Jack

Adjuster: Agent ORZ & Agent 13

Ref#: JK7893

SSL#: LLLLLL

Type: 3rd Hand Mythos Retelling

Location: Willow Wood, Maine

Designation: Level 5

Action: Track and Eliminate

——————————1——————————

By late October, the body count had reached 94, mostly children and whatever parent was unlucky enough to stand in the way. Panic blanketed the small town of Willow Wood; answers were demanded but no leads had yet been established. Subsequently schools started to close, households began locking their front doors, and not a single child was seen playing in the rural cul-de-sacs. The simple small-town serenity shattered beyond recognition. Replaced with an uncharacteristic tension of tangible neighborly mistrust. Whoever the serial killer was, he had not been an outsider. Instead, part of the community, their savage nature dormant, meticulously lying in wait for the opportune day to unleash terror.
It was on the night of Halloween, toward the end of the second shift at the Omni Corp Plastic factory, that there would be a Freudian slip of the tongue that busted the case open. It was Jack Lee, a line worker responsible for pouring one of three color dyes into a toy mold before it’s sent into the press. He stood shoulder to shoulder with his coworkers, as they all gazed at the TV hanging above their heads with the local news on. Another body had been found a few hundred yards into the forest which surrounded Willow Wood. It was 7-year-old Suzy Gilligan, her young corpse naked, mangled with the savagery of a wolf attack.
“The Gilligan’s aren’t going to ever be the same again.” Said Benjamin, shaking his head while instinctively glopping dye into the tray in front of him.
“What the fuck are the Sheriff and his department doing? How could there be no leads?” Yelled Jerry.
“They’re incompetent, that’s how.” Yelled someone from further down the line.
“They better get their shit together. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder when I’m tanking gas on the way home.”
“Don’t be such a pussy, Dale. You don’t have any kids, and you’re not my type.” Jack spoke through a grin without lifting his head from the line, the words that left his lips not fully registering their severity.
Everyone within earshot froze and looked up from the line.
“What did you say?” Jerry asked letting the third mold go by without its dose of black ink.
“I said— you have nothing to worry about, you’re obviously not his type.”
Whispers passed around ear to ear, and soon all the employees stood frozen in disbelief, staring at Jack. The line piled up; and molds began to arrive at Jacks hands empty causing him to look up in confusion. “What’s going-”
Before Jack could finish the thought, he was hoisted over the safety rail, onto the conveyer belt. “Jim what the fuck are you doing?” Jack yelled as he flopped around losing his balance, clawing at the railing to pull himself off. All the workers crowded around, pushing Jack back down as he tried to find his way off. “Stop! What do you people think you’re doing, let me off!”
“It was you! You fucking bastard! You’re the fucking killer! You sociopath!” Yelled Jim and with a wide swing socked Jack straight between the eyes.
“Fuck! My nose... Fuck!” Jack collapsed grasping his face, writhing in pain on the advancing belt. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb you fucking monster.”
“Have you people lost your minds! Get me off this fucking thing!”
Pleading fell on deaf ears. The jury was out, and there was no convincing the executioner now.
“Okay fine! It was me! I killed them! I did it! Now let me off! Call the Sheriff! Arrest me!”
It was too late; the crusher took Jacks right leg first. His screams melded with the wet crunch of flesh and bone. He tried to crawl away from the jaws of the towering steel machine, but the belt was too fast, and the hydraulics crashed down once more, chewing Jack up at his knees. No one turned away, they all stared as their point of contempt for the last year and half was slowly shredded into a thin greyish red paste. Even the director stood in the window of his glass office, inches away from the emergency stop button, arms crossed in bitter satisfaction as the crusher chomped Jack at the waist. Jacks paling face and fiery eyes fading out of consciousness as innards spilled out from the suction caused by the retracting mechanical jowls.
The machine kept fulfilling its purpose, unaware to the transgressions of the workers, it melded the plastic molds and flesh into one grizzly amalgamation of blood and plastic. Spitting the resulting product out on the other side, where it was swiftly packaged and transferred onto the shipping bay, mixing in with the others. A couple hundred were made before the machines were shut down, and the workplace “accident” reported to the police. The Sherriff was told Jack came into work drunk, fumbled over the railing, and was mangled before the machines could be stopped. Though Sheriff Wilson wasn’t inept at his job and asked to see the security camera footage. The tape of which after one viewing, mysteriously vanished. Jack Lee’s house was searched, and evidence identified him as the killer. Time passed, the town returned to normal, and with a new generation, memories of the murders and the secrets that came with it, faded.

