Punkie Night

This is my entry to the 2026 Halloween contest , and whilst I would like to win, I don't expect to. This is the third time I have entered a story into a contest, and my motives remain the same - to increase my exposure to readers.

This is the first time I have published in the Sci-Fi and Fantasy Category. Even though I have written stories with a supernatural element to them before, this is the first story I have written that best fits here. Nonetheless it is also a romance.

Please score and comment. Any constructive criticism, positive, or negative is always welcome.

All the participants in this story are adults over the age of eighteen years. None of the characters depicted is real, and any similarity to real places or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

As always, any errors in editing are mine and mine are alone. I hope they will not spoil your enjoyment of this story.

As I sometimes do, I have included endnotes to provide background information to the story for those who want it.

Punkie Night

Just a few miles west of the town of Yeovil in South Somerset, and nestled between five low hills, is the small village of Chiselborough.

The village was, for a long time, a prosperous place. In the Saxon period, it was known as Ceoselbergon and is recorded in the Domesday Book. For over six hundred years, around St. Luke's Day on October the eighteenth, between 1257 and 1894, an annual fair was held here.

The fair was an important social and economic event attended by both locals and by visitors from many miles around, sometimes as far away as Bristol. By the end of October, the harvest was in, and the stalls sold local produce, including hazelnuts, which were a prized commodity. Here, livestock, wool and fleece, leather goods. flax and hemp. farm tools, seasonal produce, and seeds were traded.

To feed the many hungry customers, stalls selling food and drink were also a feature of the fair,. and there is local folklore that describes the men of the local village of Hinton St George attending the fair and getting drunk, following which their wives went looking for them. Legend has it, that it was a dark windy might and the women placed lit candles in carved mangelwurzels (mangels) to light their way and guide their menfolk home.

To this day, in Hinton St George, on the last Thursday night in October, this event is celebrated as Punkie Night. Then, after dusk, children wearing costumes march through the street holding lanterns made of carved-out mangels singing.

"It's Punkie Night tonight.

It's Punkie Night tonight.

Adam and Eve would not believe,

It's Punkie Night tonight.

It's Punkie Night tonight.

It's Punkie Night tonight.

Give us a candle or give us a light.

If you've not got a candle. A penny's alright."

Nobody knows when the events commemorated on Punkie Night first occurred, When the Taunton Courier first described them in 1931, they were described as having happened over a century before. Various variations of the legend have also been reported. One of these is that the men mistakenly feared the grotesquely carved mangels were evil spirits and ran all the way home.

In reality, It seems likely that Punkie Night predates Chiselborough Fair and is related to Halloween, Most years they are celebrated separately but once every five to eleven years when the last day in October is a Thursday they coincide, and the celebrations are special. That is the setting for this story.

***

Before the Autumn of 2024, I had never visited Somerset nor heard of the annual ritual of Punkie Night. At the time, I was twenty-one, studying veterinary science in London, and lived at home with my mother in Kentish Town close the Royal Veterinary College.

It might not have suited a lot of people, but it suited me. I was a quiet, introverted, and shy young lady with few friends and no social life. I walked to College in the morning, walked home at night, and in the evenings I studied and kept my cats, Nibble and Squeak, and my mum company. I had never been to a disco or a night club and couldn't remember the last time I had been to the theatre or the cinema. Most of my classmates knew me as "Plain Jane," the nerdy girl who sat in the front row at lectures scribbling frantically in her notebook.

I was twenty-one and a virgin. Worse still, I had never kissed a boy or even held his hand. I lived a boring , uninteresting life with which I was totally happy. Soon that would change.

The catalyst for change was a young girl called Billy. With one exception Billy and I had little in common. Billy was bubbly, friendly, extroverted, and promiscuous but liked to sit at the front during lectures. Billy's motto was, work hard, play harder, and by religiously attending lectures and lab classes she was free to party the rest of the time.

Not only did Billy and I sit side by side in the front row of lectures, but Mistress Fate. our names, and the alphabet conspired to make sure we were in the same laboratory and tutorial groups. I was Jane Aplin and she was Billy Allen.

Both of us had a driving desire to be the best, and whilst we did not socialise with one another, we collaborated in our course work, and Billy sometimes came to my house to study, particularly around exam times.

