Saturday
The third mistake was not seeking Mama out immediately. Instead, Esme paused at the bottom of the stairs to wipe the Liz loogie off her hot cheek. At that unfortunate moment, the dumb newsman with all the 6’s covering light blue jacket happened to break in on Daddy’s movie.
“Rat bastards! It was just getting good!”
Conditioned after six years of Daddy tantrums, she froze. Dad threw his last kernel of congealed popcorn at the tube.
“Limited commercial interruptions my ass!”
There was the dreaded turn towards the couch. Mama wasn’t there to calm him. Esme, a prime target by not being in bed, let the half sob, half gasp escape. All emotions had been rubbed raw by twisty burns. She stumbled back a step, ready to run back upstairs but Daddy was already out of his chair, bending down next to her.
“Es?”
Blinding light destroyed the night. Mama, with mom-sense tingling, bent down beside Daddy, looking into her littlest’s tear stained eyes.
“Whatsamatter, baby?”
Esme was no rat tat tattletale but Mom-sense included mind reading. The little girl crimped her mouth closed just as she had done when Liz and Molly had her pinned on the carpet, playing drooly loogie.
Mistake #4 couldn’t be helped when Esme wiped her cheek again.
Mama yanked Esme’s arm over. The pinch sized purple welts were swelling fast. Mama’s atomic stare settled on the ceiling.
“Which one?”
No more mistakes here. Esme squeezed Sharky’s well squished tummy that had once been so tightly stuffed by Mama’s gentle hands. Daddy caught on and Esme hid behind the kitten soft Great White’s semi-ferocious embroidered grin.
“GIRLS,” he shouted. “GET YOUR BUTTS DOWN HERE ON THE DOUBLE!”
The rumble from above got Esme cringing before she was airborne. Playing koala on Mama Eucalyptus was automatic. Esme buried her face in her trunk when the rumble landed on the first riser. Liz and Molly’s giggles echoed through the silence. Esme dared peek. The vengeance for tattletales was already brewing in their glare.
Mama held out the boney, little evidentiary arm. There was the typical, simultaneous, snotty “MOM” in unison. Dad’s finger was up, semaphore for the oncoming nuclear blast. “Don’t take that tone with your mother, young ladies!”
Molly, stepping out of Liz henchman character, took the stand. “She was messing around in our stuff again-”
Mom leaned in, wiping the remnants of lime green eyeshadow from Molly’s temple. “And by stuff you mean the eye shadow I just bought yesterday? Beyond the sticky fingers, you know this gives you hives, Molly-”
“Okay, okay.” Dad was surprisingly calm, almost amused. “Let’s all take it down a level.” He turned on Molly first. “You! Beauty queen! Any unauthorized beauty products go back in your mother’s drawer immediately!”
Liz switched from giving Esme a vicious “cruisin’ for a bruisin’” snarl to Daddy’s a sucker smile like a real pro.
“Don’t you give me that smile,” he said. “You’re too old for this two against one crap! You guys wanna stay home on Halloween? No carnival? No trick-r-treat?”
 Liz’s cheeks didn’t need any hot pink blush now. “DAD! That’s not fair-”
“LIZ, I don’t care. You’re not supposed to don the pinchers of doom on a six year old!” He grew his expected extra three feet, looming above all three daughters plus Mama. “You girls need to find a way to get along and keep all hands and noses TO YOURSELVES or there will be no Halloween, no Thanksgiving and NO CHRISTMAS! Understand!” He turned on Esme then with the same father fury. “And YOU! Stay out of their stuff! I mean it!” Focus was back on the twins making faces at the instant of distraction. “I SAW THAT! You just earned weeding the backyard tomorrow!” There was the unified groan before the finger raised again. “Shut it and get to bed or add trimming the ivy!”
The flurry of frightened sister dashed back up the stairs. A few “ow’s” came down as they played Tweedle Dumb and Dee for plots foiled. Esme’s leery toes curled in worn bunny slippers at the idea of later vengeance.
“Do not make me come up there, girls!” Mama may not have had Daddy’s temper but you did not want to cross her. She rolled Esme over to her hip and headed for the kitchen. “Let’s put something on that arm.”
Esme clutched Mama’s shoulder. Her spank free bottom and un-mercurochromed wounds had never felt so exposed until Daddy settled back into his squeaky armchair. There was some grumbling about children, commercials and anchormen but nothing more.
Mama rubbed her back. “The jeweler’s loop and Xacto are only in case of splinters. No brandishing of the stinging mercurochrome wand tonight.”
She set Esme on the yellow kitchen counter by the big jar of frosted jack o’lantern and ghost cookies while she gathered some ice. The crockagator on the pink box gave up a baggie for ice instead of peanut butter sandwiches for once. Esme’s toes curled again in preparation for cold torture. Mama, however, was more well-schooled than the school nurse. She wrapped the baggy in the clean dishtowel with the pumpkins and leaves on it set out for the next week and gently set it on Esme’s arm.
As she tended to the welts, she gave Esme that “you know better smile”. “So? What pray tell is the reason for the flight o’ fancy from your wittle brain this evening?”
There would be no further mistakes tonight. Esme shook her wittle noggin.
Mama leaned in tighter, better interrogator than Starsky or Hutch. “They may seem like witches, but they can’t hear through walls.”
You wanna bet, Esme thought.
“Only Mama and Daddy can do that.”
Still unsure but faulting to Mama logic, Esme leaned in, whispers daring fate. “Liz took my grape eraser.”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. The great grape eraser caper.” Mama turned to the stove, chuckling. “Say that ten times fast. Like cabbage cabbage cabbage.”