——————————2——————————

10 years later.

Ira Johnson had been well traveled despite being only 11. You see, her father Eric Johnson worked as a factory line foreman, a job slowly being phased out through new innovations in automation. He had been dragging his family around the states from job to job, each unluckily terminating employment shortly after their move. That’s when, perhaps by a cruel twist of fate, Willow Woods’ local plastics factory scooped him up. Being the largest employer in our small little town, Omni Corp productions wasn’t interested in destroying the local economy with robotics, so finally Ira Johnson was sure to have a place to set down her roots.
Willow Wood was an oddly placed town. It was erected in the early 1800’s and was located smack dab in the center of one of the largest forests in America. The nearest city from Willow Wood a 250 mile drive down a two-lane road through dense woods, with only a single gas station along the way. That being the case, the town was mostly self-sufficient. Having its own school system from grade school to community college, its own hospital, police station, courthouse, and enough factories to supply jobs to everyone, there was little that the town needed from the outside world. Anything missing was delivered via semitruck when the need arose.
The Johnson’s first day at their new home went much as one would expect. Neighbors lined up with housewarming trinkets and homemade hot dishes, introducing themselves and nosily prodding for information. After a few hours, the Johnson’s had already established new acquaintances, been invited to a few birthdays and barbeques, and were even let in on the local gossip. Ira, like most kids, had been disinterested by the ordeal until the Miller’s visited from next door with their son Milo. Milo was the same age as Ira and the two quickly hit it off having similar tastes in movies and video games. In mere minutes, Milo had invited his new friend out to show her the sites.
Downtown Willow Wood was like any typical small town, a wall-to-wall two block stretch of stores, colorfully painted and quaintly named. Each business carved out it’s little piece of history, being passed down over generations, and built from scratch with small town love and big dreams. It truly was postcard material. Milo was joined by a few kids from his grade and had been wondering around from store to store, window shopping and introducing Ira to anyone and everything.
“You guys wanna check out what old man Otto has in his thrift store?” Asked Milo.
“Hell yeah! Maybe he got some new games traded in.” Added one of the kids.
“I’m down for anything.” Ira answered as she was dragged down the street to a greasy surplus thrift store. One of the windows was boarded up, and the neon sign sickly glowed on its last leg. Inside, like any resale store, items were haphazardly scattered around and stacked to the ceiling. The old balding man called Otto sat behind the cash register, smoking a fat cigar, and wiping the sweat off his heavy face. He yelled not to break anything when they entered, but almost instantly after went back to counting money and paying no attention.
Ira found it odd that a store could have so much junk. She looked over the old oddities, bewildered by who would buy them, disinterested, yet pushed on by curiosity. That’s when it caught her eye. Stuffed in the far back of a shelf littered with ceramic angels and crosses, its bright orange hue peaked out between wings and cherub faces. It wasn’t clear exactly what it was, just that it was out of place among the religious memorabilia. Ira couldn’t help herself, the item called to her, pulling her in for a closer look.
“Hey! You break it, you buy it!” Yelled the greasy store owner seeing Ira approach the ceramics, but she didn’t pay him any mind. Shuffling the angles and crosses to the side Ira stood on her toes and reached toward the back, pulling the item towards her by her fingertips until finally it was in her grips.
“What’d you find?” Milo asked, startling Ira.
“A pumpkin! Some sort of Halloween decoration…” Ira responded examining the toy.
“Huh I wonder what it’s doing here.” Milo inquired before being harkened back by his friends.
