A Rotten Pumpkin ~ An Oz Short Story

Introduction 

Many have asked to read my 2022 entry into the Oz fiction contest, so I am going to go ahead and post it here on my blog! It’s a story I wrote a couple years ago actually, for a contest on the Facebook group “Yellow Book Road”. My good friend Erica Olivera even did a reading of it for her YouTube channel. I guess since it’s already been posted in other places I don’t have anything to lose posting it here too. 

The story involves Jack Pumpkinhead, tired of the lack of respect he gets at Ozma’s dinners, deciding to change the expression on his pumpkin to look less goofy and more intimidating. Hilarity and chaos ensues. It may sound strange to say but this story has an autobiographical element to it. As pretty much everything I write does. Probably anyone who’s been through their teen years can relate to this story. 

To get the most out of this story it helps to have read some of the books by L. Frank Baum it is based on. At the very least, the second book The Marvelous Land of Oz. There are some ideas from The Magic of Oz in there too. Also referenced is Jack Pumpkinhead of Oz, a later Ruth Plumly Thompson book, but it’s a minor reference. If all you know is the 1939 MGM Wizard of Oz movie, you’ll not know who 90 percent of the characters are. But the underlying story itself should still be understandable. 

The art below was drawn by me as a cover image for the story. 

A Rotten Pumpkin

Suren Oganessian

       There was a beautiful golden sunset over Winkie Country as Jack Pumpkinhead rode west in a red wagon, pulled by his old friend the Sawhorse. He had just come from the Emerald City, visiting his “father”, Ozma, and was being dropped off at his home, which was a giant hollowed-out pumpkin. His visits to the Emerald City were quite frequent, and he spent the night at the palace at least every couple of weeks. The only reason he didn’t simply live at the palace was so that he could grow his own pumpkins to quickly replace his head when it began to spoil.

Although Jack always wore a smile on his carved face, it didn’t necessarily mean he was happy on the inside. He had emotions, just like any living being. His smile kept his demeanor jolly most of the time, but even he wasn’t completely immune to feeling blue on occasion.

“Sawhorse, do you take me seriously?” Jack asked with a sigh.

“Seriously?” the Sawhorse tilted his head as he trod along the road, “Well, do you want an honest answer, or do you want me to be nice?”

“I want a serious answer,” was Jack’s reply.

“It’s hard to take someone with a giant grinning jack-o-lantern for a head seriously,” the Sawhorse answered, “I mean, even you’ll readily admit, you are quite stupid.”

“Does someone have to be smart to be taken seriously?”

“Maybe not necessarily, but it helps, to be sure,” replied the Sawhorse.

“Everyone treats me like I’m a joke,” Jack lamented, “You weren’t there for Ozma’s banquet last night, but at the banquet the Wogglebug called me stupid because I took all of his puns literally. And everyone laughed at me for not understanding his jokes. Even father giggled at me. Then the Scarecrow bragged about his superior brains and how he understood all the puns, as well as how awful they were. This has been going on for a long time, too. In fact, something like this happens at nearly every banquet.”

“You’re better off not understanding his puns,” the Sawhorse remarked, “Ignorance is bliss. The rest of us who understand his puns cringe every time he makes them.” 

“But I wish I did understand them,” Jack lamented, “If only because then I’d be treated as an equal with everyone else.”

“It probably isn’t worth it,” said the Sawhorse, “Besides, how could you make yourself smarter? Do you want the Wizard to fix you some brains?” 

“No, I can’t really change my intellect,” Jack drummed his wooden fingers on the rind of his head, “It varies depending on the pumpkin I use, but I’m always going to be at least somewhat stupid. I just wish I could be taken seriously, and treated with respect. I mean, I live on my own, I’m self-sufficient and take care of myself. I even saved Oz once. Do you remember that?”

“Yes, it was a fleeting moment of cleverness that enabled you to defeat Mogodore the Mighty. Like a broken clock being right twice a day.”

“That must be what everyone thinks,” Jack sighed again, “That it was some kind of fluke that I saved Oz. And despite all of my past achievements, people still treat me like I’m a helpless idiot.”

“It’s always about what you’ve done lately when it comes to your reputation,” said the Sawhorse as he came within sight of Jack’s home, “It was almost a century ago when you defeated Mogodore. So much has happened since then, people have forgotten.”

“An opportunity to save Oz doesn’t come along every day,” said Jack, considering his options, “I don’t want to wait for that. You know, I think part of why I’m not respected is what you said before. I’m hard to take seriously because I have this silly pumpkin for a head.”

“You can’t change the fact that you need a pumpkin for a head,” said the Sawhorse, “But has it ever occurred to you that you could carve a different expression on your face? Something less goofy.”