This was always the trick to get Esme laughing. She repeated the phrase but dared not dream at sight of the white enamel pot being set on the stove until Mama pulled the yellow Hershey’s tin with the happy boy on it from the cupboard. She licked her lips in mimicry of the boy. Her heart surged when the bag of marshmallows came next.
“Well,” Mama sighed behind the brown fridge door. “I think there might have to be a make-up and eraser caper around here later tonight.” There was a slippage of Mamannoyance. “Sneaking around my make-up, flirting with boys. Twelve year olds...” She exhaled strong enough to blow the one strand of dark hair pulled loose from her ponytail, then wiped it back from her forehead with her well-worked but well-manicured hands. “Sisters!”
She didn’t have to tell Esme. Good grief. She gathered Esme up, giving her a comical smirk and wiping Esme’s messy hair back from her face.
“I know. You’re the baby. Easy pickin’s.”
Esme landed in one of the shiny red orange chairs at what Daddy liked to call the white petite cafe table. She picked up her swivel from the afternoon, foot bunnies dangling and dancing well above the orange linoleum as she awaited cocoa scrumdiddlyumptiousness. The pot on the stove gave a squeal when Mama turned the handle to turn down the heat. Esme was left to the staring contest with Hershey’s kid while Mama dared to inquire whether Daddy wanted cocoa. The boy’s blue eyes were brilliant even under the dim light above the stove. He tested Esme with subtle victory, bragging how his belly was always filled with chocolate.
After some muted mutterings about continuous nightly bickering, Mama returned putting on a bright smile while grumbling to herself. She prepared three cups, one pink and one orange plastic future style and the small one with the two very chipped handles with the cute purple lamb prancing across it. The lamb arrived under Esme’s nose with a fluffy mountainous island of marshmallows. The orange mug left with the Matterhorn size topping of marshmallows. Mama came back, making the silly mistake of taking hers plain from the remaining pink mug. Her smile between blows eased Esme’s woes; the cocoa from the happy boy’s tummy, molten yet delicious. The marshmallows almost made her forget the Sistersmonster penchant for revenge.

Sunday
The lights went out. Esme froze. Her time had come. After weeding, Liz and Molly had been allowed to go rollerskating in the church parking lot behind the house. Esme kept to sanctuary in the kitchen, staying out from underfoot during the chili and cornbread making process. Mama’s sense wasn’t working. One of them was surely waiting under the kitchen window, listening for the garbage disposal so the other could turn on the dryer at just the right instant, the circuit breaker collateral damage. Lights out. Sister dead or gagged and bound, blindfolded, left to roll helplessly down the hill or shoved in the dreaded crawlspace.
The end.
Esme clutched the white petite cafe table. Mama rustled around the overloaded junk drawer next to the fridge, grumbling about Daddy’s growing stack of menus like a fool. The old silver flashlight came to life, beating out the blue flame under the big red pot full of bubbling chili for best illumination. The red plastic top gave Mama a devilish spotlight when she gave Esme a “Mwhahaha”. Something in Esme’s eyes gave the little girl away. Mama dropped the spooky bit immediately and patted her back.
“It’s only a blackout, Es. Relax.”
Oh, how naive Mama could be, missing such a calculated attack. Esme was pulled from her frantic mind hunt for fiendish Sistersmonster strategies when a figure approached from the hall. The stuttering heaving breath echoed memories of Darth Vader.
Esme crouched down, preparing for eminent death by lightsaber. Mama was too busy waving the flashlight outside to see if the Sistersmonster had smote the entire neighborhood to notice. The chair protested with a squeak when Esme tried shrinking into it.  Mama turned, daring an Obi Wan death by shining her own version of a lightsaber on Darth.
Good ol’ Darth turned into good ol’ Daddy. He waved the beam off and pulled his breathing mask off his sweaty, paint and Bondo covered face, letting it rest like a dunce cap in his sweaty hair.
“Whatyado?”
“Me?” Mama blinded him with the beam again, before spotlighting the once grey sweatshirt and jeans that matched his face. “I’m not the one playing Pollock with the spray paint on that car.”
That car was Daddy’s pet project of fixing up his old Studebaker. Daddy would trouble and toil for hours in the garage, trying to raise the rusted junker from the dead. Always incensed by Mama’s belittling of his metal mistress, Daddy would straighten up and lecture Mama on how rare said ugly duckling of an auto was, and how she was just on the verge of becoming a swan.
Today, just as he took the first step on his old chestnut of a soapbox, Liz and Molly burst through the door. Esme covered her mouth to stop her own screech.
Molly rolled around Mama. “The lights are out all over.”
Liz rolled around Esme, sizing her up for a secret bop. “I almost tripped over that big bump in the sidewalk.”
She said it as if Esme had raised the bump. Mama directed the beam at their skates and proceeded to roll them both back out the door. “Outside and off with the skates before you streak up my floor. Scoot!”
“But MOM!” Liz groaned. “We could fall and die!”
Mama’s inner eye roll caused a ripple effect despite the darkness. She smacked the flashlight in Liz’s hand. When there was still protest and pause at the kitchen door from the Shaun Cassidy satin jacketed twins, Daddy jumped from the hall and grabbed the flashlight, playing bogeyman.
“You’ll do as your mother tells you or you will have to clean up...the garage!” He snuck a hand under Shaun’s goofy mug to snap the rainbow suspenders holding up Liz’s shorts. “MWHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Quit it! You’ll stretch ‘em out!”
To further tease, Daddy rolled her back and forth by her suspenders. Liz was always daring an atomic blow up from Daddy. Molly, a true henchman, did as she was told. A laugh dared escape Esme when Liz cracked and laughed. Mama held her hands out for skates. Liz finally broke free, inspecting her suspenders.