The pumpkin toy was made with some sort of textured material, matching the feel and color of the real thing almost identically. The label on the bottom read “Perma-Lantern, the last Jack-O-Lantern you’ll ever need. Candle not included” and had the Omni-Corp watermark stamped in the background. Although the most memorable aspect was its face. A precarved design much in the spirit of typical Jack-O-Lanterns, although far more menacing in appearance. It’s eyes uneven and slanted in an angry mischievous expression which furled its plastic brow. It’s teeth long and slender, deformed pinpoints resembling some monstrous fish from depths unknown.  
“How much for the pumpkin” Ira asked holding it up to the owner.
“The hell did ya dig that thing out of?” He responded miffed before snapping back “Five bucks.”
“Deal!”
The day came to an end, each of the kids said their respective goodbyes and headed home for curfew. Milo and Ira walked back together, before agreeing to hang out after school again the next day and parting ways.
Ira’s mother and father were tiredly laying on the living room couch, watching a film.
“How was your day?” Asked Eric partly interested, partly by obligation.
“It was fun! This place is pretty cool. I got this funky Halloween decoration.” Ira answered back.
“That’s good to hear hun.”
“Wow, where are you going to put it?” Added Elanor, Ira’s mother.
“Maybe the porch, maybe in my window. Do we have any of those tiny candles?”
“Check the kitchen draws. Oh, and start getting ready for bed! You have school tomorrow.”
Ira grunted in repulsion and stomped into the kitchen to retrieve a candle. Quickly locating the candle and her father’s lighter the young girl lugged the items to her new room. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she inserted the candle through the opening of the Jack-O-Lantern and lit a flame. The fire flickered taller than it oughta have, it shined brighter then it had any right to, and for a second Ira could have sworn the toy vibrated in her hands. But everything quickly diminished to appropriate proportions, and paying the object no more mind, she placed it in her window. Ira prepared her backpack for tomorrow, showered, and jumped under her covers as Elanor tip toed in for a tuck and a forehead kiss.
“Go get some rest, Ira.” Her mother said blowing the candle out.
Although rest would not visit that night. Instead, as Ira cuddled up in the warmth of her blankets, comfortably rested her head against the coolness of her pillow, and let her tired heavy eyes shut in relief, the distant caw of a crow jutted them back open to reveal she had been displaced from her domicile and was now standing in the middle of a pumpkin patch. Motionless from shock, the cold air nipped at her skin, and the full moon bathed everything in a blue hue. No lights pierced the blackness drenched around her, no sounds could be heard over the whistling wind, and no delusion could explain the frost at her fingers or autumn night air in her lungs.
Ira tried to run, but her feet remained glued to the floor. She tried to yell, but her throat could not muster the energy. It was at her most vulnerable when she noticed one of the pumpkins jostling around. It swayed around in circles, violently trembling in its pivot as tremors from deep in the earth shook the ground in tandem. A heavy green fog started to emanate from its roots, blanketing the ground in a toxic color which practically glowed from the moonlight. The pumpkin began to rise, as from the soil underneath sprouted a pair of wide boney shoulders. The pale skinned abomination groaned as it pulled out its arms from the dirt one at a time, before hoisting it’s self out completely.
Lightening began to roll in from the distance. Any movement was met with tightening muscles and the drum of a pounding heartbeat. Powerless, all Ira could do is let the tears well up in her eyes as the ghoulish figure stretched its rickety figure and adjusted the pumpkin sitting on top it’s toothpick neck.
“Fuck does it feel good to stretch the limbs.” The veritable boogeyman croaked as well-timed thunder accented the statement. Roots of adjacent pumpkins started to creep up the monster’s fleshy legs, coiling over its decaying skin and covering it like a constrictor. Then in a poof of green fog the entangled roots unfurled into a two-piece suit with a bright orange tie.
“New threads. New life. I’m back baby!”
Chills hit the back of Ira’s neck as the strange figure straightened its posture and slowly turned to face her.
“Well, well, well… what do we have here.”

