This story was written for the UnGen Halloween challenge at Supernaturalville. The story had to be 3100 words or less. Oddly enough, in my Word document, it came out to 3100 words on the nose.

I hope everyone enjoys. This is just a slightly twisted tale.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Supernatural in any way, shape, or form. Kripke & Co. have that privilege. I'm just having a bit of fun with the boys.

DAWN OF THE GHOULISH GOURDS

By: Vanessa Sgroi

October 30th
Late Afternoon

The Golden Motel
Seely's Meadow, Rhode Island

"Hey, Dean?" Sam Winchester sat at the small table in their motel room tap-tap-tapping a pen against the woodgrain veneer.

"Yeah?" Dean responded without looking up from flipping through TV channels.

"Um…I know that…" Sam cleared his throat and tried again, resisting the urge to fidget in his seat, "I know that we…uh…we don't celebrate Halloween or anything, but…"

Dean's eyes flicked away from the TV screen and focused on his little brother. "But?"

"Well, I was wondering if…if we could maybe carvejackolanternsthisyear."

The older Winchester worked to decipher his brother's rapid jumble of words. When he did, his expression settled into his patented look of disbelief, and he tilted his chin. "Come again?"

"Maybe we can carve jack-o-lanterns. You know—just for the hell—I mean, just because."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No. C'mon. We just finished a hunt; we haven't found any hint of a new one. It'll be fun…or at least something different."

"Pumpkin guts! No. It's messy and gross."

Sam hopped up from his chair. "It'll be fine. We've got lots of newspaper." He grabbed a fistful of the papers they'd been scrutinizing for a new hunt and shook it. "And you can't say we don't have any knives to use."

"Saaaaaaam…"

"Please?"

Dean glanced back at the TV and felt boredom tickle the back of his neck. He blew out a defeated breath. "Okay, fine. On one condition."

Sam was almost afraid to ask. "What's that?"

"We make it a contest. Scariest one wins. Loser…has laundry duty for the next month. Ooohh, and owes the winner a pie!"

The tall, young hunter grinned, confidence coloring his expression. "Deal! You are so goin' down, big brother!"

"I don't think so, geek. I'm far more skilled with a knife."

Sam snorted. "A butter knife maybe."

Dean settled for a one-fingered riposte to that jab and said, "So where do we go get the messy orange round things known as pumpkins to carve?"

"I looked it up. There's a farmer's market about a mile outside of town on Kendrick Mill Road which is a block east of here."

Whistling a nameless tune, the older Winchester grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. "Let's go then."

Brum Farmer's Market
Kendrick Mill Road

"Oh, for crying out loud, Sam! Pick a pumpkin already and let's go!" called an exasperated Dean. Despite the picture perfect autumn weather—electric blue sky, lemon-colored sunshine, and just enough chill in the air—they'd been wandering the field of pumpkins with what seemed like a hundred kids for nearly an hour now, and Dean was beyond ready to leave. He shifted his choice to his other hand, resisting the urge to throw it at his brother who was crouched in front of yet another mountain of orange gourds.

Ignoring Dean, Sam continued to pull potential candidates from the pile. "Just relax, Dean! This is important. To make a good jack-o-lantern, the pumpkin should ideally be round and plump but not too big or too small, bright orange with very little green. Oh and it should have kind of a flat bottom."

"I swear, if you break out a tape measure, I'll yank it out of your hands and beat you with it." Dean grunted when a little boy about eight-years-old cannoned into him from behind and that tore away at top speed.

"Whatever." Sam bit his lip and closed one eye, measuring the suitability of the gourd in his hands. Sighing in disappointment, he put it down and wiped his hands on his thighs. "I don't see any here. I'm gonna go check out that pile over there."

"I think you checked that pile already!"

"Go try your hand at the Ye Olde Pumpkin Chucker, Dean. I think they give you a prize if you hit the bullseye or chuck it the farthest or something."

Deciding anything was better than watching Sam feel up rotund vegetables, Dean headed further a-field where the waiting trebuchet, dubbed "Ye Olde Pumpkin Chucker" stood.

He returned some time later with a mouthful of cookie and a wide smile. "You shoulda seen it, Sammy, man, did that pumpkin fly! I came this close to hitting the bullseye dead center." He held out a hand which contained three more cookies. "They gave me extra for bein' the best chucker so far. Want one?"

