Ghosts in the Pumpkin Soup

Chapter 2: Ordinary Underworld

It was a beautiful Saturday morning, but you wouldn't be able to tell anyway, mostly due to the only window being caked with dirt and possibly feces. Slowly regaining consciousness, James stretched with all the energy he could muster. Every joint in his body popped and cried, a grotesque and potentially traumatizing experience for anyone in his presence. James wasn't too surprised to find himself slumped over a chair, a regular resting place for his intoxicated rump. He was far more startled that he survived the night with all of his teeth in their respective spots.

But what about Gary? James couldn't remember a damn thing after Pete's Boneyard. Maybe Gary dug himself a nice hole to sleep in; it wouldn't be the first time. That boy has a sick obsession with holes. Maybe Gary got all introspective and decided to better his life by going on a journey of self-discovery; it also wouldn't be the first time.

A horrible, beer-stained mess answered his question. Gary was lying face down on the couch, deathly still. Ah, well, Gary has always been a heavy sleeper. Channeling his inner ninja powers, James quietly snaked off the chair, but to no avail. That's because he was surrounded by empty beer bottles—pumpkin stout, to be exact. That shit was on sale at Total Wine for 99 cents a bottle; how could they not buy out the entire stock? It must have been leftovers from years ago because James has been on a Fat Tire kick for the last two years. Frozen in mid-step for fear of awakening the beast, James checked on Gary—still sleeping? James couldn't see Gary breathing, but he didn't breathe much anyway.

James embarked through the minefield of potential rude awakenings and made his way to the kitchen. A morning snack sounded fucking fantastic right about now. James doesn't eat breakfast, lunch, or dinner; he only snacks. Thus is the way of his mundane existence. Picking up the spoon he left on the floor two nights prior, James examined his upside down reflection in its bowl.

That's a new scar.

Now that James had acquired a necessary tool for consumption, it was go time. Wandering into the kitchen, he found it a total mess. Nothing new. However, this time there were various pumpkins and dubious grocery items scattered around. One could only imagine where they acquired the seasonal gourds late on a summer night. James dragged himself to the kitchen counter, where he discovered the recipe book he so coveted. Oh yeah, where his food money went. He inspected the cover, old, worn, and dusty beyond cleaning. The title and author were mostly faded into non-existence. Still, James could vaguely make out the symbol of a grinning jack o' lantern.

Now, what to make for sustenance?

James skimmed through the recipe book. Pumpkin cookies, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin pie, pumpkin cider, vanilla whipped ice blended pumpkin spice caramel chai latte. He flipped to the back of the book and spotted a most interesting recipe. This one was handwritten in ink, like old-timey ink, and it just looked plain evil. Don't ask me what evil handwriting looks like. An ominous hum tickled the back of James's head, sending a chill down his spine.

"Ghostly... ghastly," his vision wasn't the clearest after his foray last night, "something something in the pumpkin soup." James hastily gathered the ingredients and started making the soup. "Gary! You gonna have some of this soup, man? I feel an erection coming on, the kind I get when Halloween is right around the corner—you remember that night!" James belched out but no response.

The big party animal was all tuckered out. James performed his usual cooking ritual of gently humming Twilight of the Thunder God by Amon Amarth.

Okay, one last ingredient. James looked back down at the recipe. Squinting, he read the final ingredient as carefully as his brain allowed.

"The blood of a fucking moron," he repeated out loud. Suspicious, James pondered for a quick moment. He slit his wrist with the closest available sharp object and let the blood pour into the soup. Then the pain hit him.