——————————3——————————

The harsh blare of Ira’s bedside alarm clock jolted her back to morning reality. The sun peaking through the blinds quickly eroded memories of the dream, until it was nothing, but a set of incoherent events and a heavy pit of vague emotions lodged in the stomach. Ira laid in bed trying to remember details, but the more she strained, the further from grasp those details seemed.
“Wakey, wakey darling, it’s your first day of school.” Ira’s mother burst in, flinging the blinds open. “Your breakfast and lunch are on the table, your father is already at work, and I’m starting my first day at the local diner; Sunnyside.”
“Are you going to drop me off?”
“I don’t have time hun, but I asked Milo’s parents if they don’t mind taking you today, and they seemed thrilled! You two got along so well yesterday.”
“What time will you be back?”
“Well dad’s working late today, they’re putting him to work right away and providing orientation as overtime, and I have to train on the day and night shifts if I want to keep my new job at Sunnyside. But Milo’s parents said he tends to walk back from school, so I’m sure he’ll have no problem if you tag along.”
“Love you too.” Ira grunted under her breath, flipped out of bed, got ready for school, and set off on her day.
 School was typical. Much of the first day awkwardness was counteracted by Ira’s familiarity with Milo and his friends. They spent most of the time introducing her and flaunting their newfound friendship as a commodity in high demand throughout small town America. It was an icebreaker the likes of which every new kid dreams about. Besides new faces to remember and new habits to learn, the day would be by no means memorable if it weren’t for the crow following Ira from classroom to classroom, peering at her through any window it could get an angle. She pointed it out to Milo during lunch, but the bird drew little scrutiny, and conversations quickly shifted back to video games and cartoons.
Yet the bird unsettled Ira. It’s glances and tenacity abnormal beyond natural explanation, conjuring emotions of unease likened to ones she felt in her dreams. It pulled her focus away from schoolwork and caused imaginations to run rampant. Even on the walk back home, the crow bared an unsightly mark on her mind.
“Ira? Ira!” Milo’s voice snapped her back to reality. “Are you even listening?”
“Sorry.”
“What’s wrong with you, you’ve been spacing out all day.”
“It’s that damn bird.”
“The crow? It’s just a dumb bird. Besides, how do you know it’s even the same--”
Almost as if its ears were burning, the crow in question landed on a picket fence a few feet away and gawked curiously. Taken back, Milo’s sentence trailed off as he and Ira exchanged shocked glances. The crow cocked its head side to side, examining the two intently. It then ruffled its wings and began to squawk incessantly before darting across to the street, landing on chain link fence, and turning its head back to the two kids.
“Convinced?”
“Maybe”
“Oh, shut up.” Ira jested crossing the street after the crow.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“I’m following the bird. You coming?”
Milo scoffed at Ira’s willfulness as he trailed behind her past the fence, into the dense forest. Their walk turned to a sprint as the bird did not have the patience to wait for them.
“Ira, wait, it’s not safe to go to far into these woods!”
“Just a little further!”
“Ira!”
Against better judgement Milo pursued his new friend until finally they pushed through the brush and it gave way into a clearing, and before them stood an old abandoned factory. It’s looming chimneys and industrial brooding design ominous through its disrepair. The metallic structure bore an intimidating presence with its eerie silence and heavy atmosphere. The crow landed on the factory’s pent roof, glanced to see if it was still being followed, and with an approving squawk dove through a broken window inside the building.
“Holy shit. What is this place?” Ira gasped out between breaths.
“That’s the old plastics factory.” Milo answered leaning against his knees, also gassed.
“I thought that was on the other side of town.”
“That’s the new one.”