Sam glanced up for a second from his two finalists. "That's cool." He plucked a peanut butter cookie from Dean's fist.

"You ready to go now?"

"Yeah, almost. It's between these two."

"Well pick one, and I'll take the other."

"What happened to yours?" queried Sam between bites.

"What do you think I loaded into the trebuchet?"

"Oh. Okay, I pick this one." Sam shoved the rest of the cookie in his mouth, triumphantly picking up and brandishing the round orange gourd on his left, leaving Dean to grab the runner up.

"Finally! I thought I was gonna have to load YOU in the trebuchet and launch it just to get you back to the motel."

The Golden Motel

"Yuck! Man, this is some gross shit," mumbled Dean, his hands deep inside his pumpkin. "And yet, it's kinda cool too." He pulled his hands free, holding them up. They were now full of shiny, slimy pumpkin innards, stringy membranes and seeds cascading from between his fingers.

"Mm hmm." Sam had long since finished hollowing his gourd, the guts mounded on the newspaper laid out beside him, and he was now giving the same grave concentration to the carving of the jack-o-lantern's face that he had given to the selection of the pumpkin itself.

Seeing his brother completely absorbed in his task, Dean shrugged and dumped the pumpkin entrails on his own newspaper with a wet plop. Reaching a hand back through the hole, he made short work of clearing out any remains.

Soon the motel room fell into silence as the brothers worked on creating their masterpieces. The quiet was only broken by the occasional sigh, grunt, or deep breath as each man worked their magic, and once by a hearty curse when Dean's knife slipped and bit into his thumb.

"I'm done!" Sam yelled and threw up his arms in success. His full on dimples were in play.

"Whoa there, Rocky. Might wanna put that knife down before you start flailing those freakishly long arms of yours around."

"Oh. Sorry." Sam grinned sheepishly and laid the knife down on the newspaper.

"So you're done? Lemme see."

"Ohh, no!" Sam wrapped his arms around the jack-o-lantern and pulled it close to his chest. "You finish yours first—no cheating."

"I do not cheat!"

"I've got two words for you. Pool and darts."

Dean sniffed indignantly. "That's different—that's hustling. And for us that's more like earning a paycheck. Fine, don't show me yours. You're just afraid it sucks." The older sibling went back to working on the face.

After several minutes passed, Sam jiggled his knee up and down and said, "You done yet?"

Dean ignored him and kept on working.

Several more minutes elapsed and Sam tried again. "Are you done yet?"

"Hold your horses, Samantha," Dean's face skewed into a look of intense concentration. "I. Am. Almost." He flicked the wrist of his knife-wielding hand. "Done. THERE! I'm done!"

Sam hopped off the bed, eager to see the results and certain he'd won the contest. "Should we put candles in them?"

Shrugging, Dean nodded. "Sure, why not?"

The younger hunter dug through their weapons bag and extracted two lopsided, squat white candles and a book of matches. He handed a candle to Dean before shoving the other one inside his jack-o-lantern and lighting it. He tossed the book of matches in Dean's direction and put the top on his creation. The soft, slightly acrid scent of burning pumpkin flesh filled the room.

"Ready?"

"Yep," the older Winchester announced a heartbeat later.

As one, the brothers turned their jack-o-lanterns around so the other could see.

It was all Dean could do not to gasp out loud. Sam's jack-o-lantern looked not just frightening but downright maniacal, complete with jagged teeth, squinty eyes, and lowered brow. There was something almost life-like about its expression.

Meanwhile, Sam fought his urge to take a step back upon viewing his brother's handiwork. Dean's jack-o-lantern had a wide, gaping mouth with a multitude of needle-sharp, curved fangs and itty bitty but piercing eyes. The eyes seemed to follow him as he moved. He raised his eyes to his brother. "Wow."

"Yeah. Yours is…just…"

"Um…yeah, yours too…"

"So, who should we get to judge?"

"Maybe that kid at the front desk."

Dean nodded. "Good idea. But let's go get something to eat first—I'm starving!"

