PenTwist

Welcome to 2021!

Maximum Orange

An abstract short Campfire Tale for Halloween 2020
by David Pyle

The skies were a mottled flock of white cloudy dots moving steadily under the pristine blue heavens.  Manuel and his little sister Miriana had been working in the crisp Fall air all morning selecting ripe pumpkins from their fathers’ field.  Hired hands had already walked the entire 60 acres, cutting the vines away from the thick green stems and setting each orange prize up for the next step in the harvest.  It was the biggest yield in years according to their father.
From where Miriana stood in the sandy soil, it looked like a sea of orange across the 60 flat acres.  It was especially intimidating for a little girl of only ten years old.  This was her first year to help her brother choose the most uniform and the best of the crop.  These would be their showcase for the buyers already on the way to inspect and make offers for this year’s crop.
Her brother Manuel had made this same pilgrimage for the last three years since he became her age.  Now they were working together despite her brothers protests.  They stopped near noontime to rest and have a lunch their mother had packed that morning.
Manuel looked nervously around at the sea of orange bordered by a heavy line of trees surrounding the open field.
Miriana tried to follow his gaze, as the sun began to haze from behind the clouds.
“Who are you looking for?” she asked.
Manuel ignored her and fiddled with the key of their ATV, which had a small trailer attached behind it.  The cart already had a dozen perfect specimens loaded near the front, with straw carefully stuffed between them to keep from bruising.  Instead of answering her, he wiped the sweat from his chilled brow and helped his sister up on the back of the cart for a seat.
“Let’s see what Mama packed us for lunch today.”
There were several sandwiches, fruit, and candy bars, their favorites.
He handed her a cold can of soda and quickly scanned the area once more with a swivel of his head.
“What’s wrong with you?” his sister asked again, while popping open her can of drink.  “Are you expecting somebody?”
“Let’s just eat, okay?  We’ve still got plenty of sun but we need to fill up two or three more carts before it gets dark.”
Miriana took a drink, then a bite before she shrugged.  “It’s a full moon tonight,” she mumbled between chewing.  “It’ll be fun making one last trip out here at night.”
Manuel blinked thoughtfully, “We’re going to be done before dark.  Remember, we still have to help set up the display for the buyers.”
Miriana laughed, “Poppa always does the display.  You know that.”
Manuel frowned, “Eat your food.”
Almost hesitantly, he spun his head in all directions looking for some unknown, further irritating his sister.  He finally took a bite, snagging off half of his first sandwich, when a brisk wind began whispering across the field.  Dust and straw found its way to where they sat as they hurriedly covered their faces.
Miriana crawled around the edge of the cart and snagged her thin jacket.
“I told you you’d need that didn’t I?” said Manuel.  “Still want to be out here at night when it turns cold?”