“What happened to this one?” Ira continued.
“I have no idea. Jake, Tim, and Sam were throwing rocks through the windows one day when the Sherriff caught them. I remember the parents talking about some sort of accident that happened there years ago that forced them to close.”
“And reopen a couple miles away?”
Milo shrugged his shoulders annoyed by the whims of his new friend. The adults never spoke about the incident and the kids didn’t care to ask. The history of the building faded to obscurity as the generational gap spread.
“Come on.” Ira said ducking through a hole in the fence.
“You’re joking right.”
“Don’t be such a pussy. Come on!” Ira egged on Milo, climbing under a rusted hole in the front doors of the factory.
Inside, the air was laden with dust and chilled by the enormous metal machines. Its structure creaked in the wind giving heed to caution its disrepair. The crow sat on top a large metal press, croaking subtle sounds as if trying to speak. Ira inched toward the towering steel jaws, convinced the animal was trying to show her something. On the conveyor belt laid old plastic mold of the very decoration she purchased last night. They lined up one after another, being fed into the press, the metal structure of which glinted an abnormal reddish hue. Before the building could be explored more, blue lights flashed through the greasy windows, and the distinct chirp of a police siren being flipped on and off reverberated throughout the steel walls.
“Fuck!” Milo spat through his teeth.
“Come on out!” Sheriff Wilson voice yelled from outside.
“What do we do?” Ira panicked looking toward Milo for answers.
“I don’t know!”
“Is there a way to sneak out the back?”
“Come on kids, there’s cameras all over the place.” The sheriff sounded more tired than angry “Milo, you and the new girl come on out, we’ll have a quick chat, and no one’s parents have to know about this.”
The promise of not getting in trouble was enough to coax a decision from the kids, and conceding defeat, the two exited the factory with their heads hung low. The Sheriff gave out a long-tired sigh and cracked a warm smile that eased the tension.
“Milo, you out of all the kids should know better than poking around this place. Didn’t your friends get in trouble for something similar?”
“Yes, Mr. Willison.”
“Trespassing is illegal, there are people sitting in our jail for less.”
“We’re sorry.”
“I was my fault; I was curious about what this place was.”
“You’re Ira, right?” The sheriff asked and received a head nod. “Well, nice to meet you. I met your mother earlier today at the diner, she’s a very nice lady. We’re lucky to have you guys move into our little town. Hopefully, us meeting under these terms won’t become a habit.”
“It won’t.”
“I don’t see any broken windows, and the folks that work security for Omni-Corp said you two were just looking.” Wilson glanced around before taking another deep breath and crouching down to eye level. “This place is dangerous you two. Nothing is maintained. Nothing is inspected. The machinery left behind can kill someone-” the Sheriff tailed off “they’ve been talking about demolishing it for years now. You can’t be playing around inside.”
“We understand…”
“Now you two are in one place, no damages done, no harm no foul. Consider this your one free pass with me.” The Sheriff opened the back door of his pickup duty cruiser. “Hop in, I’ll give you two a ride. We’ll drop you off a block from home, so your parents don’t see-.”
“Well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Wilson. You’ve gotten really fucking wrinkly in the last ten years.” Crepitated a voice from behind the shadows of the nearby trees.
“Who’s there.” The Sheriff confidently barked back, his hand resting on the holster of his pistol.
“Aw. You don’t recognize my voice, Wilson? Consider me offended.” The voice responded, still hidden.
“Identify yourself.”
Slowly the orange pumpkin rind peeked from behind a tree. It continued to lean out revealing its boney shoulders and draped over dirt stained suit. Ira’s eyes widened and she produced a gasp that caused Wilson to draw his revolver.