Billy's father was a farmer, somewhere in Somerset, where her family had lived for centuries. She had a brother, James who would take over the running of the farm when her father became too old to do it. She would become a vet but a large animal one. looking after farm animals. My ambition was to work with cats and dogs, and maybe rabbits.

"People treat their pets like children," Billy once said to me. " I don't want either. Animals are not people. They don't need us to think they are."

I wasn't convinced it was the animals she was thinking of, but their owners.

Regardless of this, there was little opportunity to work with farm animals in North London, Students were required to find a rural veterinary practice where they could learn clinical practice, and Billy had the perfect answer when she suggested we go to our first placement together.

She knew the local vets who looked after the animals at their farm and In the last week in October we began our first clinical EMS there. Conveniently we would be able to stay at the farm during our one-month stay.

Billy had more than coursework in mind. Over the summer, she had started to bonk a young farmer from Taunton; and was keen to spend more time with him.

"He's a really nice guy,"" she told me." Even my parents like him. He has a younger brother too. Unattached and very good looking," she added, and smiled at me.

"First my degree," I said.

In truth, I wasn't interested in men - or women at all. I never had been. Sexual desire was something I had never known, but this was something I kept to myself. I was pretty sure that Billy would have seen this as a sickness and would have pitied me. it didn't bother me at all. I thought it was who I was. I knew I wanted children and supposed that at some stage I might need a man to help me with that, but that lay in the future, and I rarely thought about it.

Mother Nature had played a trick on me when she left me asexual. She had also made me very pretty with ice-blue eyes, well sculpted facial features, and flame-red hair. Underneath the badly cut dresses that I wore to hide my body, it was hard and curvy, and to avoid unwanted attention I tied my hair up in a bun and I never bothered with makeup.

***

On a Friday evening in the last week in October, we took a train out of Paddington. It was a cool cloudy night and, in the dark, we watched the silhouettes of hills and trees passing by. Occasionally, the bright lights of a station flashed past, or we saw a farmhouse glowing in the distance. Just under two hours later we pulled into Taunton Station.

Outside the station we were me by Billy's Mum. She was a handsome lady in her mid-forties with a broad Somerset accent and was driving a battered Land Rover

"You must be Jane. It's lovely to meet you." she said." Let's get you both home. I expect you're hungry."

Once our luggage was loaded, the drive to the farm took twenty minutes or so, and Mrs Allen chattered away for much of it. She was cheery and welcoming, and it was easy to see where Billy's easy-gong personality came from. We were almost home when she turned her head briefly towards me.

"Have you been to Taunton before, Jane?" she asked.

"Never," I replied.

"I was thinking of bringing her back tomorrow, " said Billy.

"What a good idea. It's a market day."

***

The market to which Mrs Allen was referring was the Independent Market, and late the following morning, Billy and I found ourselves walking amongst the stalls on Castle Green beside the castle. In one hand, I was holding dim sum, and in the other a carrier bag containing a large piece of local Renegade Monk cheese; a gift for my host. Now that we had experienced the market, I was anxious to see a little more of the town.

"Let's walk a little," I suggested. "We've seen the stalls."

"That's fine, Which way,?" she asked.

"You choose."

She led me between the castle wall and the museum courtyard and down a narrow winding lane, There, amongst the cafes, boutiques, and gift shops we passed an antique shop, and for a moment I stopped and looked into the window, before I felt some inexplicable and irresistible force begin to draw me inside.

"Can we stop and take a look?" I asked

"I didn't know you liked antiques," said Billy.

"I don't normally but there's something that's different about this place."

The shop was dark and cluttered. Cabinets filled with silverware, jewellery, glass, and pottery lined the walls and they, in turn, were covered with prints, paintings, and old maps. All manner of furniture was on display and, in-between, household goods. agricultural items and assorted bric-a-brac were on display beside shelves stacked with books and old magazines.

At first, I didn't see the owner. She was a tall, handsome, grey-haired, old lady in a plain black dress, almost invisible behind the counter in the gloom of the shop. Only when she spoke, did I realise that she was there.

"Can I help?" she said, and then when I turned towards her, "You're here, at last."

Just as she spoke, something caught my eye. High on a shelf above her head was a grotesque carving of a head. It was lying on its side with a crooked grin on its face and appeared to be leering ar me.