“They’re probably broke now.” She plopped down on the kitchen step to begrudgingly remove her skates and pout. “God-”
“Oh they’re fine,” Daddy said.
Mama smacked his butt with Molly’s skates for taking a sneak dip of chili. She ushered him, along with sock footed Molly and Liz out of her kitchen.
 “Okay, children.” She dumped the skates and Daddy’s paint mask atop his sweaty crown in the hall closet.  “Upstairs, all of you. Wash off outside and paint cooties. Chili and cornbread in ten.”
“Can’t we have something else,” Liz groaned.
“I’m not hungry,” Molly whined.
All complaints went unheard as she handed off flashlights. The dark remained obstinate until a big white candle floated back into the kitchen attached to Mama. She could have been in one of Daddy’s scary movies. Yet, despite the dark, Esme was in wonder of feeling safe for the first time in days. The Sistersmonster was never forgiving or forgetful.
“Esme, snap to it!”
Sweet cornbread muffin steam flooded her nose. Mama had set the basket in her arms and the butter dish in her palm. Mama set the other basket of what she called the “real” cornbread, which was, of course the icky unsweetened kind on her end. Esme set out the items on her end and tried to stay out of Mama’s way when Mama plunked the pot of chili down on the wicker trivet. More Mamannoyance surfaced. Something about the mountain of cheese to be grated just for Daddy. Facing Sistersmonster revenge was as terrifying as Daddy’s snits but causing Mamannoyance was Esme’s greatest fear. No Mama. No sanctuary.
For being barely able to reach the table, Esme did a pretty good job setting places. She was folding a napkin under Daddy’s favored old army spoon when the dreaded Rose Milk scented hand gripped her shoulder. Liz was at her ear, probably wanting to bite it off. The smile was vicious in the dark despite the remnants of forbidden watermelon Kissing Potion.
“Mama’s gotta sleep some time, Stinky Butt!”
She was lucky to come away with just another of Liz’s twisting pinches before Mama’s running shoes thankfully squeaked on the last bit of linoleum and came trumping through the tri-colored green shag.
A head crunching bop Bunny Foo Foo style was surely in Esme’s future. Esme’s legs were too short for a kick to the shin under the table.
Liz’s wicked grin remained as she calmly took her seat. She put on the pretend pleasantries for Mama. Molly took her place beside Liz, whipping the pink and white ribbons in her hair back before getting up to speed on the “let’s get Esme” look.
Was it shoving Esme into the street tomorrow to be plowed over like a possum? Push her into the well maintained frontage of ivy bordering Angryoldman’s house? Lock her in the bathroom with Peter the Booger Eater at school?
Judging by the whispering, giggles and grins that continued throughout dinner, it was all of the above. The agony of the unknown brought a constant mist to Esme’s eyes more so than the rising welt on her shoulder. Luckily the parents were busy with adultspeak anyway. Liz and Molly could switch to the princesses of peace easy enough to disguise the hot wicked vengeance smoldering just under their skin.
...

The family had retired to the living room, blackout subsiding for Liz and Molly to fight over the clicker. At least they were done giving Esme the stink eye for the night. Esme kept close to Mama, who was building a fire. Daddy sat in his recliner, glasses on his nose, legs crossed as he scanned the funny pages between rubbing his chili and cornbread tummy. An occasional grumbling of “ate too much, ate too fast” emitted between yelling at the twins to stop bickering and pick a “damned” program. When Mama donned her work gloves to delve into the firebox, Esme finally shied away from her leg. Molly and Liz stopped their squabbling instantly.
The woodbox was just the right size. Esme sat up straight, not daring to look at them. They wouldn’t be that cruel. There were black widows in there. Surely the Sistersmonster wasn’t homicidal. Its murderous revenge had to look more natural than being shoved in the woodbox.
The look in both girls eyes made Esme dare edging towards Daddy’s leg. Chili took charge of vengeance for the twins. A spectral gasser slipped from the recliner, practically rattling the funny pages. Esme tried to scoot out of firing range, covering her face, wishing for Great Grampa’s gas mask but it was too strong. All other family member’s mimicked her, the twins laughing before the smell hit.
“Joel! Jeez!” Mama hid her laugh between waving the demon gas away. “Excuse you!”
Dear Father lowered his paper and sat back, the secret gleam of pride at volume and length of the infiltrator hidden under the pretense of insult.
“What? It wasn’t me!” He dabbed a thumb behind him, towards the window then looked to the twins. “You guys saw him run by outside, didn’t you? It was Pumpkinguts!” He leaned down to Esme trying to garner some kind of alibi. Still pinching her nose, Esme shook her head. “C’mon Es. You must have seen him? All rotting pumpkin guts and seeds, ooey gooey, stinky?”
Another infiltrator slipped. Daddy covered his chuckle and slipped another when he turned, pointing at the window.
“Are you guys blind? There he goes again!”
Mama was now waving some of her newspaper kindling around, trying to clear out the smell while pinching her own nose. “Pumpkinguts or no Pumpkinguts, someone better move away from the open flame!”
Daddy lowered his funny pages. “Well, if someone put a little less beans in the chili and a little more meat-”
That got Mama’s hands heading towards her hips. Daddy being lifted off the recliner stopped her. Molly and Liz were on the floor, cracking up. Esme was trying her best just to survive by crawling out of the line of fire. The fire still remained smoldering in Mama’s eyes at the comment about the bean to beef ratio in her chili.
Comedy was the only weapon now. Daddy grabbed the poker and hid behind the recliner shouting “incoming” to announce a rapid fire attack. He raised the poker and rounded his recliner after the retort, searching for his figment of a fartgoat.
