The pumpkins sitting in front of the Andersons' house were too ugly to live.

That was the one thought that flashed through Claire Baker's mind as she stormed up the well-paved driveway. She glared at the cheerful mailbox, painted pastel pink and blue with birds and bunnies and hideously fascinating yellow bumblebees.

Oh, my God. Who even gets mail anymore?

When she was five or six, Claire asked her parents if the Andersons' mailbox looked like that so the stork would know where to deliver the baby. She remembered this because her mother's face turned bright red and she snorted coffee from her nose.

For the entirety of her sixteen years, she'd lived next door to the Andersons on the little cul-de-sac that pizza delivery guys could never find. The Andersons and the Bakers were inseparable. Claire was the girl next door.

That's why, when she started dating their oldest son Jeremy, both families were ecstatic. Claire and Jeremy looked so happy in their homecoming photo, two all-American kids who fell in love after practically growing up together.

Why do people want that?  Claire pondered the situation with no shortage of bitterness. Falling in love with your brother is perverted. When you fall for almost-your-brother, old people act like it's some accomplishment.

Claire and Jeremy were the perfect couple since they kissed in front of the Barnes & Noble that was now a vegan hipster cupcake shop. That was freshman year. The romance was suitably PG-13 adorable, until the disastrous homecoming weekend that began the Great Pumpkin War Of 2019.

The evening was supposed to be perfect. Junior year was off to a fabulous start for Claire. She was on top of the world, riding in one of the cars decorated for the homecoming court and showing up at the dance with the tall, handsome Jeremy on her arm. They were the cliche of everything ever depicted in movies about high school love.

Like the plots of most of those cheesy movies, their love unravelled quickly. Their group of friends had smuggled in flasks, an achievement of which they were proud. It was rude to spike everyone's punch. It was also stupid to waste good alcohol on strangers.

Claire almost smiled as she remembered the real homecoming photos, the ones with her and Jeremy and their closest friends posing with silver-coloured flasks like very, very suburban gangsters. Those flasks were the beginning of the end.

The note in Claire's locker on Halloween said it all.

"Dear Claire,

I'm sorry for making out with Jocelyn in the back of my parents' car.  To be honest, I didn't even know I was into her, but when you're drunk, most girls are hot..."

It went on for a full page and was the worst apology note ever. Claire planned to rip up the letter and to leave the pieces scattered all over the Andersons' doorstep.

It was terrible luck that her eyes fell upon the pumpkins. Filled with rage, she picked one of the grotesque creatures up and smashed it all over the immaculate brick with the bats and witches screaming "Welcome". 

Caroline Anderson was the kind of woman who drank two vodka cranberries every afternoon and then went binge-shopping at the dollar store. She was the only person under eighty who still wore sweatshirts with a ghost that yelled "Boo!".

Claire hated not only the shirt but the logistics of it. To activate the button, you not only had to feel someone up, but you also had to be very bad at it.

Claire smirked picturing Jeremy's mother driving around in the Pukemobile, building her empire of suburban tackiness.

It was all a monument to happiness people were supposed to feel. That was everything that defined life on the little cul-de-sac that Amazon couldn't find.

I fucking hate pumpkins, Claire wanted to scream as the second one collided with the door, disturbing Casper The Passive-Aggressive Ghost as he hung there with a glare and a smile.

The Andersons were those people, the ones who went to the pumpkin patch as a family and carved Jack O'Lanterns together to display their lack of artistic talent and ability to waste time as a non-murderous family unit. Every ounce of repressed rage carved into those pumpkins screamed for help.

This is a mercy killing.

When the last pumpkin collided with the front of the house, narrowly missing the window, Claire felt a tiny bit better. Turning Jeremy's note over, she scrawled quickly, "I'm sorry for what happened to your ugly-ass pumpkins. They match your new girlfriend's face. We are NOT friends."

