Attempting to conceive a child was a rough period in my life. My husband and I tried again, and again, and again; More times than I can count on a crowd of hands.

Dozens of at-home ovulation tests, pregnancy tests, lots of negatives, and buckets of tears. For so long, I dodged the idea of seeing a doctor; I kept telling my husband it would work one day, that we just needed to keep trying. That something couldn’t be wrong. Finally, after the umpteenth negative test, I broke. I agreed to see a fertility specialist.

And I heard it. I heard the word that kept me from that grey waiting room for so long, the one that felt like limbo.

“Infertile.”

The car ride home was dead silent, aside from my muffled sobs that I failed to hide as I stared out the window. My husband kept silent as he watched the road, but I could tell he was heartbroken, too.

The worst part, a piece of me couldn’t help but feel like I had failed somehow. That I failed myself, my husband, and my life.

I’m an only child, the only one to be able to give grandchildren. But that didn’t matter— I wanted a child. I was so ready to be a mother.

I ran my life through my head over and over again, wondering if I caused this. Wondering if it was that extra glass of wine, that last cigarette I smoked before I quit— anything.

I don’t know why, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I had caused this, that I was broken without it.

The next few days weren’t much easier, but they were better. I felt like I needed something else to keep my mind on, a hobby of sorts.

I wanted to take care of something and give myself some responsibility aside from work. I tried a few things but ultimately settled on gardening.

Having something living to care for filled a bit of that hole in my heart. Gardening and my husband are what I credit for getting me through that era of my life.

Every year for Halloween, my husband and I go pumpkin picking; it was the first date he took me on. Now, it’s our pre-Halloween date every year.

This time around, I wanted to start growing our own pumpkins.

I had never done it before but thought it’d be fun to watch them grow and harvest it ourselves. And it was another thing I could grow myself, for once.

I planted them a few months beforehand, watching them slowly sprout and grow over time, watering them each day. As Halloween neared, they began to reach the end of their development— right on time.

Except for one of them. One of the pumpkins’ growth seemed to be stunted. It wasn’t dead and wasn’t rotting, but it didn’t seem to grow past the size of my palm.

Every time I’d pass it, a strange, solemn feeling would overtake me. Every stupid little thing reminded me of babies and that I couldn’t have one. Sometimes, I’d cry while watering it, my tears soaking into the dirt.

When I cut their stems, I did them one by one down the row. When I finally reached the tiny one, I snipped its stem, my body pulling back as the pumpkin shook. I furrowed my brows, slowly wrapping my hand around the stem.

As I tugged at it, it felt like it was stuck in the ground, like I was pulling up more than just the pumpkin. I thought maybe some animal burrowed and was chewing on it. Until the dirt around it began to shift.

“Babe! I think we might have gophers!” I called to my husband from the garden.

“Alright, one second!” He shouted back, finishing up a chore in the house.

I grew impatient, so I wrapped my other hand around it and yanked with one final tug.

I nearly fell back as dirt flew around, coating my shirt and some of my face. As I unclenched my eyes, they quickly widened.

The wriggling body of a baby was attached to it, flailing his infant arms and legs as I dangled him in the air. I stared, blinking rapidly to see if I could wipe away what I thought was a hallucination. But it was real.

“Is it still… there…” My husband said as he opened the back door, his words dissolving to silence as he saw me holding the pumpkin baby.

I snapped out of my daze and cradled him in my arms, so many emotions rushing over me. I had a baby, just not in the way I expected.

The next few months after that, we raised him as our own. We couldn’t take him to the doctors; they’d either think we shoved a pumpkin on an infant’s head and call CPS or take him for inhumane experiments.

But he didn’t seem to have many needs, with no desire to eat or drink; or any openings to do so. He didn’t seem to be able to make noise or breath, but he was alive.

He crawled, made grabbing motions when he wanted attention— normal baby things. We knew we couldn’t tell our families either. They knew of my infertility, but this would obviously be unexplainable for more reasons than that.