They blew out the candles and quickly cleaned up the mess in their room before locking the door and heading for the nearest diner for a late dinner. Later, the Winchesters returned fat and happy, watching television to while away some time before hitting the sack. In the middle of the night, had the EMF meter in the depths of the weapons duffel been on, the squealing would have awakened the slumbering duo.

(SN) (SN) (SN)

October 31st
Early Morning

The Golden Motel

Pale sun peeked through the crack between the drawn curtains. In the narrow beam, dust motes danced and twirled in the early morning quiet. Sam yawned and stretched his long arms over his head, sighing in satisfaction when his vertebrae popped. He pushed the covers aside and sat up, his bare toes curling into the carpet as the room's chill wrapped around him. The young hunter stood, shuffling over to the heating unit and cranking the knob to the right. He was about to continue his shuffle and make his way over to start a pot of coffee when he noticed something odd.

Seeing Dean roll over and rub at his eyes, Sam called out, "Okay, Dean, very funny—what'd you do with the jack-o-lanterns?"

"Mmbllmmlans?"

"Why'd you move the pumpkins?"

Dean snorted, cleared his throat, and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Wha?" He rolled toward the sound of his brother's voice.

Sam fisted his hands at his hips in impatience. "For the third time—why'd you move the pumpkins?"

The older Winchester sat up and blinked a few times, his gaze finally settling on the low dresser where the jack-o-lanterns had resided the night before. A frown settled between his brows. "I dunno what you're talking about, princess. I didn't move 'em."

"Ha ha. Funny joke. C'mon, bro."

"Sam, I'm telling you I didn't move them."

"Dude, if you didn't move them and I know I didn't move them—where the hell are they?"

Dean clicked on the lamp that sat on the nightstand between the beds and stood, his gaze roaming around the undisturbed room. "You don't think someone broke in? No, no, that's just ridiculous. No one breaks into a room to steal jack-o-lanterns and nothing else."

Sam paced around the room before stopping abruptly in front of the door. The chain lock was undone, and he knew for a fact he'd slid it into place when they'd returned from dinner the night before. "Not breaking in. More like breaking out." He bent forward to study something then snapped straight. "Look at this."

The elder Winchester joined him in front of the door. He followed Sam's gaze and saw that the salt line was broken. Not only that, there appeared to be small footprints in the salt and slimy, yellowish-orange fingerprints smeared across the surface of the door. Dean met his younger brother's eyes. "Are you kiddin' me? Do you really think they grew arms and legs and…"

Sam spun on his heel, hurrying to the weapons duffel. He pulled out the EMF meter, walked back to the door, turning it on as he went. The red lights immediately flashed and the meter emitted several squeals. Sam sighed, "Yeah, I guess that's exactly what I think. And we have an even bigger problem than that."

"We do?"

"Yeah. The knives we used to carve them last night? They were on the dresser with the pumpkins, and now they're missing too."

Dean ran a hand down his face. "You know—I'd say I don't believe it, but I do—I really, really do."

Sam looked at the door again then back at his older brother. "Yeah, I'll say it again—our lives are freakin' weird."

The green-eyed hunter located the jeans he wore the previous day and yanked them on before rooting around in his bag for a t-shirt. "C'mon, we better go find these freaks."

Sam began to pull on his own clothes. "I'm sorry."

Looking up in surprise, Dean asked, "Sorry for what?"

"It was my dumb idea that got us into this mess."

"Nah, not your fault, Sammy boy. We were just having a little fun. Chalk it up as normal in the Winchester world, okay?" Dean waited a beat. "Okay?"

"Yeah, I guess." Sam sighed.

The brothers exited the motel room a few seconds later, shivering as the cold autumn air hit them.

Sam shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, alert eyes automatically scanning their surroundings. "Where should we start?"

"Beats the hell out of me." Lack of coffee was making him slightly cranky.

"Hey, Dean, look."

"What?"

"Look up and down the street. All those pumpkins we saw yesterday? They're destroyed."

Dean eyed both sides of the street and saw orange carnage all along the street. "Probably just kids playing pranks," responded Dean.

"No, I don't think so. They don't look smashed." Sam started across the street at a jog, his brother a few steps behind. They stopped at one pile of orange flesh. Sam squatted down and poked at the slivers with an index finger. "See, they're not smashed. They've been hacked to pieces!"

