Sarah Roberts stood on her front porch, shaking her head. Every year, she went through the trouble of putting up Halloween decorations, and every year some asshole kids from the neighborhood would trash things. The hay bales she'd had stacked out front were knocked over, the fake witch she'd had hanging from the tree was nowhere to be seen, and her jack-o-lanterns were smashed to pieces.
Toilet paper trailed down from the branches of the big oak tree in her front yard. Some of the little ceramic skulls she'd carefully put tea candles inside were missing, some were broken. Sarah surveyed the damage, then suddenly felt a stab of panic.
She ran over to the jumble of hay bales, and saw that her scarecrow- the very expensive antique scarecrow that she'd purchased from that odd old woman- was still there, and still intact. It was lying on its back on the other side of the bales. It was intact, but had been tampered with.
Some junior high joker had apparently thought that it would be funny to take one of the decorative pieces of corn she'd arranged on the bales, and to stick it out from between the scarecrow's legs, like a jutting penis. Sarah shook her head again, breaking a slight smile as she tsked to her self. Kids!
She bent over, and tried to pick up the corncob, but when she pulled on it, the entire waist of the scarecrow came up with it, hips raising off the ground. She let go, then tried again, with the same result. She heard faint laughter, and blushed.
Great! It had looked like she was giving the scarecrow a handjob. Some kid must be lurking nearby, waiting around to see his handiwork. Or rather, to see HER handiwork. Sarah bent over again, this time picking up the entire scarecrow and heaving it over her shoulder. She walked back inside, with as much dignity as she could, considering the situation. The ear of dried corn jabbed into her back a bit with every step.
Sarah dumped the scarecrow down on the couch, then rested. The thing was heavier than it looked. She had no idea how old the thing was, but they certainly didn't make them like this any more. The body of the scarecrow consisted of a full set of old-fashioned farm clothing: brown shirt, brown pants, socks and even shoes for the feet. The hands were what appeared to be well-worn leather work gloves, stitched right to the sleeves.
Sarah didn't know what the thing was stuffed with, but it felt like solid cloth. Probably old rags or something. She wasn't sure why she bought it, she was just driving down a country road, and saw that a farm house was having a yard sale. She stopped by, the scarecrow caught her eye, and she bought it on a whim.
When she told the old woman who was running the sale that she was going to use it as a Halloween decoration, the woman had responded oddly: "When you truly have the spirit of Halloween, the spirit of Halloween will truly have YOU!"
Sarah was pretty certain that the old woman wasn't quite right in the head, but the price she'd paid for the decoration had seemed quite reasonable, so she didn't feel like she was ripping anybody off. Considering the way things had turned out, with those kids ruining her display on Halloween night itself, Sarah was beginning to think that she'd paid too much for the thing. It should have gone to somebody else, somebody who lived in a neighborhood that appreciated the spirit of Halloween.
Trick-or-treating was through for the night, and curfew was in effect, so Sarah didn't expect any more trouble from kids that night. Now it was adult time. She decided it would be a good time to break out some of the pumpkin spice wine that she bought, and maybe eat some of the leftover candy. Sarah always bought more than enough, and always smiled as she had to dispose of the leftovers.
She went into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of pumpkin wine from the fridge, and uncorked it. She set her wide, black witch's hat down on the counter, then went back to the living room and settled in on the couch. The scarecrow was sprawled on the other end of the couch, it's head limply lolling backward, as if had passed out while looking at something on the ceiling, perhaps a spider in the corner.
"Well," Sarah said to the scarecrow. "I guess you've had a rough night, but now we get to relax!"
She drank some of the wine straight from the bottle, then set the bottle down on the coffee table. Really, she considered, it should be called a "wine table." She certainly never drank coffee on it. She kicked off her black high heels, stretching her toes a bit, though they were still enclosed in the black stockings that made up part of her "sexy witch" outfit, the other components being a short black dress, the discarded shoes, the discarded hat, and a pair of black, velvety opera length gloves. She considered ditching the gloves as well, and the stockings, but she decided to keep them on. They make her feel sexy.
Sarah reached over to the bottle, took another swig. The stuff was good, although it tasted a bit more like cider than pumpkin in her opinion. There was a sharp wine flavor, though, and the spices reminded her of mulled wine. She wondered if the stuff she was drinking would be better if it were heated, but decided that it was good enough as-is.
She tucked her feet underneath her, leaned on the arm of the couch, and turned on the television, skipping through channel after channel until she found a good movie. Finally, she found a station playing an old horror classic, Romero's Martin, a story of a boy who may or may not be a vampire, but who was certainly a serial killer. He'd have sex with unconscious women, drink their blood, and dispose of the bodies.
Sarah thought she could use a bit of that first bit, the sex. Although she didn't want to be unconscious for it. Helpless, maybe, to a point, though. She grinned. The other two steps were no good, of course. The women couldn't appreciate the first step. Martin, Sarah decided, was a selfish dick.
She watched the movie anyway, drinking her spiced pumpkin wine, unwinding from the day. As the movie unfolded on the glowing screen in front of her, Sarah grew first tipsy, then a bit drunk. Unconscious women or not, some of the sex scenes were turning her on, making her feel horny, and lonely.
By the time the movie ended, she had moved to the middle of the couch, and the room was spinning slightly every time she moved her head. She leaned over to the scarecrow, pulling its head forward to look at its face. "Hey, Jack! Are you lonely too?"
Sarah apparently had decided to name the thing "Jack," probably from Jack Skellington from A Nightmare Before Christmas, or from Jack Pumpkinhead from Baum's Oz books. It seemed like a good, Halloweeny name. Jack O'Lantern. Although, this scarecrow didn't have a jack-o-lantern for a head, just a standard cloth sack stitched to the collar of the brown shirt. A hat was stitched on top of the head. From the neck up, this thing looked more like the Scarecrow from Oz than it looked like old Jack Pumpkinhead.