Closer inspection revealed it to be a dried-out, carved vegetable-lantern; the sort of thing made for Halloween -although it did not appear to have been made from a pumpkin or a turnip. It was long and tapered, slightly twisted, and about a foot long. The brown-grey skin was deeply wrinkled by desiccation.

For a long time, I stood looking at it, as it gazed down on me, and then, without being asked, the shopkeeper reached up and placed the lantern on the counter. I reached down and took it between my palms. It felt warm and living to my touch. and with its deep-set hollow eyes, crooked nose, and gash-like mouth it continued to stare at me.

I didn't hesitate - I knew I must have it.

"How much?" I heard myself say.

The old lady turned over a yellowing, paper tag attached to the twine handle.

"Seventy pounds" she said. "Priced not to sell." She paused. "But the punkie has been waiting for you, young lady. For you there is no charge."

"I don't understand," I replied, and I looked at her then glanced at Billy.

"It will become clear. Your friend hears none of this."

A little later, we left the shop. Now I was carrying another two plastic bags, one containing the lantern and the other a framed antique map of South Somerset. Truth be told, I did not feel comfortable accepting the lantern without purchasing something,

"Why on earth do you want that dried out thing?" asked Billy.

"I haven't a clue," I replied. "What's a punkie?"

***

Back at the farm, I gave Mrs Allen the cheese and showed her my purchases.

"An old dry punkie she exclaimed. It looks ancient."

"The old lady who gave it me said that's what it was. Billy has explained it to me."

"Few folk have ever heard of Punkie Night unless they are from around these parts. It's coming soon. Next Thursday and it's a special one because it coincides with Halloween."

"I've never understood Halloween."

"She looked at me. askance."

"It's when the spirit world and our world grow close and allow us for a brief moment to touch each other. In this house, we carve lanterns and put them in the windows to welcome home the spirits of our dead ancestors. Like Christmas, Halloween has become commercialised and its true meaning has been hijacked and lost."

***

Alone, in my room, I took the punkie from the carrier bag and placed it on the cabinet beside the bed. Previously, in the shop, I had sensed a strangeness in it, but this had gone, and now I saw only s dry and twisted root, and I had forgotten my inexplicable attraction to it and the words of the lady in the shop.

That evening, I was very tired. The journey we had made the previous day and the visit into Taunton had exhausted me, and after supper, I made my excuses and retired to bed. My evening ritual was the same as always - shower, brush my teeth. comb my hair, don my pyjamas, and climb into bed before switching off the light. Soon afterwards, I slept.

I was dreaming when I woke. From high in the air somewhere near the ceiling in the room where I had gone to sleep, I looked down from above. The room was the same but different. Gone was the fitted carpet. Instead, there was a pine plank floor dotted with rag rugs. An old Iron bed, painted black, now stood against the wall and where the modern fitted wardrobe sat, there was an old oak chest of drawers and beside it a wooden washstand.

It was daytime in a different season. The room was warm, and a bright shaft of sunshine came through the window illuminating the bed and its occupants. There, a man and woman, oblivious to anything but one another, were making love.

She was lying on her back, her strong muscular thighs gripping him firmly as he lay between them thrusting. He was strong and fit, his buttocks moving rhythmically up and down as he fucked her. I heard her groaning and the bed rattling. Then, as I watched, I became aware of my arousal - between my legs, an unfamiliar heat and wetness had started to appear. That was when, I began to rub myself.

Below me on the bed, the coupling was reaching a crescendo. I could not see the face of the woman as the male figure lay covering her, but I could hear her cries of ecstasy. Then, the man shifted his position and for a moment I was able to clearly see her face. Like me, she was a redhead. Her face was flushed, her pupils dilated, and her mouth wide open. For several seconds, I watched her and then her features began to change, and the face looking back at me was my own!

In a moment, the dream - if that is what it was - changed. I found myself naked on my back with my thighs clamped around my lover's waist. Between my legs, his cock was pounding at my virgin cunt as I screamed in pleasure and pleaded with him to fuck me harder and make me come. As I sweated, writhed, groaned, and swore. I knew that this was not the first time I had been fucked although It felt as if it was.

