Month: October 2025

The offices of Hell hadn’t changed much over the millennia. Oh, there was occasionally a new coat of dark red paint on the walls in the reception area, and the black light that illuminated the room would have to be replaced from time to time when it burned out from the thick humidity.

But it was always smoky and stuffy, always smelled of sulfur, and Jack O’Lantern had dropped in more times than he could remember.

Sometimes known as “Stingy Jack,” O’Lantern was a legend – a legend who was such an odious character that Heaven wouldn’t take him and Hell didn’t want him. His relationship with the Devil was complicated by the fact that had screwed over the Prince of Darkness more than once. His betrayal prompted Beelzebub to condemn him to roam the earth between the planes of good and evil, meaning there was no spot for him above or below.

Still, every decade or so, Jack would travel to Hell’s corporate headquarters in hopes of finding work and, ultimately, admission to Hades.

“May I help you?” asked the receptionist standing behind the window (her name tag read “Marcy”).

“Yes, I’m here to see the Devil.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I’m just a walk-in. He’s quite familiar with me, though.”

Marcy produced a clipboard with a sheet of paper and ball point pen attached to a chain.

“Please sign on the first blank line,” she said. “And list the time.”

Jack scribbled down his name and handed the clipboard back.

Marcy looked it over and smiled.

“Oh, wow … Jack O’Lantern,” she said excitedly. “So, you’re the guy that invented the Halloween pumpkin?”

Jack shrugged.

“Well, yes and no,” he explained. “The Devil and I have this convoluted contract where he can’t claim my soul, so he gave me an ember to guide me through the unknown. At first, I put it in a hollowed-out turnip and used it to see in front of me, but then I realized no one took me seriously. People would say things like, ‘Look … there’s that wanker with the candle in the turnip … let’s pelt him with jagged rocks,’ so then I put the ember in a pumpkin. At first, there was just a small round hole in it to let the light shine through, but then one night I got bored and decided to carve out a face, just for the hell of it. I called it a Jack O’Lantern Glowing Pumpkin and tried to patent the name, but there was so much red tape involved I finally gave up. I guess it’s public domain now.”

“That’s a shame,” Marcy said. “Anyway, what brings you in to see the boss today?”

Jack placed his pumpkin on the floor and leaned on the shelf in front of the window.

“Look, he and I have had our differences,” Jack explained. “Without going into all the details, I’m a bit of a dick and tricked the dude twice. Once I turned him into a silver coin, and another time I trapped him in an apple tree. Needless to say, he was not amused. You can learn more about it on Wickedpedia. But here’s the thing … I’ve well and truly learned my lesson. I’ve been wandering aimlessly since the 17^th century, and there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t regret what I did to Ol’ Scratch.

“Could you just buzz him and tell him I came here to apologize – and to find some work? I’m getting pretty desperate and I’m willing to do just about anything. I’d be happy to spread disease, start forest fires, create a new reality show … whatever he needs. And I realize I have to prove myself, but I just need a chance. He’s evil, I’m evil – we should do evil together.”

Marcy winked.

“Lemme go check with him and tell him what you said. A disco-themed cruise liner caught fire and sank early this morning, and that put him in a really good mood.”

So Jack waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity for a man doomed for eternity, Marcy emerged from the Devil’s office.

“I think he may have something for you, Mr. O’Lantern,” she said excitedly. “Boss said he needs you in Washington, D.C., where you’ll be working with Texas Senator Ted Cruz.”

Tears welled up in Jack’s eyes and as he knelt down, he sobbed gently – cradling his glowing pumpkin.

At long last, he had finally made it to Hell.

The rooftop of a 26-story building in the middle of the city center seemed as good a place as any for Maynard Summers to take a trip down memory lane. Standing on the edge of that rooftop – his dark, slim figure illuminated by a harvest moon – provided a dramatic flair to the nostalgia.

His father died of a heart attack when Maynard was in his mid-30s. It was the end of a buddy relationship he didn’t realize was so close until his dad was no longer there. As the years went by, the bittersweet memories had morphed into emptiness.

His mother passed away just two years after his dad, killed in a freak accident that involved being impaled by a garden gnome.

Maynard was often racked with guilt because, while he missed his mom, dying at the hands of an ornamental creature with a pointy hat was still kinda funny.

He had to stifle giggles at her funeral and even when he thought about it years later, he found himself trying not to laugh.

Maynard had one older brother who lived in Houston, but the two didn’t talk and hadn’t spoken in years.

Rodney Summers had become a mover and shaker in the aerospace industry and didn’t have time for his “common” relatives. He was too busy making the millions of dollars needed for the surgeries required to make him look like a younger, plastic version of himself.

And Maynard had no idea where his sister, Jada, was or what she did these days.

The last time he saw her she had moved in with a biker who insisted on being called “Road Warrior”; they were going to tour the country in hopes of catching all the Deathly Gratitude shows.

Deathly Gratitude was a Grateful Dead tribute band, and little sis wasn’t so much a Deadhead as she was a person who merely liked the concept of being one.

Maynard didn’t often look back at what was, but when he did, he’d think fondly of the days when his family would load up in their gray Ford Country Squire and go on vacation.

There was that time they went to Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina. The Johnnie Mercers Fishing Pier was still a big deal, and he remembered Jada recoiling when his dad baited her hook with a live earthworm that squirmed wildly – especially after being impaled.

He and Rodney got a big laugh out of her horror.

Then there was the trip to New Jersey that turned into a day spent with Lucy the Elephant, a celebrated roadside attraction. The building shaped like a pachyderm might not have been one of the eight wonders of the world, but it provided a world of wonder for three kids who posed in front of it while mom took a picture with her brand new Polaroid Instamatic.

All that seemed like a lifetime ago.

The family vacations ended, the siblings ultimately went their separate ways, and that was that.

Maynard occasionally entertained the notion of reconnecting with Rodney and Jada. Doing so would be easy enough.

Rodney’s company had a website, and his picture was splashed all over it. All the contact information was readily available and Maynard could be there in no time.

And Deathly Gratitude was always lining up gigs at bars and carnivals, mostly in the Midwest. A quick internet search would reveal their next stop, which meant Jada and Road Warrior would most likely be stopped there, too.

Maynard, Raymond and Jada – together again.

But really, what was the point? They were all so different, and other than playing the greatest hits – those familiar yet always changing tales of growing up in the Summers household – there wouldn’t be anything of substance to talk about.

Jada cared nothing about business, and Rodney certainly had no interest in being regaled with how many times she’s heard Truckin’.

As for Maynard, they always thought he was different.

They didn’t know the half of it.

If they saw him now, they’d be absolutely shocked by his appearance. He hadn’t aged at all since being turned by a French Quarter vampire during a 1987 trip to New Orleans, and now all his days were nights.

But that was his life now – one gained by death, oddly enough. Yet even though he could conceivably live forever, he refused to take anything for granted.

He had his own tribe now – well, nest – and while vampire interests varied, they never varied too much.

For that, he was grateful.

So, maybe it was best to keep the past buried. Besides, on this night, the air was crisp, his urge was strong, and the moon was beautiful … especially from his rooftop vantage point.

He decided he’d soak it all in a bit longer before flying off to feed.