It was a sight to behold, forty feet tall with ten-foot arms and twenty-foot legs ending in six-foot-long leather boots. The detail was tremendous. The shirt was puffy, like men used to wear in the olden days. A sword at least eight feet long was tied to its waist and the piece de resistance was the head, a huge, orange-colored, nicely carved fifteen-foot tall pumpkin. Smoke emanated from the stem of the pumpkin as pies cooked in the oven located in the back of the head. Joel remembered how much attention this feature had attracted from the local news media. The bright lights that formed the eyes seemed to look right at any visitors who made their way into or even near the McClafferty farm. It was a great advertising gimmick, one that the farm’s prior owner and Joel’s former boss, Ezra Grisson, would never have cottoned to. Just give the people a good, high quality product and you’ll never have to do anything else, he would say to Joel. Gazing up at the huge statue, this so-called Pumpkin King, would no doubt bring to mind pumpkins and Halloween with just one look.

      Joel had seen his fair share of strange sights in his young life. Much of the reason was where he lived, of course. Portersville had a long history of peculiar residents, and of hosting weird events and happenings. Some of the older residents said it was because Portersville sat on the portal between the real world and the not-so-real world and that on occasion, it was not unusual for the two worlds to spill over onto each other, especially during the month of October—and even more especially during the last several days of October. Joel hadn’t been privy to this particular fact of town history until last Halloween, but much had happened since then, including the influx of the McClafferty family.

      The McClafferty family was new to Portersville and they sure were making their mark. They had bought up the old Grisson farm lock, stock and barrel, and hadn’t wasted any time in launching their fall advertising campaign. It was strange for Joel. He had been a good worker for Mr. Grisson for three summers, and Mr. Grisson had sold the farm to the McClaffertys and left town without even a goodbye or a thanks for all the help or anything. And now Joel had to apply as a part-time worker for the McClaffertys. Steeling his nerves, Joel headed beneath the huge parted legs of the Pumpkin King and into the farmhouse. The air smelled of pumpkin pie, sweet cinnamon and nutmeg. Joel gazed at the wrinkled flyer he had stowed in his bookbag for a few days now. Thinking of his car and of Polly, he confidently strode up to the door to the McClafferty (used to be Grisson) Farm & Vegetable Garden and Cider Mill Factory. A few minutes later, Mrs. McClafferty was calling his name.

      “That’s me,” he replied, rapidly stumbling to his feet and dropping the clipboard and application and pen to the floor.

      “No need to be nervous, dearie,” Mrs. McClafferty smiled at him, “and don’t mind him,” she said, looking towards the great Pumpkin King. “We share you all’s traditions with regards to the old codger.”

      In Portersville and some of the surrounding boroughs, everyone knew the legend of the Pumpkin King, a huge pumpkin-headed giant who was said to in reality be the ghost of a fisherman who was cursed every Halloween to have his head transformed into a jack-o-lantern and then compelled to wander the streets looking for lost or dallying trick or treaters to kidnap and take home to his desecrated lighthouse. Some said that this was the reason why Portersville in particular started the bonfire each Halloween evening to guide those lost trick or treaters safely back home. A silly old fairy tale, Joel used to think, until the events of last year began to slowly change his mind about such things.

      “He’s been a part of our family for years, all forty-five feet of him,” Mrs. McClafferty remarked, “He’s a bear to put up every October but he increases our sales by a good forty percent. I say, if the car dealers can do it with King Kong, we can surely do it with the Pumpkin King!”

      “Nice touch,” Joel said, a slight shiver that he would never own up to running down his spine.

      “Thank you, dearie,” Mrs. McClafferty giggled, “won’t you come in?” She led him back to her office. Mrs. McClafferty was a short, round woman with round glasses perched on her nose. Her gray hair was tied up in an elaborate bun on the top of her head. Joel wasn’t sure, but it looked like there was a stripe of magenta in the center of her bun.

      “Well, Joel,” she began, regarding him over her spectacles, “your application here looks fine.”

      “Yes ma’am,” Joel replied.

      “And you were a prior employee of Mr. Grisson, is that right?”

      “Yes ma’am, and even though we can’t work until we’re fifteen, Mr. Grisson never minded bending the rules a little so we could earn some money and learn the value of hard work,” Joel said.

      “Yes, there is a value to hard work, isn’t there?” Mrs. McClafferty replied.

      “Yes ma’am.”

      “I like your attitude,” the woman smiled, “and you’re very respectful. Your parents must be very proud of you.”

      “Yes ma’am,” Joel said.

      “Well, I’ll tell you what,” she said, “why don’t you spend an hour or so in the patch with the boys and let’s see if this kind of work really does suit you. We run a bit more of a robust operation here than Mr. Grisson did, but there are reasons for that.”

      She rose to her feet and so did Joel. There was a pounding sound from beneath them in the cellar. ”Must be some more of the pumpkins settling in storage,” Mrs. McClafferty smiled, almost nervously, Joel thought. “Well Joel, thanks for your time.” She smiled, extending her small gloved hand. “I’d like to hire you back.”

      “Thank you ma’am,” he said, surprised at his good fortune.

      “Don’t mention it,” she said, directing him to the mud room. “You’ve worked here before, you know what we do here on a pumpkin farm. It’s really a no-brainer. Why don’t you take a look at our fields this year?”

      “Yes ma’am,” he said. “Oh, but,” Joel remembered, “I’ll still be able to get back to town by three, won’t I? I’ve got to pick up my little brother from school.”

      “Why of course, this is just a trial is all, Joel, to see if you’ve got the chops for what we do out here,” Mrs. McClafferty said. “You’ll want to get on pair of boots. It can get pretty messy out there, but you know that, don’t you?” she said, motioning him toward some worn boots in the corner. “Gloves are hanging right above you on that hook.”

      Joel quickly got into the old boots he remembered so well and reached for the gloves. He followed Mrs. McClafferty onto the back porch overlooking the expansive pumpkin patch that comprised the back side of the Grisson, er, the McClafferty farm. Joel saw several boys already in the patch.

      “Aaron,” Mrs. McClafferty called out to one of the bigger boys, who looked up at her, “this here’s Joel! He’s applied for the field hand position. Show him what we do here. He’s got to leave by two thirty though … has a little brother to pick up from school.”

      “Yes, Ma,” Aaron replied and motioned Joel to join them.

      “Thanks