My climax came quicky, shocking me in its intensity. I had not dreamed such pure physical pleasure could exist, and even as I recovered, I knew I wanted more. Beside me,

George - somehow I knew his name - had rolled away.

I slept.

***

When I woke. I was wide awake and, just for a moment, I was surprised to be alone. Beside me, in the dark, the alarm clock glowed and told me it was four o'clock. I switched on the light and was reassured to find myself in the room I went to sleep in.

The punkie was where I left it, sitting on the nightstand, and I reached out and touched it.

"Fuck," I exclaimed, as I pulled my fingers away to stop them from being burned.

***

In a farmhouse, folk rise early, and Billy's parents were already eating breakfast when I appeared. While hie wife was a talkative individual, Mr Allen was a quiet, reticent man and barely looked up when I appeared, He took little part in the conversation until I asked Mrs Allen about the redhead.

"Did a redheaded woman ever live here?" I enquired

He looked up.

"You've seen her?"

"I had a dream; It was very vivid."

He turned to Mrs Allen

"She's sleeping in 'Sad Mary's' room? Beth."

His wife nodded, and Mr Allen spoke again.

"Sometime in the early nineteenth century, there was a farmer and his wife who lived here. Just after they married he drove his cart into the river at Pill Hill Bridge and drowned. She never remarried or looked at another man and lived here alone for the next fifty years, until one morning they found her dead, curled up, on his grave. They are buried together in the local churchyard. She was a redhead and there is a story that her spirit still walks the hills around here."

He paused

"The same hills as she wandered in life. Her penance for not being able to save him from the river. She was with him when they fell into the river. She lived.... He died."

"Has anybody else seen her recently?"

"Would you like to change rooms? "

"No thank you. It was just a dream," I lied, and felt no guilt.

***

That morning, after church, I walked with Billy in the graveyard. I told her only of the redhead in my dreams and her father's story and said nothing of George. We spent some time looking for the grave but there was no sign of it.

"It must be here somewhere," I said." The inscription may be a little worn. She must have died around one hundred and fifty years ago and he died half a century before that."

"This must be it," said Billy suddenly. And I joined her by a silver-blue slate headstone that was standing drunkenly by the wall. Despite its age, the inscription was still sharp and clear.

Sacred to the Memory of

George Hallett

Who was drowned by mischance

On the 29th of October 1829.

Aged 19 years

Also of

Mary Hallettt

Who lived in widowhood until her death

On the 3rd of March 1882

Aged 72 years

She kept his memory ever near,

And at the last lay down upon his grave,

and was gathered up to him in peace.

"It's almost the anniversary of his death," said Billy.

"I wonder what day of the week it was,"

Back home, the internet told me. The 29th of October 1829 was a Thursday - Punkie Night.

***

That night, I did two things I had never done before. When I got ready for bed, I left my pyjamas off, and I applied some lipstick that I had asked Billy if I could borrow.

"If we are going out on Thursday to see the Punkie Night procession I'm going to want to look good. Maybe borrow a dress and apply some makeup," I'd said.

I still remember her reply.

"Hell, Girl, this country air must be good for you."

I fell asleep immediately- as soon as my head hit the pillow, and it seemed like only a few minutes later when I dreamed I woke again. On the nightstand, the lantern had begun to glow gently, and as I had anticipated would happen, I sensed the presence of another. Suddenly the room was bathed with light and once again I found myself lying on a nineteenth century bedroom on a hot summer's day with a warm, naked, male, body in bed next to me. It was George.

"Please fuck me very, very slow," I whispered.

***

He did just that. I wondered if he knew that the previous night I had experienced my first fuck from somewhere after halfway through - hardly the best way to lose your virginity.

We lay uncovered and entwined. With my head resting on his chest, he held me in his arms, and I heard bis beating heart. His body was strong and muscular; the upper half burned a deep chestnut brown by hours of labour in the sun. In contrast the lower part from the waist down was a milky white and only accentuated his nakedness. From a mass off curly black pubes between his legs, a long pillar of stiff flesh protruded, It was long, thick, and I guessed uncut -the foreskin hiding the helmet at the tip.

I knew that very soon that I would be impaled by it, and the thought bought with it a myriad of unfamiliar feelings that, only a few days ago, I would have thought impossible. My skin tingled, my nipples felt stiff, and between my legs my sex was moist and aching.

