Whenever I take time out of my day to observe them, the human species never fail to entertain me. They are such complicated beings that I laugh at them at times; even so, they merely look up and point at me as if I am the ridiculous one. Yet, there is this one boy, the one particular human boy who is different from all of them, after all, this story is all about Jack.
Jack. The young boy that would grow up coming home from school and hearing his parents arguing from down the street. The boy who would simply come into the house to eat despite the echoing of continuous yells. He would then swing his backpack over his back and head out to the nearby farm. The farmer, Mr. Kurt was familiar with Jack’s presence; the two would converse with each other as the spying sun slowly walked away. Though his daily departure from home wouldn’t affect his parents, he managed to turn down Mr. Kurt’s offer of staying the night and would return to his house. This cycle would become a routine for both, even as the boy grew to be a sixteen year old highschooler.
Jack would now tower over the farmer, who had gained wrinkles over the past couple of years. One could say that he also acquired a love for rock music, more of an obsession as it took over his physical appearance, causing the kids in his school to maintain mixed feelings about him. I’m not quite sure why they distanced themselves from him, I personally found his style admirable, as he resembled me in some way. While we are still talking about me, might I add that I also find myself guilty as to why he was called a “freak”, the word humans use to describe someone who stands out in one way or another, usually going against societal norms.
The farmer wouldn’t be the only important figure in his life, for I would consider myself close to this boy. In the beginning, I would spot him from the corner of my eye as he rushed to the farm. I began to feel intrigued by this certain human boy. Though I would usually observe various people, I would never get attached to them. Certainly, I recognized their faces and such, but never was curious about them as I felt towards Jack. When Jack was just 8, he was sitting in the farmer’s backyard, a book open on his lap. My head tilted down, his bushy dark hair covering the words of the book.
I held my breath as I felt his large brown eyes look directly at me, the book suddenly forgotten as his eyes focused on me. At first it felt strange, no human would look at me like this for that long, yet I strangely adapted to it. He put out his arm, no sounds were exchanged, only glances between us as I hesitantly flew down to the ground beside him.
“I won’t hurt you”, the young boy assured me with such sincerity that I felt comfortable around a human for the first time. My wings flapped as I landed on his arm, his eyes examined me fascinatingly. From that day on, whenever he visited the farmer, I would sit on the windowsill peering into the room. When Jack would walk to school, I would fly above him or hide in the branches of a tree. Occasionally, he would bring me a handful of seeds.
~ ~ ~
As the end of October approached, I found myself gliding through the crisp air above bright pumpkins scattered across the farm field. My friends were gathered down below, vigorously poking at one of them. I was about to join them, however, I spotted the top of a familiar unruly dark head. I landed on Jack’s tall figure, looking down at my friends as he shooed them away. When the boy bent his knees to observe the pumpkin, that was when I noticed that they engraved a face-like structure onto it.
The pumpkin lay there with a grin, his guts flowing out of his mouth. The mushy substance encircled the bright orange sphere as Jack took a stick and nudged it. The cold air numbed his hand, his chest tightened, and I flew off of his shoulder as his body started to sway. I cawed loudly, but his eyes struggled to look into mine as they transformed into soulless orbs. Jack staggered and I flew over to him and started pecking his hair up. Unfortunately, my efforts were pointless as he is extremely heavy, so he proceeded to collapse onto the ground. The stick soared out of his grip, his bushy head penetrated the dirt, and I stood there, motionless.
My heart craved to escape out of my chest before I began to poke at his head, his cheeks, his hand, his chest, not too hard but with enough power to bring him back to consciousness if he was still alive. The sun even started to betray me as I continued to work hard. In the end, I gave up. I backed away, peering down at Jack’s still body. Realization set in. He was dead.
My eyes felt as if they were set ablaze, my beak twitched, I rustled my wings. Hate. My eyes would not peel apart from the human body which lay in front of me. Hate for death. Why am I feeling this towards a human? If any human were to find me dead on the side of the road they would merely dismiss me as if they didn’t notice a lifeless crow before them, so how come I have grown attached to one?
But he’s Jack. He’s a human who cares. So I suppose that justifies my feelings, right? I slowly lowered my head onto the crook of his chilly neck and succumbed to the heaviness of my eyelids.
The following morning I pulled away from Jack’s lifeless body and jerked as I suddenly heard a muffled voice behind me. Sounds were trying to escape from the pumpkin’s mouth though its internal flesh was preventing the sounds from doing so. I flew to it and pecked at the stringy mush. After I completed, the pumpkin spoke with Jack’s voice.
“Call the farmer over to come and get my body and aid me in some way, he must know what to do.”
I blinked, stunned to say the least. Nonetheless, I did as I was told. I fetched Mr. Kurt, which was much easier than expected as he was used to seeing me around with Jack. When we approached Jack’s body, the farmer collapsed on his knees. As his eyes turned bloodshot red and started to tear up, the pumpkin’s voice disturbed him.
“Mr. Kurt! I’m Jack! I’m here!”
The farmer, being a simple man with no such paranormal expectations, immediately picked up Jack’s body, glanced at the moving mouth of the pumpkin, and ran in horror. The pumpkin’s eyes burned with rage as it floated up in the air, the surrounding branches, dead grass, and other substances gravitated towards him, forming a human-like body.
Jack’s eyes softened as he looked down and spotted me, “Come here.”
I didn’t dare challenge this new version of Jack. I knew he was there, I knew that my Jack wasn’t fully gone, and so, I flew up and sat on his shoulder. A sigh escaped the creature’s lips as the tension in his shoulders released.
I would constantly accompany Jack, I couldn’t possibly allow him to face loneliness as a pumpkin, no matter how ridiculous that truly sounds. After all, he is still my boy and I am his crow. And this, my dear humans, is the story of Jack. How the Jack-O’-Lantern came to be.