We named him JJ. And with time, he learned to walk, too. Then, we wanted to see if he was able to learn more complex skills.

We tried reading and writing, but this proved what we assumed the whole time: he couldn’t see. I had him attached to my hip for a while, so we never really saw his navigation skills.

I was petrified to let him explore the house independently, and we didn’t think leaving would ever be possible. He bumped into a doorframe at the first attempt, so we wondered if there was another option.

As he got older, we noticed he’d scratch at his face a lot. I’d grab his hands away as he’d claw, leaving minor indents with his little fingernails.

Then, we realized he was scratching at where his eyes would be. We pondered the idea of carving his eyes like a Jack-O-Lantern, but we didn’t know if that would hurt him.

But he always seemed uncomfortable, like he’d cry if he could. So one day, we sat him down in his highchair and grabbed a knife.

I wanted to do it myself but nearly cried in the process, so I handed it to my husband and watched through the splits of my fingers.

I winced when he sank the blade’s tip in, but JJ didn’t budge. I lowered my hands and fiddled with my thumbs, watching as he gently sliced out triangular eyes.

Since that went so well, he also carved a nose and a mouth— our little Jack-O-Lantern.

From then on, he seemed to be able to see. He waddled around on his own and looked up at us when he wanted to be picked up.

From this moment on, I could feel a bit of a disconnect from my husband.

One night, in bed, he asked to talk about something. He expressed to me that he felt “unnerved” at our son’s facial features and how it seemed pitch black inside. I told him to check if it bothered him so badly.

“Just use a flashlight. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

He shrugged and rolled his eyes back to his book. I glared at him with furrowed brows before turning off the lamp and sleeping with my back to him. From the start, I had this itch under my skin that this was my child, not ours.

I knew how weird it all was, I couldn’t deny that, but I just wanted him to try. We were blessed with a miracle; at times, I wondered if it was my tears that brought him to life.

As a few more years passed, JJ grew bigger. We’d mark his height on the doorframe, celebrating every centimeter.

But even then, it always felt like my husband was watching from a million miles away. He clapped like a ghost on birthdays and ate silent dinners. I felt abandoned.

“… What’s been up with you? Do you even want this?” I started one night while he was washing dishes.

“What? Want what?”

“This.” I motioned to everything around us.

He stopped scrubbing; his head hung as the sink ran.

“Look… I get it. This isn’t what we thought it was gonna be. But is that so bad?! He’s seven now! We’re parents! We’ve been parents! You know that, right?”

He continued his silence, gathering his thoughts.

“Are you gonna say something? Anything?”

“... A part of me…” He paused with a breath. ”… A part of me just wishes he was ours.”

“He is ours.”

“Don’t do that… You know what I mean.”

“Don’t do what? See our son as our son?”

“He’s not-...” He decompressed before saying something stupid.

“He’s not what?” I paused, my throat knotting. “... You know how hard it was for me.”

“For you? Just you?” He finally turned around. “You know it crushed me, too!”

“So then why isn’t this enough?! Why isn’t he enough?!”

“I never said he wasn’t!”

“You don’t need to! It fucking… oozes out of you! I can read it on your face every time you look at him! You smile like you’re fighting a frown!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes.

“Exactly,” I scoffed.

“I’m… I’m not gonna apologize because this is easier for you than me.”

“It’s been seven years… Is it ever gonna get easier?”

“... I don’t know.” He couldn’t even meet my gaze as he said it.

I looked away, pursing my lips as tears continued to well. I felt like I was being cruel and selfish. But I felt so alone, like I was losing him with each passing day. I felt like I was back in that waiting room, that limbo.

Suddenly, through my watery vision, I saw JJ peeking from around the doorframe. I quickly wiped the tears and rushed over as my husband turned back to the dishes.

“Hey, bud… Why are you awake?” I asked softly as I lifted him, taking him back to bed.

I didn’t even know if he was able to hear. But at that moment, I hoped he couldn’t. I hoped he could never hear a thought of being unwanted, unloved, unseen.

