his flesh cooked. The bloody, viscera-packed jack-o’-lantern face loomed in front of him as his eyes melted out of their sockets.

The fire spread fast. Within minutes, it had completely engulfed the top floor of the house, and soon the shocked trick-or-treaters had to clear a path for the first responders, who arrived twenty minutes after a neighbor had called 911.

The firemen bravely battled the leaping, crackling flames, hoping like hell they could rescue anyone who might be trapped inside the burning house. As they focused their attention on the front of the house, the back door creaked open and, through it, something crawled out into the chilly October night. Dozens of zippers jingled as it crept across the ground. Its jigsaw smile broadened as it emerged from the burning house into the October night.

It was alive, and it was free.