Everyone took cover when he crouched down to run the poker under the couch. Molly and Liz grabbed throw pillows. Mama continued waving her newspaper. Esme put both hands over her face. Then Molly laughed so hard she made a squeak of her own.
Daddy pointed the poker at her. “See, there he goes!”
He let out an “eek” and danced on his tiptoes which caused a few “prrts” from down below. From there he hid behind the drapes where another bombing run, possible forced this time, rattled the window. Towards the extremely long winded tail end of the persistent firing, Daddy raised his fists in the air and cried, “Pumpkinguts!”
“Christ, Joel open the door!” Mama kept switching between her impersonation of a phone operator and waving the newspaper faster and faster. “Before we assphixiate!”
The trumpet butt syndrome spread to Liz now, with a big “wrrrtttt”. Daddy, who was tiptoeing silly style to the door, turned and pointed the poker at her.
“There he is again!”
Liz covered her butt, pouting again. “Shut up!”
Lucky for her, Daddy had not heard. He was too busy throwing the door open and throwing another bomber big and loud enough to set the elm tree ablaze. Esme was sure the next door neighbors would call to inquire about an unreported bombing.
“AGH!” Daddy fell against the door, gripping the knob, mocking terror, pointing a trembling poker. “I looked into his eyes! Now I’m doomed.” He waved the door to get rid of some of the smell. “Stop laughing girls...” He feigned breathlessness. “If there’s anything he hates more than being blamed for blamos, it's...girly giggles.”
“C’mon, DAD!” Liz went over to get him away from the door. “The neighbors are gonna hear!”
“The neighbors?” Dad squealed. “The neighbors! You mean Tad Cunningham in the Fonzi jacket with the dreamy eyes?”
“Stop it!” Liz peeled him off the door mid-mock and shut it, then used all her gumption by pressing her head into his back to force him towards the recliner. “You’re such a dork!”
“Hey, you watch that!” Daddy flashed back into Daddy mode before a wicked grin curled his own lips back. He clasped a hand to his chest and batted his eyes. “Oh Tad, will thou givest me your pooka shell necklace and that morsel that has been stucketh in your braces for a montheth?
“MOM!”
Liz plopped back on the couch and folded her arms across her chest, her mouth shrinking into a tiny knot as she angrily clicked at the TV. Molly was the first to start, despite the kick from Liz.
“Liz and Tad sitting in a tree...”
“Stop it!”
The rest of the family joined in chorus. “K.I.S.S.I.N.G!”
“Knock it off!”
“First comes love,” Molly said.
“You guys are so dumb!”
“Then comes marriage,” Mama said.
“I swear-”
“But there better not be any baby in a baby carriage.” Daddy pointed at her. Liz dared wiggling her shoulders and muttering some mocking. “Watch it before those smarty pants break in my new yard stick!”
She folded her arms tighter across her chest. Daddy stood there, fun Daddy all but drained away. Mama took the opportunity, grabbing the clicker from the couch.
“I think Ichabod and Mr. Toad are on. How ‘bout it, Es?”
Esme kept her eyes on Liz but made the mistake of making eye contact. Liz waved at her.
“Great. The baby gets whatever she wants!”
“That’s it!” Daddy hovered over Liz. “Get your feet off the couch and march that smart ass attitude right up those stairs where you can think about showing a little more respect for your parents and your sister!”
Liz got to her feet but snuck a little grin and added a little sass. “Fine!”
Daddy was too smart for that. “That means no radio, no 8-track, nothing!”
Liz stomped up and Molly hurried after her.
“And don’t you dare slam that door!” Daddy landed back on the recliner, shaking his head. When the door clicked shut, he looked to Mama. “That kid, I swear.” Realizing Esme was there and that he still had the poker, a smile returned. Esme wasn’t buying it at all. He twirled the poker, letting it get tangled in the shag. “Well, Pumpkinguts’ll teach those smart mouth twelve year olds too big for their britches a lesson.”
“Joel! You’ll frighten her!” Mama came over and grabbed the poker from him. “And look what you’re doing to my carpet!”
Daddy winced before shooting a wink at Esme. Mama went back to tend to her fire. Daddy disappeared behind his crumpled funny pages. Esme was left in the quandary of who would get her first. Liz or Punkinguts. She looked up, daring to test the Daddy waters.
“There is no real, Punkinguts, is there Daddy? It’s just made up.”
Daddy lowered his paper slowly and leaned back to peek out the curtains. He searched the darkness, giving Esme a shiver before he turned back and smiled, giving her a shrug. Esme was dressed in clammy horror at the flash of authenticity in his eyes until Mama came over and ushered her back to the television. There was an exchange between the two that made her even more unsure. Mama rubbed her back, shooting a glare at Daddy.
“It’s just made up nonsense, sweetheart.”
...
That night, long after bedtime, she lay there behind her stuffed animal fortress, clinging to Sharky, listening for the frogs to start in with croaking “Ichabod” outside. Not only did she have to worry about Sistersmonster revenge, now the Headless Horseman could be out there for Esme blood. She didn’t even want to think about this Punkinguts fella. Cripes, what if Liz stole one of Daddy’s occult books and summoned both, along with Bigfoot, King Kong and that giant spider from that one black and white movie to get her.
Jeez Louise, was she in trouble.

Monday
The time had come. Liz pinned her against the stuccoed wall on the corner down the hill from their house. Cars raced past, not paying mind to little girls who dared tempt the wrath of the Sistersmonter. Molly stood lookout behind Liz. Esme could only hold up her lunchbox as a shield.
“Whatya so scared of, crybaby?”
She grabbed Esme’s wrist, prying her hand open. She was chewing on something that was giving off a vague grape aroma before the big hock. A big green loogie mixed with pieces of grape eraser dripped into Esme’s palm.