“Take the mask off and put your hands over your head.” Wilson commanded while yanking the kids behind him and nudging them into the seat of his car.
The glint of an axe dropped to the floor from behind the madman’s back. The weapon caused Wilson to shove the kids into his car and slam the door shut.
“I said put your fucking hands up.”
“Come on Willy, is that any way to talk to an old friend?”
“Jack Lee?”
“Bingo.”
Wilson took a step back towards the truck, “It’s not possible…”
“Funny, I thought the same thing.”
The words crackled their way through the crumbling cavity of the Jack-o-lantern face. The syllables otherworldly and emphasized by the flicker of candlelight illuminating from his gaping carved maw. It’s head cracking and flaking with each expression and word spoken, the gourd unnaturally held together by unidentified forces. Slowly the bony figure trailed toward the Sheriff, axe dragging behind it.
“Stay were you are!”
“What are you gonna do, shoot me? You already let me die once.” Jack ripped back.
“You were a killer!”
“So are fucking you!” Jack roared, still advancing.
“I said stay where you are!” Wilson ordered as he reached through the window of his car for his radio. The lost footing and broken aim caused the pumpkin man to rush at the Sheriff, who in turn quickly decided against calling for back up and regaining the posture of his stance. “Freeze right fucking there!”
Wilson let out three shots, hitting the pumpkin man directly in the chest. He stumbled back and looked down at his torso before brushing himself off and jeering an evil grin.
“Nice grouping Willy. Center mass.”
The pumpkin man was unhindered and continued to advance. The sheriff let out three more shots, but they had no effect and Lee closed the distance enough to take a swing with his axe, lodging it in Wilsons shoulder blade. The Sheriff let out a grunt as he stared up into the Jack-O-Lanterns fiery eyes in pained disbelief. Jack ripped the axe out and crashed it back down on Wilsons head, splashing blood over the windows, causing the kids to scream in panic. He continued to batter the Sheriffs body with blow after blow, chopping into flesh and bone, pummeling it into a bloody mess of carved meat and pulpy muscle.
“Oh my god, oh my god! Lock the doors” cried out Milo.
“Holy Shit! What the fuck!” Ira wailed.
“What do we do?”
“Grab the radio!”
Milo scrambled between the seats to the front and clutched at the radio. “Hello? Hello! Anyone there? We need help!”
“Sheriff Wilson? Is that you?”
“Wilson is dead! There’s a man with an axe! We need help! We’re at the-“
Before Milo could finish his sentence, the clang of metal on metal rang out, and the car went dead. Through the front windshield, between he speckles of blood, the killer yank his axe out from the hood of the vehicle, the bit dripping with blood and battery acid.
Silence set in; with bated breath the kids watched the bulking shadowy mass strut toward the rear window. It’s candlelit face causing the blood to glow a sickly red.
Three light taps echoed on the glass.
“Knock, knock. Anyone there?” Jack asked with a guttural inflection.
He pulled at the handle, but the doors had been locked.
“Open the door for Uncle Jack.”
Again, the pumpkin man pulled at the handle.
“I just wanna have a chat. Open the door.”
He continued to yank at the handle, growing more agitated, shaking the car in the process.
“Open the fucking door, you damn brats!”
With the swing of the axe, the rear window shattered into tiny pieces. Screams filled the car as the pumpkin man reached in, grabbing Ira by the leg, attempting to pull her towards him. She flailed and kicked at him, doing anything to break his grasp.
“Let me go! Milo, help, do something!”
Milo snapped out from his frozen stupor, grabbed the heavy shotgun from the dock in the center console, cocked the forend, pointed it at Lee, and pulled the trigger. With a deafening blast Jack’s head exploded scattering pulp and seeds all over the interior. The body attached to the gourd hunched over lifeless and tumbled back like sack of dirt. Shell shock rang in Milo and Ira’s heads. Ira saw Milo mouthing words at her, but no sound could overtake the ring. One thing was for sure, they couldn’t stay here.

