It was late on Halloween when Jack decided to find his lover a new head.
He had watched her slow decay over the past few months and knew this had to be the
year. It wouldn’t be the first time that one of them had ventured out into the town, looking for a
replacement head for the other. In fact, Jack didn’t really know how many times it had been
done. It all faded into one long journey, eventually. It didn’t matter, really; there was a need, and
so it had to be done.
He was especially worried about her this time. The vines that spread out from her chair
were becoming hard and brittle, the little leaves that affectionately tickled his own vines having
become yellow and still. They had spent uncountable years filling the walls of the house with
their presence, bringing vibrant life to empty drywall and fading wallpaper. Now, though, he had
to search for the faintest signs of her presence.
She wasn’t in the cobwebbed vines that latticed the kitchen window, which was odd. This
had always been one of her favorite places, where she gathered to watch the birds as they sang in
the trees outside. She wasn’t in the bedroom, either, where their vines were the most entangled;
sometimes Jack couldn’t tell where he ended and she began, so often had they coiled onto and
into one another, spending their strength in a passionate effort to become one. The dead spots
here scared him the most, because he thought for a moment that they both might be fading.
The smaller bedrooms were empty too, bare patches marking where their children had
once sprouted and grown. They had long since pulled up their roots and moved on, settling to
weave their own lattices of love. Jack even checked the porch, though she had long receded from
the desire to see the outside world. Nothing there, either.
And so, Jack made the titanic effort to stand. The seat cushion beneath him ripped, and
pain flared in his back where the tendrils pulled free. He wobbled for a moment, feeling weak,
but the sight of her sagging smile spurred him toward the door. He slipped his coat over stalks
and leaves before moving into the night.
Jack stopped at the end of the driveway and turned back to consider the house. Their
conjoined vines twirled over the outer walls as well, moving through cracks in brick and glass as
they held hands, touring the life they had built together. He cocked his head, something creaking
inside him, and a flood of memories coursed through his seeds and flesh.
She needed his help. It was time to go.
The neighborhood’s children had all gone home for the night, to count their candy and try
to get some sleep after the excitement of the evening. That was for the best; Jack didn’t want to
scare them. The occasional silhouette of an older teen moved across the street, but Jack wasn’t so
fond of them. He thought of all the shattered eggs and broken windows over the years, and his
rind puckered in a smile at the thought of scaring them.
His feet scratched against asphalt like a scraggly old broom on cobblestone, his pace
growing more frantic as he passed house after darkened house. It had been many years since he
wandered this neighborhood, but the porches had been different then. Each one had presented a
carved head to the late hours of the night, soft light flickering in unblinking eyes that welcomed
his grasping arms. This year, each porch was dark and silent, no sign of the offerings from
previous lifetimes.
Jack moved on through the cold of the night, ignoring the shrieks of late trick-or-treaters
that stumbled across his shambling form. The houses were newer here, and he didn’t remember
them from previous outings. Some yards glowed with hope, but on his approach, he found only
strange ornaments that flapped in their own unnatural breeze. Scratchy recordings filled the
presence of these faux fabric avatars, leaving Jack confused and empty-handed.
More people were gathering now as word of his presence spread through the misty night.
Some shrieked in terror, while others muttered of the clever costume. He ignored them all,
moving quickly from one porch to another. His step increased to a sprint as he saw a cluster of
orange specimens at the edge of the gathering. Children screamed and scattered as a low growl
of fear emerged from his throat. These heads had no faces, their featureless stares causing a sense
of panic to flare deep within the coils of his wooden breast. As he turned them, he saw that they
each had drawings scrawled in marker, crude mockeries of true heads. He wanted to howl, but
instead he pushed them away and sprinted deeper into the night.
Hours passed, and Jack lost all hope of success. The novelty of his presence had worn
off, the late hour draining interest as it drained the heat of the day. He now walked alone through
darkened and abandoned streets. He’d never been so far from home, and hadn’t imagined that the
houses would go this far. This had once been farmland, but now it was dotted with red brick
homes that looked brand new. Their lights were off, and apart from emptied plastic bowls, the
porches were empty.
Jack despaired as he prepared to return home to the worst. Yet as he turned, a gentle
orange glow caught his eye from a side street. There. A singular head in a night full of
maddening emptiness. Smiling in his direction, beckoning him to come closer. Jack rustled
across the street and then leaned into a sprint, desperate to claim what he had searched for.
He swept the head up in his arms, tipping the candle within and causing it to go out in a
puff of sweet-smelling smoke. It didn’t matter though; he had seen enough. His wife’s smile was
there, cut carefully into the fresh meat with a knife. He looked into his wife’s new eyes and grew
giddy.
Everything will be okay, he chanted as he turned home once more.
Jack’s ancient home stood exactly as he had left it hours before, alone and silent. He
crossed the yard and sprinted up the steps, throwing the door open with a crash. He locked eyes
with the disintegrating pulp of his wife’s head and then rushed to her, holding out his prize
before him, desperate for her to see him with these new eyes. He was in such a hurry, he forgot
about the first knot of vines they had woven together, just inside the door.
Jack’s feet shot out from under him, and the head flew through the air to smash against
the coffee table. He pulled himself to his knees, gazing uncomprehendingly at his mistake,
listening quietly as the gory remnants dripped slowly to the floor. He picked up the pieces and
tried to carefully fit them back together. Each time, the mangled remains fell silently to the floor.
More and more frantically he worked, stirring the pieces and breaking them further, unwilling to
accept what had happened.
Eventually he stopped, looking at the pulpy mess on his hands. His shoulders sagged as
he realized that he would be too late.
Perhaps not. Jack rose to his feet with purpose, crossing the room to his lover. He went to
his knees before her, carefully lifting the rotting mess from her shoulders and placing it to the
side. He swallowed the mixture of fear and sadness, running his branches tenderly over her arms,
memorizing every contour of her existence as she spread out through the house. There was so
much he longed to tell her, but there wasn’t the time.
With a twisting motion, Jack pulled off his head. He felt the vines and roots snapping and
twisting in his neck as his own body fought against this decision, but his love was stronger by
far. With a final pull, the head came free in a shower of leaves and spitting juices. He fumbled
forward as his power receded, missing twice, then finding her neck. Gently, lovingly, he lowered
the head into place. Satisfied, he allowed his spent form to collapse to the floor at her feet.
Jack wouldn’t see the sunrise, but he knew that when its first rays peeked through the
kitchen window, the tender leaves would be tickling his vines softly as the birds sang their songs
once more.
About the Author
Randall Madden was born and raised in rural Tennessee. From an early age, his writing interests have included fantasy, science fiction, and horror, with an occasional twist of humor. He is currently completing his MFA in Creative Writing at Southern New Hampshire University.
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