Midnight Pumpkins

Midnight Pumpkins

What a disappointing year for farmer Faulk. The prince had chosen four of his pumpkins to take to wife, but there hadn't been a suitable bride in the lot of them.

Faulk blamed the fairy godmother for these failures. After all, what was her purpose if not to ensure the young prince’s happiness? The prince sought a wife. A good girl to bear him sons and raise the Kingdom’s heir. From the start, Faulk had complained that the godmother’s methods were overly complex. Find the boy a peasant from the village or even a foreign princess. There were many respectable young ladies to choose from, so why choose a pumpkin instead?

Faulk was of the opinion that pumpkins were for pies and not much else, but what did he know of magic and sorcery? He was a farmer. His knowledge was based in soil, seeds, and seasons. But when the prince approached him with the promise of gold and riches, the poor farmer had no choice but to accept.

The first pumpkin had been small and delicate. It was a pumpkin fit for decoration, and little else. The perfect princess pumpkin, if he’d ever seen such a thing.

Bibbidi bobbidi boo!

The fairy godmother cast her nonsensical phrase over his field, and before his very eyes, the little pumpkin transformed into a beautiful young woman. Her hands and feet were as dainty as he’d expected. Her unblemished skin glistened in the moonlight. A sweet upturned nose adorned her face, where once a stem might have sat. Faulk had never been a crass sort of man, but those breasts. As perky as two eggs, fried over easy.

At first, the prince had been pleased. He beheld his jewel of a bride with wide unblinking eyes. With one hand on either cheek, he went in for a kiss. Faulk could almost taste the coin, but he should have known better than to count his chickens before they’d hatched.

The girl began to cry—big fat noisy tears. She cried, and she cried, and she cried some more. She never stopped. Something in the godmother’s spell had gone terribly wrong. The four of them stood, dumbfounded in Faulk’s field as the water began to rise.

“She’ll wash away my bloody crop!” He told the prince.

The prince did his best to console the girl, but it did no good. It seemed to make matters worse. The girl thrashed and scratched like an angry cat, attacking their good prince. With a sweep of her wand—and some silly rhyme that Faulk couldn’t make heads or tails of—she transformed the girl back into a pumpkin.

The second pumpkin was much the same. Small, slender, stunning. The only trait she lacked was her sanity. This potential princess was a runner. The Prince gave the girl a kiss and just like that, naked as the day she was born, the girl took off like a shot. Gone, gone, Gone. Faulk gave chase until his legs turned to jelly. He’d seen horses with less stamina than her. Just when he thought he couldn’t take another step, the clock struck midnight. The girl was a pumpkin once more, and Faulk’s dreams turned to dust.

The third pumpkin was a little different from the last. The prince had approached Farmer Faulk with a request.

“Could this one be tall?”

The prince preferred his women tall. Who would have thought? The boy stood a few inches shy of six foot, but who was Farmer Faulk to deny a royal’s request?

He scoured his field, but could not find a squash to suffice. That’s when he was struck with an idea. Stems could be cut to height.

Bibbidi bobbidi big mistake.

The girl was born with a beak. Tired and downtrodden, the farmer watched as the girl pecked and picked at the worms and ants. She ate her fill until midnight, when she returned to a pumpkin.

“Father, haven’t you always said that love is in the eyes of the beholder?” Katrina asked.

His oldest daughter was prone to bouts of disobedience.

“Yes, but that’s only for common folk. Princesses are princesses, and turds are turds.”

“But aren’t pumpkins also sometimes princesses?”

This is why Faulk had asked his good wife to keep the girls inside. He worried that the godmother’s nonsense might be contagious and spread to his innocent daughters. Heavens forbid they develop ideas.

“Get back to the kitchen, where you belong. Your mother will need help with the pies.”

Mrs. Farmer Faulk had become quite industrious over the course of this debacle. She’d found great success in baking “Princess Pies” to sell to the neighbors. He found the concept of eating pumpkins, which were once people, distasteful. But the coin was good, so with a heavy pockets, he’d relented.

