Autumn Short Stories

The Pumpkin Carving Contest

Orla O'Leary stood in the heart of Dublin's annual Harvest Festival, her arms crossed tightly as she glared at the competition in front of her. Around her, families milled about, excitedly chatting and clutching baskets filled with pumpkins—ripe for the carving. This wasn't just any festival, though. No, this was the grand Pumpkin Carving Contest, the event everyone in the city had been waiting for all year. And this year, Orla was determined to win.

She could already hear the familiar hum of excitement in the air, the chatter of people talking about their pumpkins, their designs, and the friendly rivalry between the city's best carvers. But none of that mattered to Orla. What mattered was beating Eoin McCarthy.

Eoin, with his disarming smile and cocky confidence, had always been the reigning champion. He wasn't just any competitor. He was the competitor. He had won the contest for the past five years, and every year, Orla had come close but never quite managed to get past him. This year, however, she was feeling different. This year, she was going to win, and she wasn't going to let anything—anything—stand in her way.

Orla adjusted her gloves, glanced around at the scattered pumpkins, and made her way toward her designated carving station. As she prepared her tools, she could feel someone's eyes on her. She turned, half-expecting to see the usual gaggle of onlookers, but instead, her gaze met Eoin's.

Eoin McCarthy stood a few stations away, his hands resting casually on his hips. His dark hair, messy but somehow perfect, framed his handsome face as he surveyed the pumpkins with a practiced eye. He had a natural gift for this—his designs always seemed to have that extra touch of magic, the one thing that made them stand out. His smile, too, was something that could light up the whole room if he wanted it to.

But not today. Today, he was her competition. And nothing would distract her from that.

"What's it today, Orla?" Eoin called out, his voice smooth, teasing. "The usual skulls and witches' hats, or have you got something new up your sleeve?"

Orla didn't answer immediately. She was concentrating too hard, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach every time he spoke. She picked up her carving knife and took a steadying breath. "You'll see soon enough," she said curtly, glancing up only briefly to catch his smirk before returning her focus to the pumpkin in front of her.

Eoin was a good competitor, there was no denying that. He was clever, meticulous, and always seemed to know just how to turn a simple pumpkin into a work of art. But this year, Orla was determined to beat him at his own game.

She worked in silence for a while, carving the outline of a haunting face into the pumpkin. As her knife sliced through the flesh of the pumpkin, she couldn't help but notice Eoin out of the corner of her eye. He was already halfway through his design, and it was stunning. She could see the jagged outline of a menacing grinning skeleton, the delicate detail of the hollow eyes.

"Looks good, McCarthy," she said, unable to keep the edge out of her voice.

Eoin turned to her, his eyes gleaming with that familiar challenge. "I don't know, O'Leary. You might have something in store that'll top this."

Orla raised an eyebrow. "You're just saying that to psych me out."

He grinned. "Maybe."

For the next few hours, the two of them carved in near silence, only exchanging brief comments or occasional smirks. The atmosphere around them grew tense, with the other contestants casting curious glances at the rivalry. It wasn't just the pumpkins that had people interested—it was the tension between Orla and Eoin. Everyone knew the two had been rivals for years, but no one quite understood the dynamic between them. They fought like enemies, but the way their eyes met, the way they pushed each other, suggested there was more beneath the surface.

Orla tried to keep her mind on her work, but every time she heard Eoin's chuckle or caught the flash of his perfect smile, her heart raced. It was ridiculous. She had no time for distractions. She had to win. Yet, there was something about him, something about the way he moved, the way he held himself, that made her feel alive in a way she couldn't quite explain.

As the contest neared its conclusion, Orla wiped the sweat from her brow. She had carved a beautiful, haunting image—a witch with flowing hair, her face twisted in a mischievous grin. It was intricate and detailed, a real work of art. But still, Orla couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't enough. Eoin's pumpkin, with its skeleton's grin, was equally stunning, and it was the one people had been gathering around all day. She wasn't sure if she could top it.

The judges began making their rounds, stopping at each carving station. Orla's heart pounded in her chest as they reached her pumpkin. She smiled nervously as the head judge inspected her work.

"Impressive," the judge said, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. "You've captured the essence of Halloween perfectly."

Orla's smile grew. "Thank you."

Then, they moved to Eoin. He watched them, his arms crossed, his jaw set in that familiar stubborn line. The judges paused at his pumpkin, exchanging whispers. They clearly admired it, and Orla's heart sank a little. She was pretty sure this was the year Eoin would win again.

The judges finally made their way back to the front, and the moment of truth arrived.

"As always, the talent here is outstanding," the head judge said, his voice echoing in the silent square. "But there can only be one winner."

Orla stood, her hands trembling slightly as she awaited the verdict.

"And the winner of this year's Pumpkin Carving Contest is..."

The pause seemed to last forever.

"Orla O'Leary!"

The crowd erupted into applause, but Orla barely heard them. She was too stunned. She had actually won. She looked over at Eoin, who was clapping as well, but there was something in his eyes—something she hadn't expected.

"Well done, Orla," Eoin said, his voice low. "You earned it."

Her heart skipped a beat as she took in his words. For the first time, there was no hint of competition in his tone. There was something else there, something softer. Orla couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through her chest.

"Thanks," she whispered, still unsure how to process the mix of emotions inside her.

The crowd continued to cheer, but Orla felt her focus narrow on Eoin. He had been her rival for so long, and now, standing before her, there was something unspoken between them. Maybe it was the way he had spoken to her, or the way they had spent the day competing side by side. Maybe it was the way he had looked at her with something more than rivalry.

"You know," she said, breaking the silence, "this year felt different."

Eoin chuckled, his smile a little sheepish. "Yeah, I guess it did."

Orla's heart thudded in her chest. The competition, the rivalry—it had all been part of the game. But now, it felt like they were standing at the edge of something new.

Without thinking, she stepped closer to him, and before she knew it, she was reaching for his hand.

Eoin's eyes widened, but then he smiled softly, his fingers intertwining with hers. There was no going back now.

"Orla," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I've always wanted to carve something with you. Not just pumpkins. Something more."

She smiled, her cheeks flushing. "Maybe we could carve out a new beginning."

For the first time, Orla didn't feel like she was fighting against him. She felt like she was standing beside him. And for the first time in a long time, she felt like maybe, just maybe, winning wasn't about the prize.

It was about the person standing beside you when it was all over.