Claire tacked the note to Casper. She walked away humming. Sweet blonde curls flipped over her shoulder in the breeze. She'd heard of a band from her parents' day called Smashing Pumpkins. If Claire started a band, she'd call it Ugly-Ass Jack O'Lanterns.

She ran the rest of the way home. Claire threw herself on her bed and sobbed on the pumpkin-shaped pillow Jeremy gave her until she fell asleep.

****

When Claire woke up, she was startled by the sound of women screaming at one other. She rushed down the stairs to see what was going on outside.

Caroline Anderson was standing there in her mom jeans, perfectly dyed hair, and hideous orange sweatshirt, screaming.

"How dare your daughter destroy our pumpkins after what she did to our car? You're raising a little hussy. It's not surprising, with your low-cut blouses and that obscene yellow thing on the street. We're decent people here."

Claire stifled a laugh. It's true. Decent people hate yellow.

Every few words, the point punctuated itself with an egg flying at Veronica Baker's yellow Mercedes, her pride and joy. Veronica was a well-dressed realtor who took pride in her family, her appearance, and her car. Everything she held dear had been insulted.

Claire ran to her mother and shouted.  "Jeremy is a liar! He stole your vodka and got drunk at homecoming. The girl in the backseat who wasn't me puked in the car. He dumped me just because she puts out. She's the little skank, not me."

Veronica pulled her to the side a little too roughly. "Claire, make yourself useful and rake the leaves in the yard."

Claire thought her mother's voice sounded calm, which was somehow worse than being angry. She trudged off to get the rake.

It's weird there are always leaves when we don't have a tree in front of our house. Ugh.

Claire watches as her mother tries to fight off the egg attack with a six-inch heel. "She's right. Even if the kids did get drunk, my daughter would throw up in the bushes, like a lady. "

Not to be deterred, Caroline launched the last egg.

The attempt to stop it sent Veronica's shoe flying. The sickening sound of glass cracking warned of the result before the black stiletto in the middle of the glass explained everything.

There was nothing but silence that rang through the autumn air as the sound of a truck pulling up caused all the women to freeze in their tracks. The moment was interrupted by a ridiculous "BOOOOO!".

The brakes squealed. Claire looked up from the leaves to hear an audible gasp from her mother and Mrs. Anderson.  The FedEx truck collided with the side of the Andersons' mailbox.

The young man jumped out, clutching a stack of boxes. "Umm. Right. I have Amazon deliveries for the Andersons and the Bakers. Sorry, they're late. This street is super-hard to find, you know."

Claire just stood with the rake. She stared at her mom, dripping with egg and wearing one shoe. She stared at Mrs. Anderson, with her puked-in car now sporting a heel in the windshield. Both were silently holding Amazon boxes and watching the FedEx truck try to maneuver away from the dented mailbox.

"I'm thinking about Thanksgiving at my place this year."  Veronica was the first to break the silence. "We have that new TV. The guys will love watching the game."

Mrs. Anderson's sweatshirt let out a "BOOO!" and she looked excited. "That will be fun. Bob got the kitchen remodelled, so I can make turkey and ham instead of everyone arguing."

Claire chuckled as she eavesdropped on the dishevelled women. Her mother sighed.  "What about Claire and Jeremy?"

"They'll be alright. The two kids are like brother and sister. They'll both be grounded until Thanksgiving anyway." Caroline grinned and offered, "Come over for a drink? We'll need it to explain all of this."

Claire watched as her mother looked at the large stack of boxes. "Matt is going to be pissed. I don't remember ordering a thing from Amazon."

Claire dropped the rake in the front yard and stepped over to the Andersons' front stoop. She unceremoniously dumped the leaves on top of the mess left by the Ugly-Ass Jack O' Lanterns.

"We don't even have a fucking tree." 

Claire spoke to no one but Casper The Passive-Aggressive Ghost. That seemed about right.

Word Count: 1500 (exactly!)