Pumpkin Eater

A/n This was for an English assignment where we had to write a story about a house and a character who lived there. I decided to post this story on Wattpad. I hope you like it! The picture of the house is above.

It was so silent. I reached to the side of the room, grasping for something. All I felt was the slimy texture. At once I knew it was pumpkin. The smell overwelmed me, consumed me whole. I vaguely remembered the previous afternoon. Being told I would pay for my "crimes". I knew that I never could love Peter as my father commanded. I started to feel attacked by the putrid smell of pumpkin. I felt like I would pass out, but I knew I couldn't. I had to get out of my pumpkin prison. I crawled until I hit something. Wooden. I grasped around for a knob of some sort. Soon I found it, prying open the door. There had to be something in there I could use to cut my way out. Slowly, carefully, reaching into the depths of the darkness, until my hand hit the back. There was nothing. I slid my hand against the grain of the wood, feeling a sliver of wood slip deep into my skin. Oh well, I like splinters anyway, I thought wincing. I continued down the edge of the cabinet until I hit the corner. I continued down the other edge. A box! A match box! I was excited for the source of light. Quickly I brought the match to the box, but hesitated. Would the pumpkin set on fire leaving me to die a fiery death? No, live things don't burn I reminded myself. I quickly struck the match. It fizzled out. I struck another, and another. Finally I had one going long enough to see a lantern on the cabinet. I stood up and dropped the now extinguished match to my feet, with the rest of his brothers. I reached toward where I remembered the lantern to be sitting. Finally my hand hit the cold metal. I tried another match, reaching the small flame of hope toward the lantern. It was lit! I picked it up by the handle and slowly turned around, taking in my surroundings. I spotted what I was looking for. A knife. A butchering knife to be exact. Did the want me to escape? I laughed. It had all been so easy! It had taken nearly 15 minutes if even! I walked over to a wall of the ginormous pumpkin and stabbed with the knife. I cut along the edges making a perfectly rounded doorway. As the shape of the door fell away, a flood of light rushed through, momentarily blinding me. I dropped the knife and brought my hands up to my eyes, thankful the knife hadn't stabbed my foot. After a minute I squeezed my eyes open and took in my surroundings. The pumpkin had no guts or seeds, expect the pile that I had woke up in, there was a neat bed made over with a blue quilt, and a little fire place right in the middle of it all. It looked as if they expected me to live here! I laughed at the thought and tried to ignore the small pit of dread in my stomach. I began to walk out the door. I could just make out a road behind a pile of wood and a sign that read, "Property of Peter". I snorted. As if. I kept strolling along, looking at the nature around me. A butterfly fluttered passed, I watched it until I was at the road. I stepped onto it. Free! But just as I began to walk I flew back to the pumpkin "house". No! I had to be able to leave! I couldn't be trapped here! My spirit needed to soar. To be free like I never thought I could. I needed to escape. I made a panicked run toward the seemingly deserted woods. I bounced back to the pumpkin, same as before. I lunged toward another escape, with the same results as the other two times. Soon I was physically and mentally exhausted. I collapsed onto the yellow-y orange floor of them pumpkin. I hate my father. I hate Peter. These thoughts ran through my head over and over. The burning passion of anger rushed through me. I had to do something. I couldn't just sit here. But how? I thought back to the time I heard Peter talk about his contracts. He always left a way out! There had to be a loophole somewhere. I stood up and studied the pumpkin once more. A bed, a cabinet, a fireplace, the seeds, and a ladder. A ladder! Of course! I ran to it, hope growing in my chest. Climbing the rungs two at a time I was soon through the little hole in the ceiling. Darkness once more. I jumped down the ladder and ran to the steadily burning lantern. I grabbed it and more carefully now walked to the ladder an climbed. Once to the top I searched the room. Inside there were three trunks and a couple boxes. I opened the first one and peered inside. Clothes, all clothes. I dug to the bottom and found nothing. I opened the next trunk. It contained common household items. Iron pans, a broom, a rusty shovel. I opened the last trunk. It contained one thing. A little black box about the size of my foot. I excitedly grabbed the metal box, searching for an opening. I could barely see. The lantern was burning out, fast. I jumped down the ladder and found the butchering knife where I had dropped it before. With the knife under one arm, I climbed up the ladder and cut two windows, shedding tons more light in the small attic. I picked up the small black box and examined it once more. Nothing. It was completely sealed off. I angrily set the box down and proceeded down the ladder. It was dark. I climbed under the comforter. It didn't take long for me to fall into a deep sleep. I woke up to something hitting my stomach. I opened my eyes, forgetting where I was. I glanced down to see a news paper thrown onto my bed. The headline read "What Happened To Araminta?" At first I didn't recognize the horrid name. I was so used to being called Ara. I quickly unfolded the news paper and read. The article didn't describe the situation at all. It talked a bit about my background, and rich father who was "deeply ashamed" of my actions, before veering off on how Peter was an amazing business man. I was startled by three quick knocks coming from the outside of the pumpkin shell. I walked over to the doorway and peered out. A man with a notepad was leaning against the pumpkin. Apparently the barrier was only meant to keep me from leaving.
