By Eli Cranor
Oct 26, 2025
I’m writing from Halloweentown.
 |
|
That’s where Mr. Pumpkin lives.
Wait.
You’ve never heard of Mr. Pumpkin?
Allow me the pleasure of introducing you, then.
Mr. Pumpkin is a two-foot-tall statue. He wears an orange and black jumpsuit. He holds a strange staff. His head, as his name implies, is shaped like a pumpkin. His head is also hollow, which leads one to believe he was meant to be a bowl, a piece of Halloween décor for the dining room table.
But in the Cranor house, Mr. Pumpkin is so much more.
He comes alive every Sunday in October. He leaves notes outside my children’s bedroom doors. Small scraps of torn-away paper. Clues! This year, my 9-year-old daughter has started inquiring about the penmanship. She says it looks familiar.
“Just read it!” That's what my 6-year-old son says.
Buy Eli Cranor's books - #Commissions Earned
The clues contain locations: stairs, firepit, beach, bookshelf, basketball goal. Mr. Pumpkin likes to leave a trail. Five or six corresponding clues that eventually reveal his location, not to mention the spooky treats stuffed inside his head.
Haunted house coloring books. Plastic spiders. Rubber bats. Spider rings. Bloody window stickers. Stuffed monsters. And, much to my wife’s displeasure, candy. Lots and lots of candy.
Used to, back when my daughter was an only child, when she was too young to remember, Mr. Pumpkin came every day in October.
Every. Single. Day.
That’s how much I — I mean, Mr. Pumpkin — loved Halloween.
Our shared love of the holiday has not waned. It’s just that life is busier now, and two kids are more costly than one, even for the King of Halloween.
Mr. Pumpkin’s Sunday morning visits mean sleep is lost most Saturday nights. A small price to pay to watch the children giggle and squeal. It’s like Christmas, just without the big bearded guy in the red suit.
This Sunday marks the last Sunday in October, Mr. Pumpkin’s final visit. He's had quite the run this year. His clues were better than ever. His treats are divine, especially the candy.
But Mr. Pumpkin’s days are numbered.
He knows it, even if the kids don’t. There will come an October, not too far from now, when Mr. Pumpkin won’t return to Halloweentown. He’ll remain on the dining room table, a simple decoration stripped of myth and mystery.
Or not.
