Chapter 2: Pumpkin Hollow and the farmhouse
"Wha…what…where am I?" she stuttered feverishly taking one step back.
"Follow my voice through the pumpkin field!"
Grace did not like how the voice had been speaking to her one bit. The tone felt slithering and poison. Then again, part of her had wanted to know how the den winded up here, as if by magic. No, it couldn't be. There is no such thing. Ahead of her, the pumpkin patch spread all around her location like a never ending smoldering desert. Building up her courage, she walked through the trail following the voice as it kept calling her name eerily.
The pumpkins were neat and shiny with pure orange. Laying there beneath the soft soiled dirt, the heifer kept on going without looking back. She was now 30ft away from the den with the other two girls still in a deep slumber. As she continued walking down the dirt path, she thought she sensed a strange movement from behind her and turned around to look.
So far, there was nothing. Nothing but a medium sized pumpkin with green vines sticking out of it, lying on the dirt. Wasn't it there before? Having no time to question her mind, she continued onward.
This time something had snapped at her hind legs. Grace spun around again to see the same pumpkin closer to her. This was now becoming far too weird. She stepped backwards with her eyes locked onto the pumpkin. It didn't seem to be moving anytime soon. Still, Grace did not dare to look away for even a moment too soon. Then unexpectedly, she felt something else grab and pull her tail.
Turning her head around, Grace was horrified to find an orange reddish pumpkin with two evil eyes, a nose, and a fanged grin carved into it. She tried to scream, but her voice became locked in her throat as the other pumpkin whom she suspected of following her, had wrapped its vines around her front legs together like snakes.
"Hey, let go of me!" she cried. But the pumpkin ignored her pleas.
It too, had the expression of an evil smirk carved inside and out. Up till now, Grace was completely petrified as a few more pumpkins strolled up to her then started to bind her body with their vines.
"Help, somebody help me!" she cried out struggling in the vines that kept her bounded. Grace could feel their grip tighten up as her bones were on the verge of breaking up at any moment. Her chest got heavy and she couldn't breathe well. A mixture of snickering and taunting filled the air.
"Sing!" The mysterious eerie voice called out breaking the commotion. The pumpkins stopped what they were doing and listened confusingly. A cool rush of air breezed past her.
"Sing? Me? Why?" Grace questioned the voice while a vine had been coiling its way up to her mouth.
"Just do it!" The voice commanded.
"Um…ugh…she'll be…" Grace sunk her teeth into the vine before it had a chance to warp around her mouth. The pumpkin screeched in pain like a bird caught in a trap, uncoiling her.
"…phew…comin' round the mountain when she comes," she continued nervously. The other pumpkins with their vines still binding her had changed their expressions from satisfaction to a disgusted frown. Not only that, but Grace could feel their grip loosen up off her body and unwrapping her legs.
"Keep singing!"
"She'll be comin' round the mountain when she comes," the more Grace sang, the more the binds slipped off. Finally the pumpkins could stand no more as they uncoiled her completely, scampering off into the distance with their vines covering their ears (if they had any).
"What just happened?" a confused Grace questioned once more, watching the pumpkins disappear.
"As long as you sing in this patch, they won't come near you."
It seemed rather fiendishly complicated for Grace to be in the mood for singing while she was terrified of what happened recently. Following the voices advice, she treaded onward once more singing the same song she sang to the demonic pumpkins. They didn't seem to take a liking to her singing one bit. The thought of that formed a sullen frown across her face. She still believed in her own opinion that no other singing in the world can ever compare to hers.
"Well I don't care what they think of me," she muttered. If her singing would keep them away from her, then that's what she'll do until she's out of here.
At an old farmhouse
"Sing no more, now that you are out of Pumpkin Hollow!" The voice informed Grace after twenty minutes of walking. Spinning around, Grace saw a billboard sign hanging on a wooden fence which read:
Pumpkin Hollow: Tread softly and beware of wandering pumpkins. If one manages to encounter one or two, any kind of singing will drive them back to where they came from.
That's the strangest odd sort of advice she ever come across. Still, she was relieved for now to be out of their territory. But now where was she?
Ahead of her was what appeared to be an old dampened two-story farm house and a busted windmill? If anybody still lived there, then maybe it was best to leave it be. She had enough trouble with the deformed walking pumpkins.
"I know I shouldn't go barging in on other folk's properties. Even if it does look abandoned. Besides, it's not like I would be needing their help," she replied, stepping foot over a few stinking piles of raw hay. The foul stench burned her nostrils from too much inhaling, but she also could feel it swell inside her body. The old house was surrounded by a garden of spiky weeds, and wheat fields being blown by yet another cool rush of air.
"Then again," she stopped halfway to turn her attention back to the farmhouse. "Maybe he or she can help give me directions. It's worth a try." However, there were a few unseen beady eyes staring at her from somewhere, watching her jump over the fence to knock on the doors.
"Caw, Caw!" a flock of black crows had watched the lost frightened bovine from the scarecrow fields. Seeing her as another trespasser they believed to be their property, they flew up and encircled high above where Grace had walked past the windmill. Before she could knock, Grace looked up in alarm and saw them swoop down to attack her. She managed to dodge their first attack, but soon they dove at her head then pecked at her hide.