 ——————————4——————————

                 The door to Ira’s home was ajar, inside the house was dark. Something wasn’t right. She glanced over the fence at Milo, who returned the look, before both entered their front door. Nothing was inherently out of place, although throughout the house laid a heavy oppressive silence.  
“Hello… Mom? Dad?”
“I’m in here darling.”
Ira’s father stood behind the counter in the kitchen, his silhouette illuminated by the wide-open refrigerator. His demeanor unwelcoming and foreign, his face curtained in darkness.
“Dad? Is everything okay?”
“Of course, honey. Have you been a good girl?”
“Dad… where’s mom?”
“She’s resting. Tell me. Where is that toy you bought today?”
“What toy?”
“The pumpkin?”
“Why?”
“Where’s the pumpkin?”
Mr. Johnson’s body convulsed in an unnatural shiver, and from under the sleeves at his wrists Ira spotted the tips of roots coiling out from under the fabric. Whatever was speaking lost the loving familiar charm a parent had, it was now cold and distant, poorly mimicking a mannerism it couldn’t possibly know. The two froze and stared at each other, the tension palpable with a fight or flight response being anticipated by both.
“Where’s the pumpkin, Ira.”
The standoff cut short as Ira made a hail mary move, darting into her bedroom, snatching the plastic toy from behind the curtain of her window, and locking herself in the bathroom just as the menacing figure appeared in the doorway. The door handle jiggled, and the looming figure stood in the frosted glass of the bathroom door.
“Open the door.” Said the figure, loosing her father’s cadence.
Ira glanced down at the plastic decoration in her hands and followed a whispering intuition, slamming the toy against the floor and jumping on it with all her weight. The thin plastic didn’t so much as crack, instead she rolled off it and fell to the ground.
“No, no, no. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“What do you want?” Ira cried.
“I just want to thank you for springing me out that hole kid. You think what they do to child molesters in prison is bad? You should see what goes on in hell. You’d think the fucking place was run by saints.” Jack’s voice bellowed out from her father’s ‘body’.
“Now be a good girl and open the door for ol’ Jack.” The syllables slithered sweetly off the menaces tongue, the plead gentle and calm. Though the reddish glow its face gave off through the frosted window gave way its real intent. “Open the door, and hand over the pumpkin.”
Ira thought quickly on her feet and dashed toward the single sided casement window above the shower head, propped it open, and climbed out.
“I said open the door you fucking cunt!” Jack began to yell, ferociously bashing against the door.