“There’s you’re stupid eraser, Stinky Butt! And just you wait until Halloween. Pumpkinguts is gonna get you!”
There’s no such thing,” Esme lied. “Daddy made him up.”
“Na-uh!” Molly said. “He’s reeaaalll! Tell her Liz.”
“Don’t you know what happens to all the guts and pumpkins left over on Halloween? They crawl out of the trash and crawl down to the pond where all the gunk mixes with the pond ick. Then Pumpkinguts rises out of the water looking to eat crybabies after stuffing them fulla crawdads and frogs and stuff! Just you wait! He’s coming for you.”
Molly grabbed her arm towing her towards the street. “Come on, crybaby. Gonna be late for school.”
They pushed Esme off the curb then ran, leaving her to dodge a few cars as they laughed on the opposite corner. She was left sniffling, scraping the loogie and eraser pieces off on the curb as they walked off bobbing triumphantly, ribboned hair swishing back and forth.
“Crybaby, crybaby boo hoo hoo,” they sang. “Pumpkinguts is hungry and comin’ for YOU!”
...

The eraser and ditching her in the busy street was just a sampling. At least she got out earlier than the Sistersmonster. They usually stopped off at the drug store for candy or make-up or some other dumb twelve year old stuff they weren’t supposed to have. There was no greater relief than having Mama walk her home, holding her hand while she stomped on crunchy leaves.
It wasn’t until Esme was sitting on the stool beside Mama’s sewing table that Mama started to enquire what was wrong.
“You okay, Es?” Mama said, trimming a thread from Esme’s executioner’s costume. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“Fine Mama.”
“Fine Mama” continued through a few more questions as Mama put the finishing touches on her costume.
“Well, here ya go. Off with their heads.” Mama held up the freshly finished masterpiece and sighed the tired “task accomplished” sigh. “Sure this isn’t too scary? There’s always the clown or a ghost.”
Another “fine mama” almost slipped before Esme shook her head. Daddy would be putting the finishing touches on her big axe tonight after dinner. Scary was what she needed. Scary would keep her safe from everything, including Punkinguts. The Sistersmonster had already proclaimed they were too old for tricks-r-treats. She just had to survive until the next day and night. Then Punkinguts could stuff some other kid with crawdads before he ate them.

The Day
There had been no further incident but Esme avoided all contact with the Sistersmonster. There didn’t seem to be cause for worry as they walked slowly behind her that morning. The whispering and plotting were getting stale. Maybe the eraser loogie was the best they could do. Or maybe it was some dumb stuffed garbage monster they would put in her closet that they thought would do the trick.
Punkinguts did come under more consideration when Esme’s class roasted pumpkin seeds. This did not fair well, eating his friends or cousins or whatever they were and leaving the pile of stringy guts in the trash.
When Liz and Molly tried frightening her with the Boogerman last month, Mama had told her, if she drew him, he’d probably get stuck in the drawing and couldn’t get her, like how people thought taking pictures would catch your soul. It seemed to have worked so instead of the old jack o’ lantern crayon resist, there was Punkinguts.
The yellow orange, green and black crayons were worn down to nubs as she drew the twists and turns of his rotting, slimy limbs. His sloped, broken, shriveled head stared back at the world through glowing withered triangle eyes. It was good. Good enough to use as one of those Wanted: Dead or Alive posters if he did get her.
“Ooh, whose that Esme?”
Esme practically broke the yellow giving Mrs. Buckins the “now was not the time to come creeping over in your ugly old lady sensiblah shoes”.  He still needed the seeds on his ugly, twisty rotten legs before the wash of black paint. Yet Mrs. Buckins wasn’t leaving.
Esme finished the dotting of seeds and scrawled his name on blue lines at the bottom.
“Well, I think Pumpkinguts is good enough to be on the board.”
She reached for the drawing. Esme practically threw herself across it.
“It’s for my Daddy.”
Mrs. Buckins looked at her like when Beth Littleton puked all over her sensiblah shoes. “Uh...okay,” she said. “Are you sure?”
Esme nodded with determination. Thankfully Mrs. Buckins walked away. Nice try Punkinguts and Sistersmonster! She was going to do her best to summon up every protection spell she could. Punkingut’s mug was going in her closet and that was that.
She just had time to put the wash of black over the drawing before the bell rang. A flood of fellow pupils ran past and splashed across the cubbies, then out the door. Mrs. Buckins was becoming very wicked by startling her again.
“Esme, you don’t want to be late for the carnival.”
The carnival! Games to win goldfish. Chocolate cupcakes piled high with swirled fudge frosting, topped with mellowcreme pumpkins. Sparkling sugar coated jack o’lantern and ghost cookies. The parade to show off the best costume. Best day of the year and she was standing around like a real dummy, drawing some monster Daddy had made up to excuse a toot attack.
Esme grabbed the drawing, then her lunchbox, and books, and left with a bang of aluminum on the door.
...

“Hood off for dinner, Es. Or it’s off with your head.”
Mama slipped off Esme’s new personna and gave her messy head a rub. Esme was too busy watching her new friend, Adeedoo the gold fish swim around his little bowl. Mom snapped her fingers.
“What’s got into you, these days?” She pointed at the white petite cafe table and the freshly boiled weenie sitting in the toasted bun. “Hot dog. Hop to it or no Halloweenie.”
That got a chuckle out of Daddy, who was putting the finishing touches on his sixth jack o’ lantern with his dreaded Xacto. His pile of guts and seeds were concerning. Esme concentrated hard on her depiction of the monster now stuck to her closet wall. Mama distracted her, hanging on the door, more Halloweenies in hand.
“GIRLS! DINNER!”
