The Carving

Content Warning: Story contains violence

Irene felt excited as the sun started to set as she drove out of town. It had been a long couple of months, but relief was finally within her sight. It was hard being an account manager in a fast-paced office setting, plus the added difficulty of being a woman over a certain age. She was judged on first sight for the wrinkles that makeup couldn’t hide. She had her hair cut stylishly short but kept the gray color to project maximum confidence. Irene was tough and a fair boss, and her track record spoke for itself. Plus it wasn’t like she was just a manager. That was just one of the many faces she wore.

This new project was a big one, but she was more than up to the task. They were still in the experimental phase, and had found some early success. Still, there was no use celebrating early. Getting ahead of yourself never worked out in the end. 

She drove up to the site, felt the familiar tremor in the air as she drove through Caroline’s glamour. Anyone driving through the area would see the whimsical nursery and pumpkin patch, with hand-painted signs out front that read “Sold Out for the Season! Sorry!” Only those who knew what they were looking for could see the land for what it really was: dead and barren, rotted squashes littering the earth in messy rows. Irene excited her car, inhaling a large breath of the acrid air. It was good to be out of that office.

The office beckoned as she got out of her car, and she knew the girls would be inside making the final preparations. Sitting outside, kneeling in the dirt, were four women. All around the same age, and all staring straight ahead looking at nothing in particular. They made no movements as Irene approached them. She recognized the worn-down face of her former employee, Elle, sitting among them. That had been a hasty last-minute decision on her part. She hated losing a good employee at her “day” job, but another girl had fallen through so she’d had to improvise. A little messy finding a good fit, but they got what they needed. Irene allowed herself a genuine sympathetic moment for the woman. It would be worth it in the long run, for the both of them.

Anne and Caroline were inside working, both clad in flowing black robes. They looked up as Irene entered and bowed quickly as a sign of respect, then went back to writing the proper symbols on the walls. The only lights in the room were from the various candles, some placed on the floor while others hovered in the air. In the center of the room the children slept soundly in a circular formation. Irene did a quick count and confirmed there were eight. Not bad. “Everything is in order?” she asked, extending an arm. Another long black cloak flew out from somewhere and over her arms and back, covering her smart business attire.

Caroline nodded. “The little dears are out cold,” she reached out to stroke one of the child’s faces. “They won’t feel a thing.” Irene scoffed quietly. Being young, Caroline still had some of that pesky sympathy towards lesser, vulnerable beings. She’d grow out of that eventually, lest Irene would have to send her down the Styx. She turned to Anne. “The women appear properly sedated.”

Anne nodded appreciatively. Her face was softer than the others, but outside of her coffee shop there was a harshness to it. “Thank you Madam. The potions seem to be working sufficiently. I must compliment the work that both of you did on the last woman. Her soul was almost lost when I gave her the Final Latte; she couldn’t resist.”

“Desk jobs do that to most people,” Irene admitted with a tight frown on her face. “Just had to pretend she wasn’t good at it anymore. The corporate world is calling it “quiet firing.” Almost a pity really.”

Caroline snickered. “Well, just think of it as her transferring companies. You have a better position opening up for her.”

Anne turned to the younger woman. “Your work on the husband was particularly impressive. Hard to get the timing right from just one cider.” Caroline practically blushed. “I didn’t have time to really play with him, unfortunately. Rotting to death in his own basement, such a dull way to go. ”

Irene scowled. “Your playing around with the husbands is how we lost the last girl,” she reminded her subordinate. “I suggest you focus more on the tasks you’re given.” Caroline bowed her head in respect, her face reddening from the criticism. 

Irene circled the sleeping children. “Come,” she commanded the younger two. “I want this over sooner than later.” She didn’t like doing a rush job, but she was under pressure to get better results for her superiors; they’d done enough waiting. Anne waved a hand and all the candles extinguished at once. In the pitch black of darkness the three of them formed a circle around the kids.

If anyone were walking in the wooded area nearby they might have been able to hear some sinister chanting if they listened hard enough. Then they would have felt a slight chill, despite the lack of wind this evening. Something they couldn’t describe would have felt off and they would have had the desire to head home as fast as humanly possible. Their instincts would lead them far away from the abandoned compound.

No one would be around to witness three cloaked women exiting the office of the nursery, carrying eight bright orange pumpkins between them. Irene and the others placed the pumpkins deliberately in front of each of the dazed women in the yard. The women moved slightly, looking down at the pumpkins with the same blank expressions on their faces. The one named Elle looked down at her two pumpkins and stroked one of them gently. It had smooth orange skin, completely free of any gray patches. Someone she loved always said they hated those patches, but she couldn’t remember who that could have been.

