Hickory Road had long been shrouded in mystery, its grim legends driving away visitors since 1959. The road was said to be cursed. Its witches’ darkness, dead or dormant, lingered untouched by time. Locals whispered tales of strange occurrences, of shadows moving where none should be, and of voices calling out from the void on moonless nights. No one dared to investigate further. It was a place where secrets festered, feeding the soil with fear.
The Eisenhower family drove into this eerie backdrop in a white van, their laughter and small talk cutting through the gloomy dusk. Jeff, the burly father, steered the vehicle with ease, though his frustration over the broken air conditioner was evident. His muscles, hardened from years as a European bodybuilder, tensed as the oppressive heat bore down on them. Beside him, his model-thin wife, Rachael, handed a pack of Skittles to their teenage daughter, Jessie. She had auburn hair neatly tied back, and her freckled skin glowing faintly in the dusky light, exuded a quiet, understated beauty. They were new to Hickory, blissfully unaware of its haunted history.
Meanwhile, a teenage girl named Marcia sat on her porch. Her chin rested on her hands, watching the Eisenhowers’ arrival. Marcia, with her long dark hair often falling into her eyes, carried an air of restless energy and quiet determination. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across her face, highlighting her plush brows. Hickory’s witches had left their mark on her family, and she couldn’t shake the unease that came with new neighbors. She decided to greet them, despite the warnings her older sister Emma had drilled into her over the years.
“Welcome to the neighborhood. Need a hand?” Marcia asked, her tone cheerful but cautious. Jeff and Rachael had just gone inside the house, their voices faintly audible as they discussed unpacking and the creaky state of the floors. Marcia glanced at Jessie, who was struggling with a small box near the van.
Jessie smiled and handed over a heavy suitcase. “Thanks! I’m Jessie.”
“I’m Marcia. So, what brings you here?”
“My dad’s new job. The house was a bargain,” Jessie replied, her voice carrying a note of pride. “It’s old but full of character.”
Marcia hesitated, torn between spilling Hickory’s secrets and letting them discover the truth themselves. “Just… be careful. This place has a strange history,” she said cryptically before heading home, her steps slower than before.
That evening, Marcia confided in Emma, who was reading a weathered book by candlelight. The flickering flame cast ghostly shapes on the walls of their small living room. “Should I warn them about the witches?” Marcia asked, her voice barely above a whisper.”
“What if they get cursed by the witch, Pink? They live next door to her,” she added, her voice trembling.
Emma set her book down, her face darkening. “She’s probably dead. But if they were cursed, it wouldn’t compare to what she did to me.”
“What happened?”
A heavy silence filled the room. Emma exhaled in frustration, as though dreading what she was about to say. “It was fifteen years ago, after you were born. I was nineteen and in crisis, suffering a pain like never before.”
Marcia frowned. “What kind of pain?”
“It wasn’t physical. It was something worse.” Emma’s lip trembled when she held back her tears. “I hated her after what she took from me.”
Marcia leaned in, intrigued. “What did she take?”
“My husband.” Emma’s voice cracked. She sat up, the memory settling on her like a weight. “She had a crush on him, wanted him for herself. She was beautiful—prettier than anyone in the area.”
Marcia’s jaw dropped. “What? I thought she was just some old coon.”
Emma’s face lit up . “No, girl. She was gorgeous. Cocoa colored skin, berry-scented hair with her pink lipstick—she knew how to make an impression.”
The glimmer in Maria’s eyes suggested she was all in. “So that’s why they called her Pink.”
Emma nodded, a sad smile forming. “She was beautiful and talented—she could paint, sing…”
The luster in her cheeks deflated. “She killed my husband after he refused her, and chose me. We had just got married and set off for bed.”
“ The next morning, I found my husband debilitated with the word ‘PINK’ carved into his forehead. After that she became goulish, disappearing into her house, never to be seen again.”
Marcia’s pitch lowered . “What happened to her? Did she die?”
Emma shrugged. “Some say she starved. Others say she hanged herself. Some think she’s still alive in that house.”
Emma sighed and closed her book. Her expression was heavy with concern. Her house, a weathered two-story structure with peeling paint and creaky floors, had an air of quiet unease. The dimly lit rooms and faint scent of aged wood gave it a somber character. Shelves of books lined the walls, their spines faded but still readable, while dusty encyclopedias hinted at a history long forgotten. It was a house that seemed to absorb the unease of Hickory Road, holding its secrets close. “Most people won’t believe you, Marcia. But if you do, be prepared for them to think you’re crazy.”
The sun set and made way for the dawn of the next day. It was a hot, sluggish afternoon, the kind where the air felt thick and every sound seemed amplified. The girls sat cross-legged in the Eisenhowers’ front yard, sipping lemonade from mismatched glasses. Jessie had been unusually quiet, her gaze fixed on the peeling shutters of the dilapidated house next door. “I swear I saw something,” she said finally, breaking the silence.
Marcia glanced up, with a rippled forehead. “What did you see?”
Jessie paused, swirling the ice in her glass. “Someone was peeking through the blinds. It was quick, like they were watching us.”
Marcia felt a flutter in her chest. She set her glass down on the grass and leaned closer. “Are you sure? That house has been empty for years.”
Jessie nodded, her expression resolute. “I’m sure. It was a shadow or… a face, maybe. I don’t know. But someone or something was there.”
Marcia’s stomach churned a nervous knot within her abdomen. She glanced toward the house, its sagging roof and boarded-up windows giving nothing away. The thought of movement inside sent a shiver down her spine. “That house… it belonged to Pink,” she said, her voice low.
Jessie’s eyes widened. “Pink? That’s a name?”
“It’s what the locals called her,” Marcia explained. “She lived alone. People said she was… different. Strange things happened around her. Then one day, she just disappeared. No one knows what happened to her.”