The giggling Sistersmonster thunder rumbled down the stairs and around the corner. It was in a good mood because boys had liked their costumes at the parade. Now there was more eyeshadow, blush and lip gloss on both baby dolls. Its happiness had cost some brain points, for they thought they could slip by unnoticed.
“What is this?” Mama pulled Molly’s chin up, then Liz to get a better look before she dolled out the Halloweenies. The Sistersmonster just giggled. “Jeez! Phyllis Diller must be missing half her make-up collect-”
“Ow! God damnit! Barb!”
Everyone in the kitchen turned to the sink. Blood was already soaking through the kitchen towel with the pumpkins and leaves. Daddy clutched his wrapped hand, rattling off several more bad words. The Sistersmonster uttered an “EEEWWW”. Esme shuddered in silence. The only cool head in the room went over and dared taking a peek, then wrapped the towel back and forced Daddy to hold it above his head. The Sistersmonster were continuing with their shrill shrieks. Daddy, pale and sweaty, backed into the kitchen stool and took a seat. Mama calmly picked up the phone and dialed Aunt Jody.
“GIRLS! Enough!” Daddy growled.
Mama motioned for them to scat, waiting for Aunt Jody to pick up while she grabbed her purse from the hallway closet. “Take your hot dogs into the dining room.” She addressed Liz and Molly. “You two’ll have to take Esme trick-r-treating while I take Daddy to Emergency.”
“Christ, Barb! Emergency on Halloween night?” He held up his maimed appendage. “I’m fine. I’ll just throw some mercurochrome on it and-”
One look from Mama silenced him. Esme stood there frozen, hot dog and half-digested cupcake turning into a big lump in her stomach. Magic from the Sistersmonster. It had to be!
“You’re not fine, Joel.  I’m surprised you didn’t lose a finger.”
Liz and Molly looked down at their hot dogs smothered in ketchup. There was a sneer in unison as they returned them to the counter. Esme distracted Mama from yelling, tugging on her T-shirt.
“Mama, I’ll wait for Aunt Jody-”
“Yeah, let her wait,” Liz snarled. “We don’t want her-”
“Girls,” the Daddy now resembling Dracula warned.
Mama leaned down. “Honey, Aunt Jody may not get here for an hour. I don’t want you out too late. Tomorrow’s a school day.” She looked to Liz, threatening an atomic stare. “You’ll be fine. Right Liz? Molly?”
“Yes, Mama.”
Aunt Jody picked up in her perky way, canceling out any confirmation of the false promise. Liz’s smile told Esme everything. Plans once averted now came to fruition.
...
The world of hot mask breath and candy lasted as long as the lie-through the neighborhood. The twins were convincing, laying it on pretty thick about how cute their sister looked to garner a few more fun size. Whatever plans were hatched and foiled, they were now in it for the candy. Esme’s pillowcase was almost half full after an hour.
Her feet were starting to give as they rounded the block. At the base of Mt. Evaermarestwhateverstreet Molly grabbed Esme’s candy bag. The first chicken bombs hit. Mama and Daddy were long gone by the time Liz must have pulled the carton from the fridge. There was no plan, merely improvisation of the most vicious kind.
Now the battle for the candy took place on the darkest street, at the base of the steepest hill, across from Punkingut’s dreaded lair in deepest, darkest Averill park.
Despite the pelting of eggs, Esme clung to her stash like a lifeline. Liz held up another egg.
“Let go, or we’ll really let you have it.”
A breathy “NO” escaped her. The second barrage of eggs pelted her from head to toe. Cries of “crybaby” and “tattletale” echoed through the pepper trees, drowning out the distant “trick-r-treats”. Liz aimed to hit Esme’s wrist to get her to let go but it hit Molly, who fell back on her baby-doll butt. Another egg hit Esme right in the left eyehole. Esme ran, wet hood askew, sticky, blurry left eye covered, foam axe and candy in a death grip.
“Get back here, crybaby!”
Esme thought she was running parallel to the park until she hit the chain. Through her right eyehole, the black yawned before her. The dampness was heavy coming off the pond. Somehow she had run on a diagonal right into the entrance. She was about to try for the sidewalk when an egg whizzed past her ear and hit the rock wall lining the dreaded pond. Liz was coming up fast, Molly lagging a few feet behind.
“Liz,” Molly cried. “We’ll get in trouble!”
Esme ducked under the chain, running as she pulled the hood around to see better. Yolk and white dribbled down inside her mask and she ran into rock trying to wipe it away.
“ESME, get over here right now! You are so busted!”
How stupid did Liz think Esme was? Esme edged along the wall. The egg dripping down her front and back made her shiver under the chills of horror. Liz arrived on scene. Esme quickly tied her pillowcase around her wrist, then brandished her axe. The brown paint peeled off the broomstick and stuck to Esme’s palm when Liz ripped it out of her hands. For added terror, she picked up her little sister and sat her on the wall, smiling, giving her a little push.
“Here’s another tattletale crybaby for ya, Pumpkinguts! Better get the crawdaddies ready!”
Esme grabbed some pink long john to keep from falling. Liz wiped her hand away.
“Liz,” Molly wheezed, also daring to yank on Liz’s sleeve. “Come on! Mom’s already gonna kill us.”
“Nu-uh! She’s the one that ran in here!” Liz smiled wider at Molly’s stupidity and Esme’s growing terror. “Yeah, so now we’ll just wait for Pumpkinguts!”
“There’s no such thing!” Esme fibbed. “Daddy made him up!”
“Pumpkinguts,” Liz hissed. Molly joined in. “Pumpkinguts. Pumpkinguts!”