Anne walked around to each of the dazed women and placed a sharp knife in their hands. “We have brought you some pumpkins to carve up.” Irene said in her crisp, commanding tone. “Clean them out and make a nice jack-o-lantern for us. Then you are…free to go.”

There was a pause, but then slowly the dazed women picked up their knives and stabbed into their pumpkins. Irene watched in satisfaction as three of the women hacked away at the tough skin, scooping out the innards with their bare hands. She could feel their souls leaving their bodies as they worked. It was the final step before converting new witches; an act of filicide to confirm their earthly souls were forever lost. The transformation had gone smoothly. The delicate bones of the children had liquified and shifted into the slimy orange insides. Their skin had reshaped and turned tough and orange, their spines shooting out and thickening into stems.

But one of the women hesitated. Irene looked at Elle, always a bright spot in the office, now a dazed woman with a knife poised over two pumpkins that she felt she couldn’t cut into. Her life had changed so radically in the last month; she’d been broken, but something lingered in her brain that kept begging her to pay attention. Her fingers continued to sadly caress the hide of her pumpkin.

Irene leaned over. “It’s okay, Elle,” she spoke softly in her “Irene” voice. “You can do this. I know you can.”

Hearing Irene’s voice sparked something in Elle’s memory. It was a familiar voice, one she’d spoken to thousands of times, one who recently started telling her she wasn’t good enough. Now she was here in a pumpkin patch, asking her to carve a pumpkin? Something was off. Something was very wrong.

Elle’s eyes grew wide as she plunged her knife into Irene’s neck. Caroline and Anne screamed in surprise, but Irene merely gasped. The pain was too much for her to keep her glamour in check; her skin turned gray and scars appeared all over it, her hands grew long and clawlike. Her usually well-groomed gray hair became ratty and long down her back. Those powerful eyes turned to milky pools of yellow. Her strength was still visible, but her earthly beauty had vanished.

“Silly bitch,” Irene seethed through wet, red teeth. She lunged forward and pinned Elle underneath her, digging her teeth hard into the side of her neck. Elle’s screams faded away as the hag gnawed away at her neck. Elle looked up at the night sky as her vision started to fade. She found it odd that she thought of the two pumpkins lying on the ground nearby. She died wondering why she felt as if she’d raised them.

When Elle stopped breathing, Irene rose and turned to her subordinates. “What happened?!?” she screeched. “How did she break free?”

Caroline and Anne cowered in fear. Caroline started stammering excuses. “I don’t know Madam, I was just in charge of the children and I took care of the husband so there were no loose ends on my part and I-”

Anne interrupted, slightly more composed. “I’m not sure either. Perhaps it was the lattes? We got her dependent on them but perhaps she just had too many? Maybe built up some sort of immunity from all that spice?”

Irene sighed, which almost looked comical in her monstrous form. “You try to take advantage of one craze and then it takes advantage of you. Interesting.” She looked over at the other three women, still carving their pumpkins with their eyes lifeless. Three new witches. Still not a bad result.

Irene waved her clawed hand and Elle’s corpse levitated off the ground. There was only a bit of her neck left so her head lobbed stupidly in the air. “I shall dine on her inside,” Irene declared as she pulled Elle’s knife from her neck with a grunt. “Since you two did mostly a good job I may let you have some when I am full.” The body floated inside the office as Irene followed. “Have the new recruits prepped and get those pumpkin innards jarred for next year’s syrups.” Anne nodded and went straight to work. Caroline hesitated where Elle’s untouched pumpkins still sat.

“Madam, what should we do with her pumpkins?”

Irene looked at them with disdain. Such a waste of a good employee, a decent husband, two children. She knew she should probably keep the pumpkins, have them made into syrup for the next batch of spice lattes. But these two were a reminder of her most recent failure, and she did not want that hanging over her.

“Roll them over the hill,” she shrugged, floating into the office. “They can rot like their father.”

This was part 3 of a “spooky” series for Halloween! Witches are having a “moment” right now and I wanted to just test myself with a genre I don’t normally write in. Parts one and two can be read here if you haven’t already.

November is National Novel Writing Month! The company is no longer around but I believe we can still do the work/fun and tackle a larger writing project for a month. I’m not attempting a novel this year; rather I plan to first draft a new short story every week in November (so four stories by the end, for you Mathletes). I encourage any and all writers to go for similar attempts. Remember you just have to get it out on the page; you’ll have months and years to go back and edit it later.

Join my email blast and I’ll let you know how I did this November. Also the holiday season is coming and you know what’s a great stocking stuffer? My book! You know I have to plug it!

Happy Halloween!