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brAM

Rows upon rows of twinkling lights create an archway over the wide aisles of the festival grounds.

With the dozens of people in line behind us at the food trucks, and more strolling about the grounds, it seems like the entire town is here.

The pumpkin carving contest entries line the lawn along the aisles, grouped by category. Kids, adult amateur, and professional.

With an apple cider donut in one hand and a coffee in the other, I turn to Trevor, Dmitri, and Ever. “There are so many entries. Where do you want to start?”

Trevor sips his coffee. Steam curls from the cup along with the scent of cinnamon. “Jo said she’s somewhere in the middle of the amateurs, and they’re in the center. The kids are on the west side and the pros are on the east.”

Dmitri pops a piece of candied maple bacon in his mouth. “Some of the kids I teach have entries. Let’s start there.”

The festival grounds cover forty acres, three-quarters of a mile long. Shaped like an oval, it’s interspersed with paths leading to different sections. We head west to check out the kids’ pumpkins.

The chill in the night air feels more like winter is coming than when I arrived at the beginning of the month.

Hat, gloves, flannel, hoodie, and my leather jacket, I’m a man of layers tonight.

Trevor rocks his lumberjack look in a red flannel shirt atop a Henley and jeans.

His puffer vest is open, and the phone peeking out of its inside pocket beeps with a text alert.

His hands are as full as mine. I adjust my hold on my donut so I can grab his maple cinnamon cruller and free him up.

His forehead creasing, he swipes his finger across the screen, and as he reads the message, he smiles.

Ever unrolls his bag of pumpkin spice donut holes and the scent of cinnamon and cloves drifts along the breeze. “How is opening night at the haunted house going?”

“Great. Peter texted me a pic of the line waiting to get in. It’s stretched down the block.

” Trevor pockets his phone, relieves me of his cruller, then lifts it to my lips, offering me a bite.

He and I were at the carriage house to welcome the night’s first guests to the haunted adventure, and stayed for an hour and a half.

We had a steady stream of people the whole time.

“He said it’s been going strong since Bram and I left to come here. ”

“That’s great.” Ever tilts the bag to Dmitri before taking a treat for himself. “A lot of people who came to my booth today mentioned it.”

I hold up my donut so Trevor can try it. “You were busy every time I looked over. I know your honey is popular, but I guess I underestimated how much people love it.”

“We sold out of almost everything we brought.”

Trevor holds up his hand to Ever for a high five. “Nice.”

We arrive at the kids’ area. Since it’s almost nine o’clock, a lot of the entrants in the under twelve category aren’t here, but several tweens and most of the entrants in the teen category mill around in front of their pumpkins.

Four voices call out Dmitri’s name, and he and Ever head over to speak with the animated group.

The judges chose the winners late this afternoon, during the break between the carving portion of the day and the display opening tonight. All the entries will be displayed here at the festival grounds until the first of November, which gives visitors and Maplewoodians time to view the designs.

Trevor and I pass pumpkins carved by kids with more skill than I’d be able to do. We point out our favorites. A mouse eating cheese. Cats, dogs. A firetruck built out of carvings.

Sipping the hot coffee keeps my hands warm and helps chase away the chill from the wind. “I’m thinking back to my attempts as a kid. Triangle eyes and nose, and a smiling mouth. I wasn’t very creative.”

Trevor laughs. “You, me, and Charlie made a mess of Agnes’s kitchen the year we tried scooping out the pumpkin guts ourselves.”

“Charlie started it. He flicked the first spoonful at me.”

He bumps my shoulder. “He was five.”

“And thought he’d invented a great game. What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t encourage his creativity?” Smiling at the memory of orange goo, strings, and seeds, and our laughing faces as we faced off in the epic pumpkin battle, I tear off another bite of donut.

“Catapulting spoonfuls of guts at each other was pretty fun. Messy to clean up though. Still, I give it a ten out of ten.” He snatches the bite of donut from my fingers and pops it in his mouth with a grin. I give him a shove and he just laughs then offers me more of his cruller.

We reach the section with the teen category. More elaborate and detailed carvings spread out along the aisle. Display lights positioned at each table add an artistic element. But Trevor’s attention is on the large barn-like structure out this way, not the pumpkins.

“Trev, you okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah, just wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

His gaze contemplative, he faces me. “If I stop holding the haunted house, maybe the festival committee could take over. They could move it here.”