Liz backed away, wrenching Esme’s egg spattered pillowcase off her wrist, grinning her evil grin, hellfire sparkling in her eyes. Molly continued to summon the creature and follow her eviler half.
“Crybaby, crybaby, boo hoo hoo! Pumpkinguts is hungry and comin’ for YOU!”
They left her there, in the dark. Tears mixed with egg while stuttered breath made her hood billow with a kazoo sound. Fury cooked white and yolk to her cheeks until something in the pond glinted from the streetlight. There lay her poor axe, now a crawdad playground. All of Daddy’s hard work carried off by some underwater current, or buried under pond muck and silt.
Hate boiled in her marrow then turned to ice when the greenish-white lacy scum skimmed the hula along the mossy stones lining the pond’s edge. A fleeting tendril of yellow orange and rotten green swept just beneath the surface.
Esme did not cower. She did not scream. For some strange reason, she smiled.
Silhouetted by the streetlight, he rose, all stringy and slimy, broken jack o’lantern pieces forming the rotten whoppy jaw head. He smelled like a two week old broccoli fart allowed to ferment in a jar of spoiled milk. Her drawing did not capture his overall horrid disgustingness as he gripped her axe in his rotten hands.
Fear was a word Esme couldn’t calculate anymore. Her hot breath inflated her sticky mask like one of those breath machines she had seen on TV. But taking her candy had been the last straw. Somehow she managed to raise a drippy egg finger towards the direction the Sistersmonster, who had disturbed his slumber, fled. The triangle eyes ceased puking pond afterbirth and ignited with Samhain flame. Esme scooted down off the wall, cowering but still pointing as he crouched over to make sure. Those withered and wet triangle eyes narrowed, reading her mind. Pepper tree fronds and broken glass from Hobo bottles gathered between his moldy seed bones with each slapping footfall.
She meandered down the path a few feet, towards the light, smiling, then stopped. The blade glinted in her memory. Had her axe become real, somehow? She’d be in real trouble if the Sistersmonster weren’t in bed by bedtime.
Her Chucks ambled a little faster towards Mt. Evermarestwhateverstreet. The nearly vertical, pitch black avenue covered in more low hanging pepper trees loomed before her. Molly had caught Liz somewhere up there in the dark. Esme’s pillowcase gave a distant maraca shake. Their vengeful laughter echoed through porches of blacked out houses that had quit the candy circuit. Halloween was over. Now it was time for the real mean and scary things to slither out of the shadows and slip under the veil into the real world, searching for tasty, vengeful siblings and their victims.
Her little calves were turning to stone as she ran up the hill. The dark houses blurred past, no nosey neighbors to come out and see what was wrong. There were only burned out pumpkins and garbage bag ghosts that flitted in the autumn wind.
 Punkinguts’ weather.
Liz and Molly’s laughter didn’t anger her so much as worry her now. They didn’t know. They didn’t see him. But Esme clearly saw his rotten, sludgy footprints dotted with seeds, all glistening and gooey as they wound up the tree root rumpled sidewalk.
Her Chucks cheesed it for home. Some executioner, chickening out on vengeance after five-seconds.
Liz and Molly were screaming for real now, much louder than they had over imagining fingers instead of hot dogs; a couple of real dumb babies befitting their stupid costumes.
“Stop screaming,” Esme cried, running faster. “Screaming makes you taste better!”
An asphalt patch over the crumpled sidewalk stopped her. Her knees and palms lost a few layers-underskingunk was now embe dded with asphaltpatchgrit. There was no time to sit and cry because a strand of guts wrapped around the ankle of her left Chuck.
His smell made the hot dog and cupcake bubble into her throat. The pepper trees parted their fronds and limbs to expose the dreaded shadow looming over her, raising the axe.
No take backsies, Esme.
There was a rubberband-like snap from the strand of guts when Esme broke free. A “chink” sounded when the axe hit the asphalt with a spark. Itching, screaming heat spread from her knees and palms as she ran. Right then, she would even take Daddy’s awful, stinging mercurochrome wand and his non-germ spreading habit of not blowing on boo-boos over death by Punkinguts.
She thought she had hit warp speed and spotted the summit when the wet, seeded claw gripped her shoulder. Gurgling, wispy, rotting pumpkin pond scum breath chilled the sweat and egg on her neck. The click of crawdad pinchers somewhere under the rot got Esme to take wing. She was a black acetate and egg covered streak, her Chucks barely touching the ground as Mt. Evermarestwhateverstreet finally leveled off and the pepper tree forest parted, exposing the darkness to streetlights. A few stragglers wandered aimlessly, searching the night for porch lights and pumpkins. Masked Frankenstein monsters inhaling latex and quickly deflating KookySpooks looked at her strangely as she ran past, all bleedy with zero candy.
She wanted to scream “Punkinguts” and tell them all to beware, but then he would find her. A couple of adult legs got in her way at one point. She pushed past them, checking to see if Punkinguts was coming out of the dark for them too.
The path behind was dark and empty.
Still, there was no stopping until she spotted the two lame baby dolls rolling in the ivy along the driveway, make-up smeared from tears of laughter. Liz held Esme’s pillowcase in the air like a trophy until the kitchen door blew open hard enough to blow out the candles on two of Daddy’s five jack o’ lanterns.
“Aunt Jody was worried sick! You guys were supposed to be home-”
Mama stopped when Esme came up the steps. The plain old world was back, wiping away the constant huff of breath behind a mask place until next year. Mama was kneeling down, holding on to the hood, trying to peel the few strands of Esme’s hair from it.
There was a surge past atomic level to Godzilla atomic level with a couple of over made-up baby dolls in her sights. “Upstairs. Wash the gunk off and into bed. NOW!”