He kissed me very long and deep.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, and he took each of my long nipples in his mouth and began to suck them. Already stiff, between his lips they hardened further, causing me to whimper in delight.

I felt his hand resting on my belly and then begin to move slowly downwards. Mesmerised, I watched his fingers pass my thatch and slide between my lips and I spread my legs and raised my hips to ease his way. He found my wet and swollen bud and then began to rub. As my passion grew, my natural inhibition began to weaken.

"Please show me what to do." I whispered, "Show me what to do."

He took my right hand in his and guided it to his prick. There, he showed me how to grip the foreskin between my fingers and slide it up and down over the swollen knob end.

"Firm, but not too firm," he said softly, as I slowly slid my hand up and down, covering then uncovering the mushroom shaped glans. " Ohhhhhhhhh, that's good."

Now, as he fingered me, I jerked him, watching closely as the bulbous tip appeared and disappeared, and my love of jerking dick was born, Even more fascinating, was the way in which the glans changed in colour from pink to blue to deep shiny purple as I slowly tightened my fingers around his shaft.

It did not tale long before I wanted more than his fingers, and under my ministrations his cock was ready to do the job for which it was made - to fuck.

"I'm ready," I gasped." Please put it in me."

He rolled between my legs, held my labia open with his fingers and positioned his knob at the entrance. Then as he inched inside, he stretched me wide to accommodate his massive prick.

When he had buried himself completely he paused and waited momentarily before he began to thrust. At first, His strokes were long, smooth, and unhurried, but as I became increasing aroused, I became more vocal, surprising even myself.

"Hard and fast," I whispered urgently, " I want it hard and fast."

My words had the effect I wanted, and he picked up the pace.

"I don't need you to love me or like me. I need you to fuck me," I groaned.

"Fuck me like a whore."

"Fuck my gash and make me come."

"Come inside of me. I want to feel you spurt."

The dirtier I talked, the faster and harder he pounded. The bed was banging against the wall, and I thought it might collapse.

"I want to suck your balls dry," I screamed. "I want your penis up my arse."

We rutted like animals. I had no thought for his pleasure, and I am certain he had no thought for mine. There was only my cunt and his cock - nothing mattered but our mutual and very selfish pleasure - feeding off each other - spirally upwards.

"Make me come" I screamed. "Fill me with you cum!"

He grunted.

"UtghhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHH!"

Deep inside of me , I felt his cock stiffen, and then a liquid warmth, before I screamed.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, OH FUCCCCCCCCK!"

My body Jerked, my thighs trembled and my anus and my cunt began to pulse, and I came long and very hard.

***

A little later I took him in my mouth as I promised. I never knew that sperm was salty.

When I woke on Monday morning, I was knackered, so I took the Punkie and placed it in the cupboard in the spare bedroom next to mine. I figured that George would have to wait before I took it up the arse.

***

On Thursday afternoon, Billy and I arrived home from the Vet's Practice early. It was Halloween and Punkie Night, and we planned to drive over to Hinton St George to watch the Punkie Parade and the best Punkie competition and have a drink in the pub afterwards. Billy's new boyfriend, Alan had arranged to meet her there for a drink later.

"Won't I be in the way?" I asked.

"Of course, not. I can ask him to bring a friend."

"There's no need."

"I thought you were warming to the idea of finding a fella."

I said nothing.

I showered, washed my hair, and dressed in a red woollen dress borrowed from Billy, She showed me how to use lipstick and makeup. When she had finished, I did not recognise myself.

"Fuck, you look good," said Billy.

Just after five we left the house and climbed into the Land Rover. In my large tote bag, hidden from view, I was carrying the punkie. As far as Billy knew, this was just a good night out, but I had a premonition of something else about to happen.

Hinton St George was crowded when we arrived, with several hundred people on the streets and clustered around the village green. Just after half past six, the procession began. The Punkie King and Queen led scores of children and adults carrying lanterns made of carved mangelwurzels and lit with candles around the village. We watched the procession for a short while and then Billy suggested we go to the pub and beat the crowds of revellers before the event finished at seven.

The Lord Poulett Arms was half deserted when we entered. Only a few old men, locals who no longer walked the procession, sat at the bar whilst the barman polished glasses.