I scan the structure. “And hold it in that huge barn?”

“Yeah. The barn is used for other festivals and it’s sitting empty tonight. I could donate the props to get them started. There’s a ton of space out here if they want to expand beyond the barn. And holding it here, they could probably keep the ticket prices low.”

I know how heavily the haunted house issue has been weighing on him. The rest of my donut is gone in two bites. I wipe my hand on a napkin, then wrap my arm around him. “I think it’s a great solution.”

His forehead puckers with his raised brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You get to keep all the inn’s rooms open and available.

And don’t have the extra expenses or work that come with hosting the event.

The festival grounds are a convenient location.

We know this place is equipped for large crowds, lighting and sound, and the committee and town would have more resources if they take it over. Sounds like a win-win to me.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.” He sighs. “I still feel like I’m letting people down, but…”

I squeeze him against me and kiss his temple. “It’s okay if you decide to stop hosting the event. You do enough. You don’t have to do it all.”

He tilts his head into mine and melts into my side. The tension in his shoulders eases. “Thanks. That helps. I think I needed to hear that I’m not being a selfish ass.”

“Definitely not.” I place another kiss on his temple. “Now that the decision’s made and you know this year’s haunted house will be the last one at the inn, maybe the stress won’t feel as weighty. You can relax and enjoy it more.”

“That’s true. I do feel better. Like I’ve finally taken off a too tight, itchy sweater. Jo and I have a meeting scheduled to discuss this after Halloween. I’ll tell her first, then reach out to the committee.” He brushes his lips over my jaw. “Thanks.”

That he confided in me makes me feel like a giant among mortals, and I stand a little taller. “Anytime.”

We meet back up with Ever and Dmitri and walk along the twinkling light path to the adult amateur section. There, entries are a mix of scary and cute. The characters and scenes are a lot bigger and more elaborate than the kids’ entries.

“Holy shit. Jo won second place.” Trevor points to the large green ribbon tied to her table.

Her display, a sprawling series of pumpkins in various sizes, depicts the scene in Cinderella when the pumpkin has been transformed into a carriage. It’s whimsical and so detailed, my jaw drops open in awe.

Trevor looks up from the scene, his expression one of pride and excitement for our friend. “I wonder where she is.”

“There.” I spy her a few tables down, and tip my chin in her direction. “Talking with Ever and Dmitri. They’re coming our way now.”

Dressed in a long purple wool coat, Jo sees us and beams. “You made it.”

“Second place! Congratulations, Jo.” Sporting the biggest smile, Trevor hugs her. “I’m so proud of you.”

“So am I.” I lean in for a squeeze. “You’re so talented. It’s unreal.”

“Thanks.”

I pull out my phone, swipe away the notifications of new comments on my Cryptid Night podcast video, and go to the Maplewood blog which is populated with pictures town residents have posted of today’s events.

I turn my phone so everyone can see the one of Jo wielding a chainsaw high, poised over the massive pumpkin.

“Check out the photo Alex took. You look like a total badass.”

She tosses her hair over her shoulder in an exaggerated flip. “I am a total badass.”

“Truth.” A teen walking by, dressed in black fishnet stockings, ripped jeans, and a purple fuzzy sweater with a hoop in their eyebrow, fist bumps Jo, who smiles affectionately.

She’s always been the bravest of us. Watching her live as her authentic self in a world that is often less than kind is an education in courage.

My years in Maplewood gave me an experience I wish every queer person could have.

A place where people are loved, accepted, welcomed, and celebrated for who they are.

I wasn’t ready to leave it when I had to at seventeen. And I’m not ready now. I said I’d stay through Halloween, that’s only a week away. It’s not nearly enough time.

Jo swishes her long coat from side to side. “After six hours of carving, I was covered in pumpkin. Had to go home to shower and change, then come right back here. I didn’t get a chance to listen to your Cryptid Night podcast yet. How was it? What did people think?”

“Premiering my episode tonight, with the haunted house opening and coming here, hadn’t been the smartest idea.

I didn’t think that through.” I shrug. Live and learn.

“I could only steal quick glances at the comments pouring in under the video in between scanning entry tickets. But the feedback I saw was really positive. People asked more questions about the new cryptids. Others asked if there will be follow-up investigations.”