ζ

With lunch finished, they quickly filled up the rest of the cart and headed home with their second load of the day.  Their father and half dozen regular workers were almost finished building a three-step scaffold when they arrived.  Manual quickly jumped down and unhitched the cart then latched an empty one to the back of the ATV.
Miriana waved at her Poppa, looking on at them, as they took off back down the long trail to the pumpkin patch.  She held tightly to her brother’s waist as he barreled through the loose sand out in the field.
“This looks good,” he said loudly, before turning off the engine.
Instantly, Miriana turned her head toward the tree line in the distance.
“Did you hear that?”
Manuel’s eyes grew round as he strained to listen through the silence of the vast open field.  The silence coupled with the wind whistling in his ears was eerie.
“It sounded like a little kid crying,” she whispered.
“Probably the wind,” he answered.  “Don’t listen to it.”
Her brother jumped down and hefted a perfect specimen into the front of the cart, ignoring the chills on his arms.  He didn’t say a word to hurry his little sister, instead, he determined that he would fill the cart as quickly as he could by himself.  After all, he had done this for three years, twice by himself.  The only difference was, he knew he had to be out of the field before dark, otherwise….”
Manuel shuddered as he remembered the story he learned from his Grandpa that first year in the patch.  Surely, it was only a campfire tale.
Miriana chose a pumpkin, just a bit too large for her to carry, “This one’s perfect.  Give me a hand here.”
As she stood and stretched, she heard that same sound wailing from far in the distance.  Manuel rushed over, grabbed her select orange orb, and grunted as he lifted it to his chest. 
“Put down some straw,” he wheezed as he lowered it into the cart.  “Why don’t you stay by the cart and let me do the lifting?”
“I’m supposed to help you, remember?  I want to get paid too.”
Her brother looked a bit scared, “I won’t tell anybody.”
As she stood staring at him, the wind whipped her ponytail around, slapping and stinging her cheeks.
“Does this have anything to do with Grandpa’s old pumpkin patch story?”
Manuel stopped everything, squinting into the wind and the stinging sand pelting his face.
“Who told you about Grandpa’s story?”
Her chin rose as she swept away her hair, “I heard him telling bits and pieces to Poppa myself.”
“Then you know why we need to hurry.”
She shook her head, “If any of it was real, do you think Poppa would let us come out here alone?  You’re being a fraidy-cat.”
“You don’t understand.  There’s a moon tonight and we both heard the sounds from the forest.”
Miriana laughed at him, but her scoffing was cut short when they both heard another set of wails in the distance, like a crying infant.
“Hear that?” he whispered loudly.  “It sounds closer.”
“Quit that!” she blurted.  “You’re scaring me.  Besides, I heard Poppa say it was only the wind carrying noises from the trees.”
Manuel had already turned his back on her, hurrying to lift another pumpkin into the cart, ignoring her explanations.
“Hurry up with the straw,” he muttered, then almost ran back to find another.
His sister shook her head and jumped down from the cart.  Now she was in full dismay at her brother.  She wandered several rows away and found another nice pumpkin that she could lift on her own.  Suddenly, the wind carried a sound behind her, so clearly as if a whisper in her ear – “Pick me.”
Miriana screeched and dropped the pumpkin she was struggling with and watched it pop in half on the ground.
“Who said that!” she yelled.
“What are you doing!” barked her brother.
She was now spinning around, staggering in the loose sand, crushing the split pumpkin into pulp.  Her eyes grasped for the source of the voice in a sea of bright orange orbs around her.
The thicket of tall trees that bordered the field looked no taller than hedge in the distance, her home a mile beyond their shield.
“I…, I want to go home,” she said suddenly.
Manuel shook his head, “When the cart is full.”
“What if Grandpa’s story was true?” she asked.
“We have to finish and it’s not dark yet,” he grumbled.  “Now who’s being a fraidy-cat?”
“But I heard one of the pumpkins,” she urged.  “It talked to me.”
Manuel actually laughed at her, then brushed his dark hair out of his eyes.
“Well….  Stay in the cart.  I’ll finish this one by myself, okay?”
As she climbed over into the safety of the ledge at the back, the high clouds thickened overhead, thinning the light of the sun.  The colors of the harvest seemed to turn a more brilliant orange; the pumpkin stems a darker green.  Miriana scrunched down against the corner, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
It wasn’t her imagination.  She heard the voice calling to her.
Now it was her who was spinning every direction looking into the distance and listening with all her ability.
“Hurry up, Manny,” she whined.
She hadn’t called him that in years.  But his feet could only move just so fast in the loose sandy soil, among the dried and twisted vines.  And he did hurry, prompted by her plea and his fear. 

ζ

The cooler north wind was freezing against his sweat as he drove them home, pulling their harvest in tow.  Ever so quickly, Manuel unhitched the trailer beside the three-tier display and found their last cart empty and ready for the next refill.
Suddenly, his sister was at his side, grasping his wrist.
“Where is everybody?” she asked.
It was then Manuel noticed the absence and shook his head, “How should I know?”
“Mama wasn’t in the house either?” she whined.
“They’re probably all over at the other field.  It’s almost time to bring in the sweet potatoes.”
“I have to go.  I have two more trips before it gets dark,” mumbled Manuel.
“You’re going to leave me here alone?” she whined.
“They’ll be back soon.”
They stared at each other for minutes.
“Oh, okay.  Come on,” he sighed.
Deep inside he was a bit relieved not to be out in the vast sea of orange…, alone.
Nearly fifteen minutes later, they were situated right in the center of the pumpkin patch.  Instead of a feeling of safety, there was a vast emptiness.  With the vines withered to dusty brown, the extreme orange was now in every direction. 
They moved without talking, without discussing the fear building inside their thoughts.
This trip was without incident.  In fact, with both of them working together, it seemed as if it took no time at all, even though the sun was now only a head’s height above the horizon.  When they reached home, the other cart was still full right where Manuel had left it.  There was no empty cart to switch with and nobody was around the house, the barn, anywhere nearby.
Much to his dismay, he unloaded the full cart next to the shelves of the display and hurried to leave for one last trip.
Manuel sighed deeply, looking at the depleting sunlight.
“If we work together again, we can get this last load in before dark, but you stay close, okay?”
It seemed as if time was racing forward, fighting against Manuel and his efforts to hurry.  The skies were forming odd colors and an orange shield was glowing down from above, reflecting the last minutes of full sunlight.
Miriana was trying to help, but she was young and small.  Manuel still wondered about his parents having him babysit his sister all day, especially during such an important chore.  At least she was trying.
Ten, fifteen, maybe twenty feet away, he saw another good pumpkin and began to trudge back toward the cart.  He looked around and didn’t see his sister.
“Miriana?  Miri!  Where are you?”
In the distance, he saw her wandering around a bright cluster of pumpkins, but she was ignoring him. 
Miriana was in her own world.  The long shadows and evening sun seemed to make all the big pumpkins glow beautifully.  There was a group she really liked and it seemed to be drawing her closer.  Then she heard that strange call again, “Pick me, pick me.”  Instead of being afraid, she squared her shoulders trying to understand why she was hearing these voices.  Closer she stepped, the voice getting clearer, “Pick me.”  Suddenly, it made perfect sense.  She reached down and felt the smooth skin of the hefty pumpkin.  It really was pretty.  It was just about the biggest she would be able to carry by herself.
She bent down and began to lift it just as she heard her brother’s voice fading away in the distance.