As I tucked him into bed, I stared at him for a moment. I thought about what my husband said, about his pitch-black eyes. I wondered if he was sleeping right now— if he even could.

Ever since we carved his features, he seemed to do normal human things. When we ate dinner, he’d lift the food to his “mouth” and drop it in.

I never thought to question where it was going, if he functioned the way ordinary people do. But my husband always seemed to lose his appetite upon seeing it.

I felt my phone in my pocket and considered turning on the flashlight to take a quick peek. Ultimately, I decided against it. I felt no need to, but I was also scared of seeing something I wouldn’t like. Scared of seeing what my husband saw.

As months passed, he needed a form of communication. Even with a mouth, he didn’t seem to be able to talk.

So we taught him reading and writing, using notepads when he wanted to speak. I nearly cried when he wrote his first word, “Mommy.” My husband weakly smiled beside me.

As he got better, we began to be able to have conversations with him. He finally had a personality, which seemed to ease some of my husband’s discomfort.

Suddenly, he was interested in being involved. He’d feed him Star Wars movies and all kinds of nerdy entertainment that he grew up on.

And JJ seemed to enjoy it; I even caught him doodling Darth Vader in his notepad, which I proudly stuck to the fridge with a magnet.

Even if it was late, I’m glad my husband came around at all. It took nearly nine years to make our house feel like a home.

When JJ turned ten, he found out about Halloween. I remember seeing his face pressed against the window, watching the trick-or-treaters skip down the sidewalks with buckets brimming with candy.

“You see them out there? They’re celebrating Halloween,” I explained.

He lifted his notepad and began writing.

“They look like me. I want to go.”

I was stunned for a moment. I honestly didn’t think JJ would ever be able to leave the house. I didn’t think this was a decision I could make alone, so I spoke with my husband about it.

“He was going to get curious eventually. We can’t keep him cooped up forever.”

“So, what? He’s gonna go out? Make friends? Go to school?”

“Okay, slow down. I’m just talking about a night out on Halloween. The kids will just think he’s wearing a mask!”

“I don’t know, Jen…”

Deep down, I agreed. Letting him go past that front door felt like bugs under my skin. I wanted him to live and die in my arms; I couldn’t let the cruel world hurt him. But I wanted him to be happy, I didn’t want to hurt him either.

So we agreed to a compromise. Next Halloween, we let him sit outside with the candy bucket as “decoration.” I told him he’d be able to play with the kids one day, just not this year. I didn’t even know if that was true.

But for once, I needed to trust him. He was ten now and couldn’t be latched to my hip anymore. So I let him stay outside alone, periodically checking up on him. It usually wasn’t longer than ten minutes as I still couldn’t bear it, but I tried.

As I was draped across the couch watching a movie, I suddenly heard a high-pitched scream from outside.

I shot up, my eyes darting around. Until I remembered that JJ couldn’t talk, so it couldn’t be him.

I assumed that maybe he wanted to have some fun and scared one of the kids, a harmless Halloween prank. Until I heard an incessant pounding on the door that didn’t stop till I opened it.

I was met with a very angry-looking mother, accompanied by her tear-soaked child.

“The buckets right there.” I smiled softly.

“Yeah, we know. Is that thing even for kids?! Could’ve at least put a warning!”

I stared at her, puzzled, waiting for her to explain.

“These are children— why would you get one that bites?! You’re lucky I don’t sue!”

Bites… ? I thought to myself.

I looked down, noticing two red teeth marks around the little girl’s index finger. I shifted my eyes towards JJ, who sat as still as a mannequin, then back at her.

“I’m… so sorry. It must’ve been a malfunction. It’s, uh… not supposed to do that. I hope your daughter’s okay.”

“You better hope so,” she sneered before storming off.

I didn’t even care about her nasty attitude— I couldn’t stop staring at JJ, who still didn’t move a muscle.

“Can I talk to you? In private?” I asked my husband, motioning with my eyes that I wanted to do it away from the front door. We shuffled to the kitchen as I tried to muster up the words.