"Hello Mrs. Peter. I'm here from Kingdom Daily Paper to find out exactly what happened between you and Peter."
The man stood poised, waiting for my answer. "Peter Peter little cheater, had a wife but didn't need her, put her in a pumpkin shell, there he kept her not to tell." I said, the poetry randomly coming to my brain. I quickly walked away, not wanting to say anymore. People probably now thought that Peter cheated on me, instead of what really happened. I laughed. Revenge was sweet. I climbed the ladder to the second floor of the pumpkin and took out a brown work dress. Surprisingly it fit me quite well. My stomach growled, but there was no sign of food in the entire house. Was I to eat the house? I climbed down the ladder and walked out of the shell. The reporter must have left. I strolled around the yard looking for a garden of some sort. Nothing was to be seen. I walked over to a tree and peered inside a large woodpecker hole. Inside of the hole was a basket. I gasped. Could this basket contain the key to my freedom? I lifted the basket out of the tree and lugged it back to the pumpkin. I sidestepped the pile of seeds and goop that I woke up in the first day, and set the basket down on the bed. I pulled off the white sheet that covered the basket and began to take the items out one by one. Floor, sugar, salt, berries, some sort of meat, a large circle of cheese wrapped in a pristine white cheese cloth, vegetable seeds, and a few more essential baking things. At the very bottom of the basket was a cookbook that read "Grandma's recipes". I took it out and flipped through the handwritten pages. Some of the recipes I recognized and some sounded new. I found a recipe I liked, and began to bake. Before I knew it, the sun had risen high in the sky, and was beginning to droop. I ran outside and placed the basket back in the tree hole. For my dinner I ate a sandwich containing homemade bread and the mystery meat (Turkey). I placed the rest of my delicacies in the cabinet and climbed into bed, ending the first day in my new "home". The next day proceeded about the same way. Newspaper, basket, cooking, meal, bed. The next day after that the same. Newspaper basket, cooking , meal, bed. Several days passed the same until I couldn't stand it. I had to do something different. I couldn't stay in my same routine! Conforming into the housewife Peter always wanted. I climbed up to the attic and grabbed the materials I needed. When I came down I got right to work. Digging straight rows in the ground, building short walls out of wood, stuffing a shirt full of hay and sticking it into the ground, sprinkling seeds into the rows, and occasionally eating a berry. Soon my garden was done. Small signs carved out of wood marked which plants were which, and a scarecrow stood bravely guarding it all. I walked over to the stream where I got my water, and dipped a bucket into it. Once it was filled with the cool water I brought it to the garden and sprinkled the baby plants. Satisfying with my work I headed back to the pumpkin that was feeling more and more like home. Days passed. Each 24 hours posed a new opportunity. I painted, I read, I cleaned, I cooked, I weeded, I carved pumpkins, I made wooden sculptures. The opportunities were endless. I came to love my little corner of paradise. My little pumpkin home. It was no longer a prison, but a place of warmth and prosperity. Sometimes people would visit me. Soon children came to visit me. They used to be afraid, the told me. They thought a witch lived in the pumpkin. But how could a witch be so kind to the animals, or careful with the plants they wondered. Now they come nearly everyday, showing me what they learned in school and what they found in the woods. I always would smile and encourage. But soon my encouraging ways were fake. I no longer wanted to see the children. I no longer wanted to paint and read and bake. The house grew claustrophobic, the yard to small. I wanted to scream and tear the house apart bit by bit. The children stopped coming and the birds hid from me. My garden withered. I remembered what sent me to this house in the first place. My kind ways. I laughed at my former self. The self that was willing to whatever was right, because it was right. I longed to go back to the day when my husband asked me to help him kill the king and take over the throne. I wish I would have said yes, instead of running to tell someone his plans. I was full of hate and malice. I wanted hurt and harm. I wanted to be the villain I was always destine to be. One day I woke up and went to the hole in the tree where my food was sent. The day was bright and sunny. I hated sunny days. When I got to the tree there was not one thing inside. I narrowed my eyes and looked around. A man emerged from behind the tree.
"Peter" I snarled. His evil face, which used to disgust me now looked sharp and wickedly handsome.
"Are you ready to help me?" He asked, smirking.
"I was born ready," I replied.
"Then we'll be needing this," he replied, holding out a small black box, the same box that I found in the trunk in the attic my very first day in the pumpkin. I gasped, realization washing over me. I could of escaped all along.