Jessie’s curiosity sparked, though a hint of fear lingered in her gaze. “Do you think she’s still there?”
Marcia shrugged her shoulders. “No one’s seen her in years. But… if you’re sure you saw something, we should check it out. Maybe it’s just an animal or some squatter.”
Jessie hesitated, before conceding. “Alright. Let’s go.”
They set their glasses down and crept toward the house, the grass crunching underfoot. As they approached, the air grew colder, and an uneasy stillness settled over them. Marcia reached the porch first, her hand trembling as she placed it on the rusted doorknob. “Ready?” she whispered.
Jessie nodded, her jaw tight. “Ready.”
Inside Pink’s house, dust and cobwebs covered everything, yet the air felt heavy, alive with an unseen energy. The walls, once painted a vibrant red, had faded to a dull maroon, their surface marred with cryptic symbols. In the kitchen, they found photographs scattered on the floor. Marcia crouched to pick one up, her fingers trembling. The image showed Emma with a red circle drawn around her head, her face stark against the faded background. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized the photo wasn’t old; it was recent. The glossy finish and crisp edges suggested it had been taken within weeks, if not days. She grabbed another photo, this one featuring herself, her eyes wide with an expression she couldn’t recall making. A cold dread settled over her. “When were these taken?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Jessie, standing frozen beside her, glanced at the pictures with growing unease. “This doesn’t make sense. How could…” Her words trailed off as a faint creaking sound echoed through the empty house.
Marcia’s heart thumped. She dropped the photos and grabbed Jessie’s arm. “We need to leave. Now,” she hissed, her voice shaking. The Emma photo with the red circle around her head wavered to the floor, the realization struck them like a thunderbolt—Pink’s presence still lingered.
They bolted out of the house after their discovery, sparking a new curse, one that had taken hold of the Eishenhower family.
Jeff, at work the next day, arrived looking disheveled and distracted, a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor. He began scrawling the word “PINK” on everything in sight—his desk, the breakroom walls, even the machines he was tasked with operating. At first, his colleagues chuckled, thinking it was some bizarre joke. But as the hours passed, Jeff’s actions became more frantic. He muttered incoherently under his breath, his eyes darting around as if seeing things others could not. His hands shaked as he gripped the marker, the word “PINK” appearing in larger, angrier strokes.
His manager pushed down the corridor, finding Jeff wobbling his spine against the wall. Jeff didn’t respond. Instead, he stared blankly before suddenly yelling, “She’s watching! She’s everywhere!” He threw the marker across the corridor and collapsed onto his knees, clutching his head as though trying to silence an unbearable noise. His colleagues exchanged worried glances and called for backup.
Jeff began writing again, the word PINK on his arms and forehead, using the sharpie marker. His actions were so alarming that security was called. Two guards approached cautiously, one speaking softly to Jeff in an attempt to calm him down while the other moved to his side. Jeff resisted, his muscles straining as he tried to pull away. “She’s here!” he shouted, his voice cracking with terror.
The guards exchanged a quick glance before moving in unison. One grabbed his arms while the other secured his legs, their combined strength barely enough to hold him. Jeff thrashed and kicked, his screams ringed through the workspace. “She’ll take us all!” he cried out, his voice raw. The marker he had been gripping fell to the ground, spiraling to a stop near his coworkers who stood still.
The chilling sight left his colleagues shaken, the once vibrant workplace now filled with an uneasy silence. He gets escorted out, screaming: “She’s here! She’ll take us all!”
The Eisenhowers’ fate unraveled quickly with the emergence of Rachael and Jessie rushing to Jeff’ aid. They left Hickory Road behind, then vanished without a trace. Their disappearance became yet another tale of Hickory’s malevolence, whispered among the locals who dared to remember.
Marcia’s fear twisted into frantic urgency. “We have to go! Now!” she screamed, her voice screeching, hands yanking at Emma’s sleeve. Her eyes stretched in terror as she shoved her sister toward the front door. “It’s not safe here—please!”
Emma reluctantly grabbed the nearest suitcase, plunging clothes in without thought. The air around them dense, the very walls seeming to close in as the shadow of their past grew nearer.
Through the window, hovering by their car, a figure emerged from the darkness. It was Pink. A shadow of her former self, but unmistakably her. Her gray eyes gleamed with an unsettling, unholy light. Her gaunt, aged face was unmistakable.
Without another word, the sisters scrabbled at the door latch, their hands fumbling in a desperate blur. The sound of Pink’s steps crept closer, each one a hammer to their fragile nerves. She wasn’t in a hurry—she didn’t need to be. Her presence alone straggled them, making the walls appear to pulse.
They backed away, scrambling for purchase on the cold floor as they huddled in the corner, trying to make themselves small. Their breaths were ragged, each exhaled a silent prayer that she would leave. But Pink’s figure grew larger, looming in the doorway like some unstoppable force. Her silhouette stretched into the room, each movement slow, purposeful, as if savoring their fear.
Pink’s voice slithered through the silent air, sharp as a blade. “Aren’t you going to give your mother a kiss before I leave?”
The words burned in their ears like poison. Fear kept them there. Emma could barely move— Marcia cramped into her chest. And then Pink stepped closer.
With a slow, deliberate move, she tugged at her collar, revealing a pink ribbon tightly knotted around her neck. Her decrepit fingers worked the knot, each twist of the ribbon more agonizing than the last. And then, with a sickening, unnatural sound, her head fell from her shoulders, rolling on the floor with a thud—right in front of her daughters.
Pink’s decapitated head overwhelmed the sisters, her eyes—empty now—locked onto the two in an eternal gaze, no longer just a witch of legend. She had become the Pink Jack O’Lantern.