“JJ bit a kid.”

His face scrunched with confusion.

“He-... bit somebody? With what teeth?”

“I don’t… know. This mother ripped me a new one because I ‘got one that bites.’ Referring to him.”

His gaped mouth opened and closed as he tried to find the right words.

“... Why?”

“I don’t know. I figured I’d wait till the end of the night to talk to him.”

“What, so he has more time to chomp somebody else?”

“I didn’t think he was gonna fucking bite a kid!” I hissed with a whisper. “I didn’t know what to do!”

“I want him inside, now.”

“What? Why?”

“So he doesn’t get the cops called on us.” He made his way towards the door.

“Wait— Slow down. He’s not gonna do it again!”

“Yeah, and how do you know that?” He whipped around, his stare piercing.

The truth is, I didn’t know. I wished I did, but I didn’t. So I swallowed roughly, looking away. He scoffed under his breath and threw the door open.

“JJ, come on. Inside, now.”

But he didn’t budge.

“JJ, I said inside. Now.”

“You don’t need to be so nasty,” I interjected.

“Jen—...” He turned to me before turning back to him. “Halloween’s over. Come back inside before I make you.”

He refused to move a muscle.

“Alright, have it your way.”

He stepped outside and tried to take the bucket from JJ’s grip but he tugged back.

“JJ… Let it go.”

I watched nervously, crossing my arms as I could see my husband’s temper boiling.

“Let. It. Go.” He tugged again, but JJ refused.

He didn’t want to yank it from his hands, but he kept an iron-clad grip on it.

“... JJ, give the bucket to your father and come inside,” I muttered sternly.

And just like that, JJ released his grip, hopped up, and trotted inside. I watched as he ran past me towards his room, my husband still kneeling for a moment.

Then, he stood up and approached me. He looked at me with tired eyes before letting out a weak scoff, then dragged his feet to our bedroom.

I tailed behind him, words running up our throats like vomit as I closed the door.

“What was that?”

“You tell me.” He threw the blanket over and began crawling into bed.

“I said I’d talk to him.”

“Yeah, well, it seems like you’re the only one he’s willing to talk to, anyway.”

I almost laughed, looking away for a second.

“Why do you think?! You didn’t want him! You think he can’t sense that?!”

“This isn’t about that! He bit a fucking kid! He hurt somebody! And then disobeyed me! But when Mommy calls—”

“YOU. DIDN’T. WANT. HIM.”

“AND I STILL DON’T!”

His roar sucked the air out of the room, my expression gaping.

“Wow… Okay.”

I turned and walked out of the room.

“Jen… Wait—”

But I had already shut the door behind me. I walked to JJ’s room and knocked on his creaked-open door.

“Hey, bug. I need to talk to you.”

Upon hearing me, he perked his head up; he seemed to have been staring off. I sat down, looking down at my lap as I searched for the right words.

“... Did you bite that little girl?”

He stared blankly at me for a moment, my husband’s “pitch-black” comment running through my head again. Then, he slowly nodded.

I pursed my lips, searching for more words as if they were all lost at sea. I didn’t anticipate a part of parenting to be moments like this.

“Why did you bite her? You can’t hurt people, JJ. It’s not good to hurt people. Do you understand?”

Again, he stared at me for a moment. Then, he grabbed his notepad and pencil and began writing. I patiently waited till he finished, and my blood ran cold as he flipped the page around.

“She got too close. Now she won’t do it again.”

I looked him up and down, swallowing the knot in my throat.

“... It’s time for bed. I’ll tuck you in.”

After turning off the light and going upstairs to crawl into bed, my husband was already fast asleep, but I was stuck awake, staring at the ceiling.

I thought that maybe it was wrong not to socialize him, that only keeping him around us skewered his brain development.

But what else was I supposed to do? As much as I loved him, he was an anomaly. I couldn’t disguise him as fully human.

I wanted to be a parent so badly; I didn’t think I’d be doing it so wrong.

The next day, I had a more thorough conversation with JJ about how to handle social situations. I told him that hurting them wasn’t the answer if he wanted somebody out of his personal space.