 ——————————5——————————

What happened next was a blur. Without thinking Ira ran into Milo’s backyard, screaming and yelling for help. She did not receive a response and did not wait for one. What she didn’t know was that Milo was already gone, the shapeshifter having gone through their household first, and Milo ran for the police station. In an adrenaline-fueled haze Ira ran in no direction in particular when she caught a quick glimpse of black darting out of the corner of her eye. The damn bird again, only this time it seemed less sinister. It was flying a safe distance above her, wildly calling out into the night.
She found herself unconsciously following the bird again, back to the scene of the horrific murder of Wilson. While Ira didn’t know the officer for long, she felt anguish recalling the horrific murder she had witnessed and thinking of how his family would feel with his loss. She felt the same way about her father, not knowing if he was okay or if he met the same kind of fate. She bit back tears, crawling through the rusty entrance her and Milo had used earlier that day.
Ira quickly made her way back onto the floor of the plant. A strange feeling washed over her as she looked up, hoping by some magic the crow would again signal next steps, or give her a clue about why she was being chased over some five-dollar plastic. The crow just sat on the safety rail on the second floor—tilting its head at her panicked state. Behind the bird was a large office with glass windows, presumably the control room, if knowledge from a couple years of bring-your-daughter-to-workdays’ served her justice. Frantically running up the old dusty stairs she tried the door handle and successfully pushed through.
Entering the room quickly and shutting the door behind her, she was immediately plunged into darkness. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room she began to look around at the plethora of outdated machinery, controls, and buttons. The factory must have been abandoned in a hurry as mugs and papers were scattered everywhere. Ira took a deep breath and collapsed to her knees, the toll of physical exhaustion finally catching up to her. She couldn’t believe she got away from that sinister figure. What was the monster’s tie to this place? Why her? She cursed herself under her breath for how stupid she was for inviting this sinister presence into her home.
Ira could not stay lost in her thoughts for long, as she heard a door in the plant slam shut. She turned her head, quickly got back on her feet, and carefully glanced out of the room’s window. On the floor she saw the sickly sight of the pumpkin man, seemingly regenerated, eyes fiery, evil grin stretched across its head.
“Ira…” it's called out, trailing its syllabus in a lull. “Ira… Where are you?” the abomination kept calling out, it’s pumpkin head looking side to side. “Uncle Jack just wants to talk, baby!”
She grimaced and quickly began to look around the room for a place to hide. Frantically, but quietly she began to open the large drawers of the desks, hoping that she could perhaps squeeze her way into one of them. Most of the drawers were filled the brim with lock out/tag out forms, maintenance records, and other useless paperwork that was absolutely not helpful at the moment. When finally, one drawer she opened had a key sitting at the top of the paperwork, the tag unreadable from faded ink. In a stroke of genius, she wondered if the factory still had power, and plunged the key into the main operator panel, flicking up and frantically pressing and flipping all of the switches she could.
Lights throughout the plant flickered on, revealing the years of unkempt mess and rickety machinery. Machines began to whirl to life, and the pumpkin man’s head snapped to look straight at the control room. Ira cursed, while she hoped this would cause a distraction, she hadn’t realized it would give her position away immediately. Luckily for her he was not on the second floor yet. Instead of hiding in the room where she could be quickly discovered, she decided to run for it, opening the control room door and dashing down the mezzanine.
“There ya are! ” the pumpkin man exclaimed with glee. In the light she could see his bloodied axe swung over his shoulder.
“And I see you’d been taking good care of my pumpkin!” he was in pursuit, climbing the stairs.
“What a good girl you are. Your father said you were a good girl too— when I chopped him up into little fucking pieces.”
Ira tried not to let this monster mess with her head. She continued across the plant, machines smoking and working to whirl up as best they could after the years of neglect. Steam and smoke rose up through the plant, but Ira just kept running, the blisters on her feet almost becoming unbearable. She finally reached another stairwell, and quickly ran down the stairs back to the floor.
The pumpkin man laughed as he positioned himself on the safety railing above her. “It’s not safe for a pretty young girl like you to be running around a dirty place like this.” He jumped down from the second floor, cutting her off. “Give me the fucking pumpkin. Now.”
Ira quickly assessed the situation. She could try running back up the stairs, but she knew there were no other exits up here. Her only way away from the creature was over another rail, onto the old conveyor belt. She decided she would rather take her chances that way instead of meeting her fate the way Wilson did.
She squeezed under the safety railing onto the belt, the maw of the plastic mold smashing a literal ton of steel over and over in quick succession. Jack followed over the rail, losing his footing on the belt, the situation bringing an eerie deja-vu to the demons mind. His grin turned into a ferocious scowl as he regained balance.
“Give me the damn pumpkin!” He screamed, axe hoisted over his head.
“You want it? Here, fucking take it!” Ira yelled with a courage deep within her that startled Jack as she lifted the toy above her head, and threw it into the crusher.
“No! You dumb bitch!”
Jack lunged to intercept, but it was too late, and the jaws of the steel machine chomped down at the plastic decoration. crushing it into dust. Jack fell to the ground and started to scream, grasping at his head in pain. His eyes and mouth glowed brighter as he writhed in pain. Ira stared in disbelief for an instance, before the crow once again croaked overhead as it darted out of the factory, and Ira quickly followed it. Outside Jack's pained yells echoed throughout the forest as the bright glow continued to expand, shooting beams of light out each window. Until finally a rumble shook the ground, and the factory crumble to the ground.

Ira stood outside in the cold quiet night, frozen in disbelief. It may have been minutes, or maybe even hours, but finally flashes of blue and red approached, and she turned to see Milo running towards her, tears in his eyes, arms open to comfort. Small towns hold big secrets, and nothing dead ever truly remains buried forever.