Page 67 of Of Poison & Pumpkins
“I’ve done it seven times. It’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, let’s do it. No time to waste,” Rynn urges.
Shannon holds out both hands as an offering. “Ready?”
“Now? Let’s talk about this. It sounds risky.” I lock eyes with Rynn.
“Do I have your permission to haunt you if we die?”
She laughs, a full-fledged cackle. “Of course, but I swear this won’t even hurt. You might taste a strong flavor. Prepare yourself; it could be a favorite taste or disgusting.”
“We’re ready,” Rynn says. “Do you count down or?—”
Shannon snatches our hands and the ground disappears from under me. Gravity ceases to exist. I’m nowhere and everywhere. There are flashes of light, but I can’t see Rynn. Was she left behind? My stomach flips and turns. There’s a loud whoosh sound resembling an airplane taking off.
Then honey drizzled apricot tickles my tongue until the flavor is so thick and overwhelming I may choke. It’s sweet, with a distinct tart taste, and I want to pucker my lips or swallow, but I can’t.
Suddenly, my feet slam onto a solid surface. Gravity has found me. Shannon had told us her intention was to drop us off at a low-risk spot like behind a dumpster or in an empty café restroom, but we’ve landed in the middle of the town square, next to the fountain.
“You okay?” I ask Rynnlee, still holding her hand, with Shannon nowhere in sight.
Her mouth is parted in an “oh” with wide eyes that match her shock as she stares behind me.
“Wh-what happened?” she asks, terror lining her question.
I turn around. Oakmar’s energy has been demolished. The town’s heart and whimsical essence are gone, leaving only the skeletal remains of shops and roads. Only a phantom land remains where the town once stood. The cobblestone has cracked and caved in on itself into craters. Corners of banks and gas stations curl in on themselves like paper in a fire. Before our eyes, a stop sign is turning from solid to transparent and when Rynn reaches out, her hand goes straight through where the metal pole should be.
It’s like someone took an eraser to a chalkboard full of rainbow and smeared it into a streak of gray mess. Massive holes gape in the buildings as if their souls were ripped out. All people, Fuzers and Nergs alike have vanished. Wait, no, ahead someone stumbles around potholes.
“Hello?” I wave, but don’t approach, heeding my thundering heartbeat and sweaty palms.
He ignores us, wobbling next to the fire hydrant, and flounders past a cracked window in Pumpkins’ facade.
Not allowing Rynn out of my grip, I pull her into my shop, muscles tense and ready to fight. The smell of rotting pumpkins infests the air. Half the store is a corpse of what it once was. All the orange has shifted to grays and blacks. Static sounds spit from the speaker instead of the cheery, festive tunes we usually play. The pumpkin balloons are deflated, marigolds, carnations, zinnias all sag, withered and dead and shelves lie like a carcass on the floor.
“Zanther!”
I rush to the back hallway, hopping over debris and smashed pumpkins. I send a prayer to whatever goddess that he’s safe. The break room is empty, a cave without a heart. A half-eaten burger sits on the table with flies buzzing around the plate.
“Zanther?! Kurt!” I burst towards the back exit to the alley.
Vacant. Desolate. Void. These are the only words I can think of when wandering the street, screaming Zanther’s name. Where is everyone?
Under the navy bruised sky, the shadows resemble monsters from my childhood nightmares, when I didn’t have Zee in my life yet. When our parents married, I was twelve and Zanther was five, yet he always had a knack for protecting me. When I encountered my first sticky popsicle massacre, Zanther was the one to calm me down and wipe my hands clean until I stopped hyperventilating. When I didn’t get into Princeton on a rowing scholarship, Zanther threw me a ‘failure party,’ complete with a mug shot background for photo ops with my friends. When my grandpa died, even though he had no blood relation to Zanther, my brother stood by me at the funeral and wake, never leaving my side. He was ecstatic when I told him that Pumpkins was opening in his town and already planned a game night.
“Zanther!” I turn towards Palooza’s front entrance, out of breath.
Inside Rynn’s shop, dozens of people stand frozen, all facing the same way, like they’re at a performance. An ominous, eerie concert from hell because not one sound slips through the cracked window. I hear no chatter, popping of soda cans, or scuffling of boots. Not to mention no one is moving. They all hold the same position like statues.
It's like the world is on pause and I’m the only living-breathing being. These people should all be at home, eating dinner. Not forming a zombie cult.
One step at a time, I creep forward, until the faces of those inside become clear. First, I see multiple cops, all in uniform, but in a comatose state. Kurt stands in a corner, glass-eyed and slack-jawed. Which means the Dazed virus must’ve taken Zee too. There’s no chance he’d be aware of his dad in this condition and not be knocking over walls to fix him.
Not one head turns in my direction to acknowledge my presence. My skin tingles and the hair on my arms stands on end. Nothing about this scene is natural. Every souvenir item, and every shelf, is muted gray or is vanishing from sight right in front of me. No one else pays the phenomenon any mind. Maybe I’m still sick in bed and this is another terrible hallucination.
I could believe that all these people became Dazed from contaminated water, but it doesn’t explain why they are congregating. Are they aware of anything happening in their surroundings? Did someone in leadership call this meeting?
“It’s pretty spine chilling, isn’t it?”
