TheBanyanTree: The Prank, Part 1

[trebro at att.net]

It was cold and sharp and it was dark.  Pretty typical late October weather, actually, if you stopped to think about it.  He was sitting in the middle of a pumpkin patch, waiting to hatch the prank Frankie Kessler came up with to satisfy his almost sadistic need to scare the shit out of his friends.

“It’s perfect, Joe.  Everyone will think you’re too old for trick or treating, so you stayed home.  I lead the gang over to Old Man Granger’s farm, right by the side of the road.  You jump out of nowhere and they run like hell.”  Frankie’s eyes practically gleamed at the thought.

“What do I get out of it?”

“Bragging rights for months!  We’ll be talking about this one ‘till Christmas, at the very least.  Maybe even longer.”

“What if Granger sees me?  He’s a mean old man who hates kids.  Don’t you remember the time he hurled a pitchfork at Sam?”

“Sam was stupid.  He was there in broad daylight, trying to find arrowheads or something.  You’ll be doing it at night, in black clothes.  Besides, farmers are early to bed, early to rise types.  He’ll never know you were there.  Trust me, Joe.  Have I ever let you down yet?”

Frankie hadn’t.  In the two years they’d known each other, Frankie had always had an answer.  Even though he was two years younger than Joe, Frankie was already smarter than anyone else in their circle of friends, a group of 12-16 year olds that merely referred to themselves as “the group.”  It wasn’t very original, but they made up for it with their exploits, especially when Frankie was involved.

“Why aren’t we including the group?”

“Because they need to know who’s boss, especially Norman.”  Norman, 16, was Frankie’s biggest rival within the group.  He organized nearly as many stunts as Frankie, and he was often deferred due by virtue of being the oldest one.  Norman had put the kibosh on a grade scam that would have made Frankie immortal at the school.

“I don’t know, Frankie…these are our friends.”

“And they’ll be even closer friends when they know not to ever, EVER mess with Frankie and Joe.  Now are you with me, or not?”

Joe shrugged.  He knew arguing with Frankie was pointless, and would only succeed in putting Joe at the butt of an even worse prank.  “You win, Frankie.”

“Smart man.  Now let me tell you what to do…”

What to do meant lying about his whereabouts to both the rest of the group and to his parents.  Surprisingly, neither lie had been very hard.  He told his mom he wanted one more year of Halloween, but that his costume was being stored at Frankie’s house.  Then, he told the gang that he was “too old” for trick or treating, going so far as to make fun for Norman for going one last time.  As soon as it got dark, he slipped out of the house and walked the few miles down the road to Old Man Granger’s farm, dressed all in black.  He got there in plenty of time, and nervously slipped over the roadside fence and into the pumpkin patch.

Now all he had to do was wait to spring the trap or wait for frostbite, whichever came first.  The wind whipped through the large pumpkin leaves, creating an eerie rustling noise that was even more annoying than the cold.  He was out here like that cartoon character, hoping the patch was sincere enough for a handsome reward from a magical creature—in this case, Frankie.  Only the character had a blanket and a dog for company, and Joe only had his nerves.  Nerves that were getting very, very jumpy.

Although carefully instructed not to pop his head up above the level of the plants around him until he heard Frankie’s code words, “it’s just a little further…”, Joe simply couldn’t help himself.  He had to know what was going on.

That was a big mistake.  Not two seconds after he’s put his head up, Joe could see a solitary figure at the other end of the patch.  He was carrying a pitchfork.  

“Oh shit!” Old Man Granger had spotted him.  There was no time to lose!  He had to get out of there, no matter what Frankie did to him.  Ridicule he could handle—Granger wouldn’t be that kind.  Joe started to stand up, getting ready to fly.  He could see Granger moving with unnatural speed, the pitchfork like a lance his hands.  Joe moved as fast as he could towards the fence, preparing to leap.  It was then that he noticed, too late, the pumpkin left on the vine, one of the few that didn’t go to market.

Joe landed with a thud.  There was still time to get up, get over the fence, and get the hell home.  Except that at that exact moment, he felt a pitchfork poke into the back of his black t-shirt.  It was impossible!  There was no way that Granger could have moved that fast.  He was in his 80s or something.  

“You’re trespassing.”  Granger snarled as Joe moved his neck to the side to see the figure looming above him.  “I don’t like trespassers.”

“I…I…I…” Joe stammered.

“I think it’s time you learned how I deal with trespassers, boy.”  With that, Granger reared back and stuck Joe with the pitchfork the way Joe would use a fork on a steak. The last thing Joe thought about before he passed out was what Frankie would do…

To Be Continued…

-Rob