Sitting at a table by the window, was a good-looking guy, with a pint glass in front of him. This was Alan.

"Hello Billy," he called over. "Come and sit down and I'll get you both a drink."

I sat at the table and placed my bag and the punkie at my feet and for a little while, I forgot that it was there. Inevitably, Alan spent more time talking to Billy than to me, but I didn't mind. I have always been a good listener. Sometime after seven there was a swell of voices coming from outside the high street.

"Here they come," said a voice, and a moment later the door to the pub opened and a tide of people entered. The procession and the judging of the punkies was over for another year and now the pub filled quickly with children, their burned-out lanterns, and their parents.

***

It was then that I felt a soft warmth coming from the canvas at my feet. I nudged it with my feet and felt it pulse and glow. It seemed to me that someone else must soon notice the bright light coming from the bag, but they were oblivious. That was when I felt the pull, drawing me away, It was a quiet insistence that I should leave - from far away my voice was being called. I knew I had no choice and had to go. Beside me. Billy was deep in conversation with Alan.

"I need some air," I said." I'm going for a walk. I'll be a little while."

Outside, the streets were far quieter now, and apart from a few stragglers the green was empty. I didn't know where I was going but followed the punkie's glow. I reached into my bag, pulled out the lantern, and held it by its string handle. It took me past the church, past the last cottage, down a dark lane, and into the night.

A little way down the road, I hesitated and turned back towards the village, and the punkie glowed bright. Now I understood how it would guide me. When I went in the direction it wanted it cooled and when I went wrong it flared. On and on I walked, past dark silent fields until I reached a crossroads where I stood for a moment and took stock.

I looked at my phone and saw that I had been walking for twenty minutes. I wondered If Billy had missed me and was worried where I was, but quickly realised she could always ring me if she wanted and there was no missed call. I was on the point of ringing her, when the punkie glowed brightly and urgently, encouraging me to move on.

I turned right, down a steep hill, and the lantern quietened. I had walked no more than a few paces when I heard a car coming down the road towards me and saw is headlights as it approached me. I stepped back off the road, and car swept past me down the hill and disappeared into the dark.

Just under half a minute later, I heard the crash. In the distance, I heard a squeal of brakes, a thump, and a splash of water, then silence. The moon had not yet risen, and it was almost black on the lane. As I hurried towards the sound that I had heard the lantern lit my way.

At the bottom of the hill, the road curved gently to the right before I saw the outline of a low stone bridge. I ran to the parapet on the left side of the bridge and peered over into the water and was shocked to see a car had entered the river. In front of me, it was sitting at an angle, with the front of the car pointing downward and partly immersed in the shallow river water. Eerily, the headlights, immersed in water, continued to shine. Only a few feet from me, I could see the driver slumped over the steering wheel, He was immobile and when I shouted to him, he did not reply. I reached into my phone and dialled 999.

"Emergency. Which service please?"

"I'm not sure. Ambulance? Police?"

"What's the emergency?"

"A car's in the river."

"I'm putting you through now."

"Hello, Ambulance Service. What's your emergency?"

"A car has driven into the river. Its nose down in the water and the driver is not moving."

"Is he conscious and breathing?"

"I can't tell. The car is tilted; The water is halfway up the door."

"Is the car stable or moving?"

"No, the river is shallow and slow moving. He sitting with his head above the water. He won't drown."

"OK. Help is on the way, but I need you to confirm your location at Pill Hill Bridge."

"I'm not sure, I walked here in the dark from Hinton St. George. A couple of miles?"

"That fits with what I have, Police, Ambulance, and Fire Services will be with you soon. In the meantime, I want you to stay safe. You must not enter the water."

"OK. I won't. I can lean over and try to talk to him through the car window."

"Be careful don't fall in."

It was then, in the distance, that I heard the sound of sirens and two minutes later, a police car pulled up.

***

After that, things moved quickly. Half an hour later, the driver was on his way to hospital, and I was on my way back to the pub in the back of a police car. I never got a chance to talk to the driver. The police made me sit in the warmth of their car whilst we waited for the Fire Brigade and Ambulance, When they arrived, a few minutes later, I stayed where I was. I would only have been in the way.