He nodded as I spoke, but I could only hope he understood. I then sat my husband down. I apologized for being so lax, and he apologized for being so callous.

We shared a few tears and promised to do better for each other and JJ; it’s all we wanted.

As months passed, I saw my husband warm up to him again, and I tried to be a little tougher. JJ wasn’t normal, but he was still my child, and it’s my responsibility to parent him, not baby him, to the best of my ability.

We agreed we had to teach him how to treat a living thing on his level, so we decided to get a puppy. We adopted a golden retriever that was small, gentle, and could grow with him.

When we brought him home, JJ seemed confused initially, which we expected. The dog would jump around him, letting out high-pitched barks, but JJ would stare blankly.

We were patient, showing him that you can pet the dog and throw toys to play with him, which JJ grew to enjoy. Then, we told JJ he could name him. Of course, he chose “Darth Vader,” and we called him “Vader” for short.

Vader brought a lot more life and light into the house while also helping us teach JJ etiquette without being seen by other people. They’d chase each other in the garden and sleep together; it warmed our hearts to see it.

As he grew bigger, he’d tackle JJ and suffocate him with kisses, sometimes sinking his teeth into JJ’s head, which he had to train him to stop doing. But he was a good dog. Loving and obedient— he was exactly what we needed.

One afternoon, JJ was in a bad mood. Nothing, in particular, seemed to have set him off; he just wasn’t in the mood to play with Vader, who had a lot of energy that day.

He’d whimper, bark, and jump around, but JJ wouldn’t budge. He just wanted to play with his toys.

Vader, still in the process of being trained, tended to nip a lot. He’d chomp our fingers when giving him treats and chew at our legs when he wanted attention, but nothing intentionally violent.

Except for this afternoon, when JJ reached his limit.

JJ was messily scribbling in his coloring book when Vader, desperate for attention, chomped his leg. JJ quickly dropped the pencil and smacked him upside the head, hard. Hard enough that he backed away with a whimper.

“JJ! Jesus Christ…” I sighed, pulling off my soapy gloves.

I kneeled next to him; he wouldn’t look me in the eye.

“What did I say about hurting people?”

He switched to his notepad and began writing.

“He’s not people.”

I pursed my lips, looking away for a moment as I tried to figure out how to explain this to him.

“You’re right, Vader isn’t a person, but he’s still alive. And he loves you, we don’t hurt the people we love. Okay?”

He paused for a moment before writing again.

“If he can bite, why can’t I?”

“He’s an animal, he doesn’t know any better. Animals aren’t as smart as us. But I promise he won’t bite again.”

He took another pause to process and understand before nodding.

“Okay… I love you so much, bug.” I kissed his head.

He hugged me, prompting a warm smile on my face. After tucking him in later that night, I crawled into bed with my husband. My lips parted as I was about to tell him what happened, until I cemented them back shut.

I don’t know why, but my instinct was to bite my tongue. I think I feared it’d set us back; we had made so much progress, I couldn’t go back. We couldn’t go back.

Vader was especially rowdy that night. My husband is a heavy sleeper, but I tossed and turned as the dog barked all night.

Suddenly, I shot up as the barking halted to a stop with a screeching whimper. I turned to my husband to wake him up, but pulled back my hand and decided to investigate it alone.

I stepped out of the room and scanned the dark hallway.

“Vader!” I whisper-shouted, puckering my lips and making noises to try and call for him.

“Vader! C’mere, baby!”

But still, no response. As I slowly walked downstairs, my brows furrowed as I heard the distant sound of gargling; like somebody was choking on liquid.

As I got closer, it sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. There was a sound of metal scraping, followed by more gurgling and choking.

“Vader… ? JJ… ?” I confusedly called out.

Then, as I turned the corner to the kitchen, my face gaped open as screams of terror caught in my throat.

Link to Part Two: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/y45xnv/my_son_grew_from_a_pumpkin_i_wish_he_had_stayed/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3