Manuel was running toward his sister, watching her talking to one of the pumpkins on the ground, then she squatted down to pick it up.
As Manuel hurried up behind her, he began to gripe at her for not listening to him, for not staying close to the cart the way she promised.
“Miri, why are you all the way over here?”
The girl stood and turned, then Manuel staggered backward, tripping over a dried vine.  The face he saw was a stranger.  The girl was pretty, but it wasn’t his sister Miriana.
“Miri?” he asked.  “Where’s Miri?  Where did she go?”
The girl seemed as if she was in a daze, looking down at the boy calling out a strange name.
“I’m Clovie.  Who’s Miriana?” she asked.
Manuel jumped back up and looked around the patch, as the evening darkness began settling over the 60 acres.
“Miri!” he yelled, calling to the open field.
Over and over, he yelled, walking in a circle.
As darkness descended, he saw figures moving from the tree line, into the pumpkin patch and walking slowly his direction.
Frantic and fighting off a cold chill that was settling over his soul, he watched in horror as the dark figures came closer.  In the twilight, there was a moment of recognition and his heart jumped inside.
The figures were his family and the workers from the adjacent field.  Maybe they heard him calling Miriana and came to help.  He glanced at the young girl who called herself Clovie and she was also transfixed on the line of people walking their way.
Suddenly, her expression changed from fear to joy and she ran toward one of the hired workers.
“Daddy! Daddy!” she exclaimed.
The man stumbled as he ran toward her, hugging her close to his chest.
“Clovie?  Is it really you?  Oh, my Clovie!”
It was then Manuel saw his parents standing side by side, his mother turning to his father and burying her face into his chest.  They held each other while his mother stood weeping.
In a few moments’ time, his Grandpa made his way to where Manuel stood and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 
“I don’t know what happened to Miriana,” he whimpered up to his Grandpa.
The old man nodded his weathered face, “Every family has a turn.  You’ll see her again.  One day.”

…………..

The Hopeless trap of In-Between

Reference:  Between Life and Death

The Ghosts of Ames’ Past

Reference:  Between Life and Death

The Darkness is Endless…

Reference:  Flesh and Bones

Jolie Dimanche Finds Her Heart

Reference:  Between Life and Death & Hells Bells

Take care that the thing you seek

….does not seek you out.

Reference:  Flesh and Bones

…………..

Halloween 2020

Lowered Expectations

Remember the hard hours spent writing, rewriting, editing, then your hard work flew off to your editor!
Rinse and Repeat!

Grammar was king. Your prose could be dry and boring and not one criticism of the masses. But by golly, you’d be thrown to the dogs for any grammatical faux-pas missed!

Well, guess what?

The standards are about to change.

No longer will you be under the stringent grammatical microscope.  You may keep your hard-earned standards but watch for a flood of virtually unedited works.  Consider yourself fortunate if you already have a valuable base of readers!  The competition will be ugly.

And here’s why:

https://bongino.com/rutgers-university-declares-grammar-racist

As a Die Hard Horror Fiction Fan and Writer, I’d like to give kudos to an exceptional Space Opera.
Great North Road by Peter Hamilton

If you have time to immerse yourself into a futuristic world, give this a try:

• A Balanced Synopsis: https://www.tor.com/2012/12/04/slow-motion-space-opera-great-north-road-by-peter-f-hamilton