Liz played it cool, waving Esme’s pillowcase at Esme. “Some kids egged her and she ran into the park, even though I told her not to-”
Mama turned, eyebrow raised, spine surely igniting to ready the atomic yell. “And a dozen of my eggs missing is just a coincidence. You are in big trouble, young lady.” She focused on Molly. “You too!”
The Sistersmonster played martyr and tried to slip by with Esme’s pillowcase. Mama snatched all three candy sacks faster than Jackie Chan.
“MOM-”
Daddy happened to arrive, bandaged hand wrapped around a beer. He took one look at Esme and glared at the two babies. “So which one of you wants the first crack from the yardstick?”
The Sistersmonster’s rumble headed for the stairs for once, in true , fleeting terror. There was a drip and a plop. Esme spun around, checking if Punkinguts was on the porch.
“Jeez, Es,” Mama said. “You’re a mess.”
Esme turned back. Her blood mixed with egg was much darker and brighter than Mama’s clean orange linoleum. Her hands and knees were stinging, her aching chest stuttered. The egg was starting to itch too and on top of it all, Mama was gonna let her have it for messing up the floor.
Mama only hissed and was getting up when Daddy handed down a few wet paper towels. The hiss turned to a cringe when Mama dabbed, then blew on the wounds. Mama looked back at Daddy.
“I swear, I’m gonna kill those two-”
“NO!”
Esme’s sticky hand was over Mama’s lips. They didn’t need Punkinguts on the case anymore. They had escaped with their lives and the candy.
“Esme, what...”
Mama wiped her mouth then Esme’s hands, making a sticky-icky face but saying nothing more. A cool breeze ushered in some leaves from the open door and Esme tried to go shut it, but Mama wouldn’t let her go. Daddy got the message and pulled it closed, looking down at his deranged daughter.
“Pu...Punkinguts...He...”
Mama’s atomic Godzilla glare focused on Daddy. Daddy cringed, not daring the proud smile from Pre-Devil’s Night fart excuses turned monster. Esme gathered her breath, irritated by logical parent minds and tried to blurt out a confession.
“But Liz...my axe...Punkinguts had my axe and it was real-”
“I’m sure it was, sweetheart,” Mama said. “But you’re safe now.”
Daddy grabbed Molly and Liz’s pillowcases that had been dumped on the floor and smiled through his amused anger. Instead of blowing up, he dumped all contents on the petite white cafe table, along with Esme’s bag.
“Funny thing about Pumpkinguts,” he said. “He only steals candy from pumpkin smashers, eggers and mean sisters. I don’t see any candy except for Esme’s, do you Barb?”
Mama cringed before smiling at the Mt. Evermarestwhatsit size pile of candy. “Joel...”
The fear was erased by the multitudes of confectionary magic. Surely a compromise with Punkinguts could be reached with such an offering. Daddy plucked a Three Musketeers for himself, tossed Mama a grape Tootsie Pop to test the owl, then held out one of the three Ding Dongs collected from the best of the neighbors, the Thompsons, for Esme.
“It’s been a wild night, kid,” he said, still offering the Hostess with the mostest. “I think King Ding Dong’s our only hope for a cure for a real case of Pumpkinguts.”
Esme hesitated, then dared to snatch. At least her last meal would be a good one. He was King, after all. Yet just before she could dig into the foil wrapped hockey puck, Mama snatched it, inspected the wrapper, then handed it back.
Daddy distracted her when he opened the door. She didn’t take a bite until he set out a rock hard peanut butter taffy on the trellis, took a look around and slowly closed the door with a reassuring smile.
When she took a bite she realized Daddy couldn’t have been more right.


Later
After tucking in her mercurochrome pink spotted, Band-Aid adorned little executioner with her careworn periwinkle Sharky, Mama gathered up egg spattered executioner fair from the damp bathmat. Mr. Bubbles was becoming Mr. Lackluster Foam. She was just bending down to let out the water when something orange, green and seedy slipped under the suds, causing a little hula. Mama froze and batted at the water before shaking her head.
“Punkinguts,” she snickered.
She continued shaking her head at her four children, thankful two escaped mortal wounds and hoping the elder three would learn their lesson. A before school search for the axe Joel had so arduously forged from foam and broomstick would hopefully do the trick.
She popped back into Esme’s tiny room to switch on Snoopy atop the Great Pumpkin. Warm, nightlight light washed over the room, summoning a deep, sleepy sigh from her little one. She was halfway to the bed to check on Esme again, deciding if two years of grounding and no make-up until they were spinsters was strong enough punishment when something knocked against the window pane.
Or was that a splat?
Esme distracted her, kicking off the covers. After all the scrapes on her little hands and knees, Mama hadn’t notice the bruising ring around the little girl’s ankle when she pulled off her tennies and socks. Another chill rattled her spine and she covered her daughter. She took a peek under the window shade, searching for grimy pumpkin goo but there was only leaves scuttling and trees raising for a few seconds. For once, she was glad for Joel’s silly insistence they keep one jack o’ lantern burning in the kitchen window. Fighting that very old fear of the thin veil, she checked the window latch.
Just in case.
The ball of Esme’s sticky egg costume brought her fury at Liz and Molly back. She left Esme’s door slightly ajar the way Esme liked it, then leaned in, listening to make sure her two twins were sleeping off the evil. Late Halloween night silence ran rampant through the world, including their lair until Joel’s codeine and beer induced snores echoed down the hallway. Mama huffed for a moment, the stress of the day wearing on her now that she was alone. She was quickly transforming into Mamazombie until she noticed the hard, flat almond shape amidst the egg. She switched on the bright hallway light. Along with the drying egg, there were rotting orange strands and seeds bright against the black acetate.
They were in the shape of a claw.