When I got home that night, I noticed the smiling jack-o-lantern in my front yard was crushed. I felt a little crushed myself, having spent at least 37 minutes carving the damn thing. I needn’t have bothered if I’d known it would end up like this…flat as an orange flat thing.
I looked down at my hands, still adorned with bandaids as a result of my startling lack of knife skills. Whoever had the initial idea to hack through tough pumpkin skin and make lanterns from them anyway? Some craft obsessed lunatic no doubt.
Well, this made up my mind. No more squash hacking for me. No more hours spent with sticky hands attempting to create a masterpiece of Halloween lampcraft. No more lopsided, bloodstained lanterns with as much kerb appeal as a bowl of chopped liver.
I didnt care who or what had crushed the damn thing. To be honest it was a reflection of how I felt about it myself. The thing had started off as an annoyance and my only regret was that I hadnt had the pleasure of ending its short yard life myself. I kicked it. And then I kicked it again. And again. Until my yard was littered with fragments of ex lantern and my boots were stcky with pumpkin blood.
I wiped my nose with the back of my hand and put my key in the lock, slightly out of breath from my exertions and aware that at some point I was going to have to clear up all the debris from my front garden. Still, that could wait. Right now I was going to sit down with a big glass of damson gin, content in the knowledge that I would never have to make another stupid jack-o-lantern. From now on it was synthetic crap all the way and I was happy for it. I raised my glass and silently toasted the secret vandal.