The Curse of the Pumpkin King

The town of Willows Peak was known for two things: its autumnal charm and the legend of the Pumpkin King. Every Halloween, the town’s square erupted in orange and black splendor, with jack-o’-lanterns in every window and the scent of roasted pumpkin seeds in the air. But the heart of the festival was the Pumpkin King himself — a towering statue with a carved grin and eyes that seemed to follow you. For over a hundred years, he had kept silent vigil, ensuring Willows Peak’s safety… or so the legend said.

This year, however, the town awoke to find the Pumpkin King gone.

— -

It was early on Halloween morning when Jace, Quinn, and Lily stumbled upon the news. They were at Quinn’s kitchen table, sipping cider and scrolling through their phones, when Jace muttered, “You’re not going to believe this, guys. The Pumpkin King… he’s gone.”

Quinn snorted. “Someone probably pulled a prank.”

But Jace shook his head, his face pale. “You don’t get it. There’s a legend that says if he’s not back by midnight, the town will be cursed.”

The trio shared a look. Legends were just stories to spook tourists, right? But Lily, with her quiet voice and eyes that always seemed to see too much, shivered. “Maybe… maybe we should try to find him. Just in case.”

And so, as the town’s mayor began scrambling for explanations, the three teens embarked on a scavenger hunt that would take them into the darkest corners of Willows Peak.

— -

They started in the town square. The spot where the statue once stood was surrounded by yellow police tape, and a faint outline remained on the stone where the Pumpkin King’s base had once rested.

Lily knelt, running her fingers over the markings. “It looks like… claw marks,” she whispered.

Jace scoffed. “Probably a trick of the light.”

But Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “No. She’s right. Something scraped him out of here, not just a couple of vandals with crowbars.”

Just then, Lily noticed a small scroll tucked near the edge of the base. She unrolled it carefully, her hands trembling slightly. The scroll contained a riddle:

*“Find me in the place of forgotten dreams, where echoes sing and silence screams.”*

Jace’s brow furrowed. “Forgotten dreams… that sounds like the old abandoned schoolhouse.”

Quinn glanced at his watch. “It’s getting dark. If we’re doing this, let’s hurry.”

As they walked, the evening chill settled over the town, and fog began creeping in, wrapping around them like a warning.

— -

The schoolhouse loomed over them, skeletal and dark. Broken windows stared out like vacant eyes, and the air was thick with the scent of mildew and something else, something sour. They pushed open the creaking door, and immediately, the temperature dropped. Shadows danced in the corners, and every step they took seemed to echo for miles.

“Do you guys feel that?” Lily whispered, clutching her arms. “Like… someone’s watching us?”

The others nodded, but none of them dared to turn around. They made their way to the main hall, where the silence was so oppressive it felt alive. Suddenly, a faint whisper echoed, so soft that it could have been imagined.

Jace swallowed hard. “Hello?” he called, his voice shaky.

Silence answered him. Then, as if drawn by an invisible hand, a dusty chalkboard creaked, swinging back to reveal another scroll, pinned by a rusty nail. This time, the message was simpler:

*“Down by the creek, where the waters weep.”*

“Not the creek,” Quinn groaned. “That place always freaks me out at night.”

Lily stared at the riddle, her expression unreadable. “We have to go. Midnight is only a few hours away.”

— -

The trio made their way to Willow Creek, a narrow stream that wound through the woods at the edge of town. Moonlight filtered through the branches, casting eerie shadows on the ground. The creek bubbled quietly, but as they approached, the sound twisted, morphing into soft, sorrowful sobs.

“That’s… not normal,” Jace said, inching closer to Quinn.

The creek’s banks were dotted with stones, many of which bore strange symbols, carved long ago and worn by the elements. Near one of these stones, they found a single orange petal, almost glowing in the moonlight. As Lily picked it up, she gasped. Another scroll was wedged beneath the stone:

*“The forest’s heart holds what you seek; tread lightly, or death shall speak.”*

They shared a look of dread. Willows Peak’s forest was dense and tangled, a maze of twisted trees and hidden paths that even locals avoided at night. But with time ticking away, they had no choice.

— -

Entering the forest felt like stepping into another world. The trees loomed overhead, their branches weaving into a canopy that blocked out the stars, and the air was thick with the scent of decaying leaves and damp earth. Every sound — the snap of a twig, the rustle of leaves — felt amplified, and shadows seemed to move just out of sight.

“Stay close,” Quinn murmured, though his voice was barely more than a whisper.

They walked deeper, guided by the glow of their phone lights, though the batteries seemed to be draining faster than usual. They could feel eyes on them, could hear soft footsteps mirroring their own. And then, just ahead, they saw it — a clearing bathed in an unnatural light.

At the center of the clearing stood a figure, a tall, skeletal man with a carved pumpkin for a head. The Pumpkin King.

Lily’s voice caught in her throat. “He’s… alive?”

As if in answer, the figure turned, empty eyes locking onto them. His mouth twisted into a grin, and the air grew colder still. “You seek to return me,” he intoned, his voice like the rustling of dry leaves. “But my freedom tastes sweet.”

Quinn stepped forward, his voice steady. “The town needs you back. If you don’t return by midnight, it’ll be cursed.”

The Pumpkin King chuckled, a hollow, echoing sound. “Cursed? Your town has always been cursed… it simply forgot.”

With a wave of his hand, the clearing transformed. Shadows became twisted figures, clawing at the air, reaching for the teens. The sky darkened, and the ground felt as if it was pulsing, alive with a sinister energy.

“Run!” Jace yelled, but the trees seemed to close in, trapping them.

Lily’s eyes darted around desperately, her mind racing. Then she noticed something — a small pendant around the Pumpkin King’s neck, shaped like a key.

“It’s the key!” she cried. “We need to get it!”

Quinn, without thinking, lunged forward, dodging the shadowy figures that reached for him. His fingers closed around the pendant, and with a fierce tug, he yanked it free. The Pumpkin King let out an unearthly shriek, his form beginning to waver and dissolve.

The forest seemed to buckle, and in an instant, they found themselves back in the town square, the statue of the Pumpkin King restored to its rightful place, the clock chiming just as midnight struck.

The fog lifted, and the air felt clean, but the three friends knew that the Pumpkin King’s words would haunt them forever: “Your town has always been cursed… it simply forgot.”

As the festival continued and the townsfolk laughed and danced, Jace, Quinn, and Lily shared a silent vow: they would never speak of this night again.

And somewhere, deep within the forest, a pair of hollow eyes continued to watch, waiting patiently for the day when the town might forget again…