"So, the two freaky jack-o-lanterns we made are on a rampage against other pumpkins." Dean shook his head. "Great. I have a feeling we better find 'em before they graduate from pumpkinicide to regular ol' homicide."

Again Sam's gaze roamed around their surroundings, a thoughtful look on his face. "I think…I think I might know were they're going."

"Oh? Where?"

"Back to the pumpkin farm. The destruction starts here, but look, it heads off in that direction."

Dean gazed in the direction Sam pointed and could only concur with that conclusion. "Let's go get our knives back, Sammy."

Brum Farmer's Market
Kendrick Mill Road

"Yep, they're definitely here." Dean muttered, gun in hand, eyeing the vegetable carnage around them. No blood, but lots and lots of slippery, sloppy gourd guts and pieces.

Sam pulled his gun and waded into the mess. "But where?" No sooner were the words out of his mouth when he was blindsided and tackled. High-pitched cackling filled his ears as he landed face first in the gooey muck.

"Sam!"

Two gunshots sounded in quick succession followed by rather insane giggling that quickly faded.

Dean reached down to help his brother up. "Man, those suckers are fast. You okay?"

Sam spit membrane and seeds. "Yeah. If they're too fast to shoot, what do we do?"

"I don't know yet, but they went that way."

A serious game of cat-and-mouse ensued across every inch of the farm market, each brother encountering their foes in various hit-and-run attacks that resulted in several shallow nicks and cuts and a myriad of bruises. They paused by the corner of the little store to catch their breath.

"I have an idea, Dean," started Sam a little breathlessly, "the trebuchet. If we can catch 'em, you know, we can…"

Catching on quickly, Dean agreed, "Yeah! Yeah, that's a great idea, Sam! Let's see if there's some burlap or plastic around. We can set a trap."

Ten minutes later, they were ready to spring their trap.

"I'll be the bait," Sam volunteered.

"No." Dean started to reach for Sam to push him back.

Sam ignored his brother and darted out of reach, moving to the center of the large square of plastic they'd laid out.

"I'm right here, you freaks. Come and get me!" he shouted.

The possessed pumpkins were fast but they weren't very bright. They rushed Sam within seconds of his challenge, knocking him to the ground. Before he could roll away, the jack-o-lantern he himself had carved dropped his knife and had his viney, elongated hands around Sam's throat. A glow, far more eerie than any candle could make, emanated from inside the gourd, emphasizing its maniacal mien. Sam gasped, his air rapidly being cut off.

"Oh no, you don't," growled Dean, kicking the jack-o-lantern off his brother. "Sam, roll!"

As Sam rolled off the plastic, Dean rapidly gathered the edges together, effectively trapping the two writhing jack-o-lanterns within its confines. Feral growls accompanied the violent thrashing as the enraged orange gourds tried to escape. Dean and Sam ran for the trebuchet in the distance.

They were almost there when Dean yelped in pain, a knife tip piercing through the plastic and into his leg, leaving a shallow one-inch gash. Sprinting the last few yards, the hunter dumped his burden into the square bucket. "Now, Sam, now!"

Sam yanked the lever, setting the medieval war machine into motion. The jack-o-lanterns squealed and screamed as they flew threw the air—impacting seconds later against the giant bull's-eye with twin splats and smashed to pieces.

With twin grins of victory, the brothers high-fived before jogging to the plastic on the ground.

"Look at that, Sam! Hate to say it but you did better than I did. You hit dead center!"

Unwrapping the demolished pumpkins, they quickly and happily retrieved the two knives. Side-by-side, shoulders bumping, they headed back toward the Impala.

"So I guess this means no contest winner, huh?" Dean said with a laugh.

Sharing his amusement, Sam answered, "Honestly? I'd say it was a draw."

"You know what? Coffee. I need coffee. A whole freakin' pot of coffee."

"And food," agreed Sam as his stomach let out an angry rumble.

"I dunno about you, but I'm in the mood for pie. In fact, I think I'm gonna ask for the biggest piece of pumpkin pie they've got. With half a can of whipped cream on top too."

"After all that you're going to eat pumpkin pie?"

"Sure, why not? I think there's a certain poetic justice to it all."

Sam huffed out a laugh. "Only you, Dean, only you."

Fin