Princess pumpkin number four was by far the biggest disappointment. This was a fact for which Faulk could only blame himself. His wife’s industriousness had given the farmer an idea, and hadn’t he always said those weren’t to be trusted? He should have listened to his own words of wisdom.

“Perhaps a larger pumpkin would do, Your Highness.”

The charming young prince agreed. After all, he did like his women tall and strong.

So, one asinine alteration later, the largest pumpkin in the field was brought to life. The girl stood two horses tall, and a pony wide. The ground shook as she stomped her feet and clapped her hands.

In a rare moment of candor, Farmer Faulk threw his hat to the dirt and spat. Even the radiant godmother could not hide her disgust, but before she could wave her despicable wand,

“She’s perfect!” The prince exclaimed.

Farmer Faulk’s frustration turned to exuberance. He’d finally done it. His pumpkin would be a princess, and his pocketbook would never be empty again.

The ogress reached out a hand to pluck the prince, and brought him to her lips for a kiss. The kiss was not sweet, nor was it gentle.

“She’s eating him,” said Farmer Faulk.

The godmother cast her charm, and the pumpkin was a princess no more. All hope was lost, for everyone but Mrs. Farmer Faulk. She’d hit the “Princess Pie” jackpot.

“We can make one-hundred pies from this one, Katrina.”

Katrina wept for the big one’s demise.

“If you’d only given her a chance. Magic isn’t supposed to be cruel!”

Farmer Faulk had already rolled up his sleeves, ready to give his daughter a swift smack on the bottom.

“Who might this be?” The prince asked.

“She is my daughter, Katrina. I apologize for her presence, Your Highness.”

“Farmer Faulk, I’d like to make you a new offer. I’ll give you the gold, in exchange for your daughter instead.”

The two men shook hands, and the prince bestowed a chaste kiss on dear Katrina’s lips. Farmer Faulk could not believe his luck. Perhaps, this torment would be worth it.

Unfortunately, life is often complicated, even for a simple farmer. Katrina, bless her kindhearted soul, could not sleep that night. She snuck out of her bed, a few minutes before midnight. She wanted to say one final goodbye to the great big pumpkin.

The next morning, Farmer Faulk called for Katrina, eager to be done with the whole ordeal. Mrs. Faulk chattered away as she gathered her pies for delivery.

“I was able to make one-hundred and one “Princess Pies”. What luck we’ve had this harvest, Farmer Faulk.”

“I can hardly believe our luck. Where is our good daughter Katrina?”

The pair searched the farm, high and low, but there was no trace of their daughter. With a heavy heart and empty pockets, Farmer Faulk told the prince of Katrina’s disappearance.

The next night over a slice of pie, he lamented his daughter’s disobedience.

“It’s just like Katrina to run off and leave us in the lurch. It was that fairy godmother and her ridiculous spells that gave the girl those ideas. Haven’t I always told you, ideas are dangerous things.”

Mrs. Faulk chewed her bite of pie thoroughly, before saying,

“Yes, but the “Princess Pies” were an idea, and they’ve only brought us prosperity.”

“But think of all we’ve lost. The Gold!”

“And our daughter.”

He dismissed her concern and said, “Yes, but we have more of those.”

“All in all, you must say, some ideas are good.”

“That’s only partially true. We didn’t sell all the pies. We had one left.”

Mrs. Faulk considered her forkful of flaky crust and fluffy filling.

“Actually, Farmer Faulk, I must admit that this pie is not special in the least. It’s a simple pumpkin pie. When I went out to retrieve the biggest princess pumpkin, I found a second pumpkin right beside it. This was the most perfect pumpkin I’ve ever seen. Not too small, nor too tall, just ripe and ready to be picked.”

The pair stared at one another across the table—pumpkins, pies, and princesses all but forgotten. They pondered what this might mean, but were ultimately unable to put the puzzle together.