"Stop it, leave me alone! What's wrong with you!" she cried angrily, trying to shoo them off. But the crows would not stop. Surprisingly, Grace managed to turn the knob with her hoof and bolt right on in before the crows had the chance to go for her face. She could still hear their flapping from the outside attempting to break in. Finally, the crows gave up then flew off in search of more trespassers to annoy.
Grace sunk to the floor breathing a sigh of relief. So far in this bizarre world, she had been brutally attacked by pumpkins, and now crows. Well she once learned from Mrs. Calloway that crows were sensitive territorial birds; so it may have been positive that this old farm could be their property. These ones were far worse than the crows who taunted her with crude remarks from when she was still a calf. Inside the house, there were loose floorboards, dusted old furniture, wavering cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, and a messy stained kitchen infested with spiders, roaches, ants, and lizards crawling over the dirty dishes on the table and sink. Grace rolled her tongue out in disgust at the horrible sight of it.
"Ugh, what a filthy mess! Glad I don't live here."
Grace then felt another presence in the house when her ears perked up at the sound of a human humming from upstairs. Her disgusted expression changed into a weak smile. Well it may turn out that somebody lives here after all. Forgetting about the condition of the filthy kitchen, she decided to go up the stairs and investigate to where it would lead her. The aging stairs creaked from every step she took.
Upstairs, Grace found herself in the thick of two hallways. From her left to her right, they were both alike. The left side had been decorated with pictures hanging on the walls, a fine wooden chair seated next to a small round table with a pipe placed on top. The right side had been decorated the same way as the other. Except that Grace could feel the humming tune growing louder from there. She walked slowly with caution as she approached the door at the end. Placing her left ear on the wooden door, the hoarse humming sounded something similar to an elderly man.
"Here," she whispered, turning the knob as slowly as possible. The opening of the door caused a small creak which would have been capable of making any settler jump in shock. But still the homeowner sat rocking back and forth humming.
"Umm e…excuse me," was all Grace could mumble as she stood at the doorway. The homeowner stopped humming, but still continued rocking.
"Aw, a visitor eh?" said the old man in that horrid old voice. Something about him made Grace shudder and cringed. She had at least expected him to shout angrily about her sudden entering.
"Well um…actually I was wondering if you could…"
"…help ye find yer way outta here?" the old man interrupted finishing her sentence.
"Yes, b…but how did you know? Grace gave a puzzled look.
"Cause every wanderin' outsider from outta this world just goes on invitin' themselves in on other folk's homes without even knockin'," he spoke sourly in a southern accent.
"I'm very sorry," Grace could feel her face blush with embarrassment. "But there were these crows bothering me and I just didn't know where to go."
"Well sorry don't cut it stranger," he replied. "Still, I'm mighty too old t' be holdin' a grudge so I'll let ye off the hook this time." He just spoke while still rocking in his chair as if nobody were in with him. Once again, Grace was puzzled. What was this old man on to anyway?
"How'd ye like to stay for dinner wit' me?" the mysterious man stopped rocking in his chair and sat up to walk to a small square table in the left corner of the dark room. "I don't know when's the last time I had a guest drop in."
Grace still stood by the doorway frozen stiff. Whoever heard of an elderly person becoming grouchy in the first place then suddenly turns into Mr. Nice Guy inviting you to dinner on your first meeting? This didn't seem too normal. But what harm would an old man like him do?
"Um, actually I…I think I better…" Grace took one step back from the doorway.
"Ah now what's yer hurry?" His tone became low and crafty as he looked to be carrying up a tray with something on it. Yet the darkness of the room prevented her eyes from viewing both the man and what was on the plate.
"Oops, better snap the lights on," setting the plate back on the table, he clapped his hands in midair in which two candles lit up like lighters. The young heifer took another step back after witnessing what he had done. He just made those candles burn without having to use a match. Two chairs sat at the opposite end. What if she really did get into this world by magic?
"As I was sayin'," he began, picking the tray back up. "Tonight's special will be…" he circulated to reveal his true image and the side dish. The old man was a grotesque sight to be seen. He had greenish wrinkly skin, cracked fungal fingernails, and a skeletal face manifesting though his skin. He had no nose and his eyes were a sickly yellowish sight. On his decayed body, he wore tattered torn blu overalls. He was a zombie! But that wasn't the only thing.
"…rattlesnake stew!" a sand-colored rattlesnake slithered in a tin silver bowl of sickly green gooey slime causing the heifer's stomach to twist and burn with nausea. Already she was starting to feel sick. With her eyes closing tightly shut and her hoof over her mouth, she didn't notice the rattlesnake slither halfway out of the bowl to rise up next to her face. Opening one eye, she saw its black beady eyes locked onto her and opened its mouth wide showing long sharp fangs as it let out a hiss.
"AAAAAWWWWW!" Grace released a high scream as she zoomed down the hallway to the stairs and out the door. In less than a minute, she was back on the trail outside the farmhouse, still darting as fast as she could. Soon the zombie-like farmer stood at his front door holding the silver tray. He watched as Grace still sped into the distance like a bullet leaving a trail of dust clouds. At this point, he seemed rather puzzled.
"What, I don't get it. I thought everybody loved my special recipe." He scooped the end of the snake up out of the bowl and sighed.
"Oh well, guess I'll hafta eat it myself," He turned back inside and closed the door behind him.
Author's note: About those last two words on my story summary, I meant to write: Will Grace ever escape from the wicked place or is it all just a dream? Just in case readers were wondering what it meant. I forgot to type them, so sorry about that.