Before we left the bridge, the police told me that the driver had woken up and was probably going to be OK. Then they took my statement. Naturally, I didn't tell them about the punkie. I didn't think they'd believe me.

I also wondered who the driver was. Police protocol ensured, thar as I was a witness, I would never know, and they would never tell him who I was. What was it that had prompted the punkie to guide me to him ii the dead of night. Safe, and back inside my bag, it wasn't about to tell me.

At least, not yet.

***

I called Billy briefly, from the car. By then, I had been away over forty minutes.

"I was starting to wonder where you had gone. I was about to phone you but I thought you were at the bar. It's been as crowded as fuck in here and we lost track of time. Where did got say you were?"

"Pill Hill Bridge."

"What are you doing over there? It must be over a mile from here... More,"

"I went for a walk. Listen, the police say they want a statement and then they'll run me back to the pub afterwards. Stay where you are and I'll see you soon."

It was approaching nine o'clock when I got back to the pub. By then, it had quietened down. The following day was a school day, and parents had taken their kids home to bed.

For a few minutes after the police dropped me. and my story got around the room, I was an object of mild interest, but after the barman had given me a free cup of coffee, I was soon forgotten.

In the car, Billy spoke.

"You are one silly bitch, wandering around the countryside in the dark on Halloween. Don't tell my mother, she believes in this spirit shit. She'll kill us both. That driver could just as easily have run you down."

I didn't think so, but said nothing and held my tote bag tight. Then, I was shocked to find the punkie was missing. I had put it in my bag at the bridge but not seen it since. At first, I panicked, but then I told myself it must have done whatever it had set out do. It had found me once... There was nothing I could do.

***

A little later. I drew up alongside the front door of the farmhouse and helped a half-drunk Billy from the car. As we passed the lounge window at the front of the house, Mrs Allen had placed a row of four large red carved mangelwurzel lanterns with their candles burning. Now, next to them, and peering out at me, sat the dried-out punkie,

As I stared at it in disbelief, for just a moment its hideous features softened, and in the half-light I thought it might have smiled.

***

On Saturday morning, when the doorbell rang. I paid little attention. I was in the kitchen talking to Billy over a cup of coffee and whoever it was, it would be none of my business.

Mrs Allen must have answered the door, because I heard her talking to a man, before I heard the front door shut and her footsteps as she walked down the stone hallway towards the kitchen.

"She's through here," I heard her say.

She appeared through the door.

"Jane, there's a gentleman here to see you," she said, and to my astonishment, George appeared.

He was even more handsome in the cold light of day - tall, lean with fair hair, brown eyes, and strong, well-defined features. Standing in front of me, he held out his hand.

"Hello Miss Aplin, I came to thank you for saving me from the river on Thursday evening," and after we shook hands, he handed me the bouquet of roses he was carrying.

Meanwhile, even though he knew me well enough with my clothes off, I thanked God that I was wearing the red dress that I had hijacked from Billy and was properly made up.

"I was wondering if you would have dinner with me tonight so that I can thank you properly."

A little later he left, with a promise to return for me that evening.

"You told me how you met, but I didn't believe it, and I still don't," said Billy. "Who the fuck is he?"

"The man of my dreams," I replied. "The man who's going to take my virginity."

For the second time and very soon, I thought to myself.

" You lucky cow," said Billy.

***

That evening, at half past seven, George picked me up.

"You're as beautiful as always," he remarked.

"How on earth did you find me?" I asked. "The police would never have given you my name and address."

He smiled, and I saw his eyes glance behind him.

I turned around and looked at the back seat of the car where my punkie was glowing.

***

Endnotes

***

Although this story is set in Hinton St George on a combined Punkie Night and Halloween in 2024 this is a literary device. I am given to understand that year Punkie Night was celebrated on the 24th of October that year to avoid a clash with Halloween.

***

Although Pill Hill Bridge is as described, the water levels described in my story are higher than they actually were in October 2024.

***

The Mangelwurzel is a large hardy root vegetable that was often grown ar cattle or pig food. It is often orange or red in colour and related to beet.

***

In the UK, the location of a 999 call made from a smartphone is automatically mapped by AML (Advanced Mobile Location) using GPS, WI-FI networks, and cell phone towers. This allows the call handler to locate the caller within fens of metres. The handler always confirms this information with the caller as matter of protocol.

***