The epiphany shocked Jack to his core. A different facial expression? Why, he’d never even considered it before. He’d always tried his best to emulate the same expression his father, when she was little Tippetarius, carved on his face when he was built to scare Mombi the witch, all those many decades ago. But he didn’t have to be smiling. One could carve anything onto a pumpkin if they wished! 

“Sawhorse, you’re a genius!” Jack exclaimed, “Why have I never thought of that? I could carve a different expression on my next head. One that commands more respect. One that people will take seriously!”

The Sawhorse wasn’t a very emotional being, but at this he had to chuckle. This was going to be interesting, he thought.

Ozma’s birthday was two weeks later. Some years she had grand feasts and invited guests from across Nonestica. Other years she opted for a more informal affair, with her closest friends. This year veered more toward the latter. Festivities were held throughout the Emerald City in Ozma’s honor, and monarchs from the dozens of small kingdoms within Oz traveled to the palace to pay their respects, or at least sent gifts. However, that night only her closest friends joined her for dinner. Ozma’s very best friends included Dorothy and her other friends from the Outside World, as well as the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry Tiger, Scraps, Glinda and Tik-Tok. Aside from Ozma’s close friends, the Wogglebug was also in attendance, who rarely missed these kinds of occasions. 

  Naturally, Jack Pumpkinhead was also invited. He hadn’t been seen by anyone during the day, and with so much going on Ozma hadn’t noticed his absence. She’d begun to realize he was missing just before the banquet, but didn’t think much of it. However, there was something different about him on this evening. As he entered the banquet hall, those present noted a new expression carved on his face. Gone was his usual toothy grin, and in its place was a cold frown and an open mouth with sharp teeth, not unlike a spooky Halloween jack-o-lantern. He carried a wrapped box with Ozma’s birthday gift within. Everyone else in the room couldn’t help but stare at Jack’s new head, and the idle chatter that had permeated the room before briefly ceased. Silently, this new, imposing Jack Pumpkinhead placed the gift on the table with the others, and took a seat. He sat at the opposite end of the table from Ozma, with the other non-meat people; this was less due to deliberate segregation and more as a courtesy to make Jellia Jamb and her assistants’ jobs a bit easier, since no one on that side would need to be served food or drink. 

“Land sakes,” Dorothy muttered, in awe of Jack’s new look. She turned to Ozma, “What’s wrong with Jack?”

“I can’t imagine,” said Ozma, her eyebrows arched with concern.

After a few moments of silence, Jack looked around, and gave a frustrated grunt, “What’s everyone staring at me for? It’s not my birthday! Get on with the party!” 

This rude comment was so unlike Jack that it was almost comical. But rather than risk upsetting Jack, the guests opted to carry on. Perhaps an explanation for Jack’s new face could wait. 

The Wizard stood up from his seat, and raised his glass for a toast to Ozma’s birthday, giving his usual speech about what a wonderful and beloved ruler she was. Everyone’s glass was filled with delicious oz-ade, except for those who didn’t eat or drink, who had empty glasses they could raise. 

“Same tired old speech every year,” Jack grumbled as the Wizard spoke, irritably grabbing the glass in front of him and raising it, “What’s the point of a toast if half of us can’t drink? Let’s get to opening presents already.” 

The Tin Woodman shot a surprised glance at Jack when he overheard this. Scraps turned to him and mouthed “Someone’s a grouchy-pants.”

After the toast was finished, Jellia Jamb and a team of other voluntary maids entered the room with steaming plates of delicious food, passing it to those who ate. As they passed Scraps, she giggled and said “No thanks, I’m already stuffed!”

This elicited chuckles from those within earshot, but Jack grumbled, “Not that tired old joke again. I’ve heard it at every banquet for more than a century.”

“Oh come on, I love that joke!” Scarecrow said defensively.

“Perhaps the first fifty thousand times it’s a little funny,” Jack shook his head.

Scraps frowned, and responded with a poem.

“A rotten pumpkin with a grouchy face,

Spreading negativity all over the place.

Why you gotta be so nasty and mean?
Especially on the birthday of our Queen?”

Jack shot back at the Patchwork Girl with a rhyme of his own.

“The rhyming bag of cotton thinks she’s so clever.

Will she be silent? No, not ever.

I’m tired of being treated like I’m so dumb.

I…hmm…”

Jack had been on a roll, but he couldn’t think of a clever way to end his rhyme.

“I’m about as smart as a wad of chewed-up gum!” Scraps finished, laughing.

Jack folded his arms and turned away bitterly.

“Stop it, you two,” the Tin Woodman scolded, “You’re lucky Ozma hasn’t overheard your bickering. Don’t be mean, Scraps. And Jack, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

The Wogglebug interjected, “Sounds like Jack’s added a bit of spice to his attitude. Pumpkin spice, if you will.”

“If even I understood that pun you must not have been trying very hard,” Jack remarked.

“Why, thinking up that pun only took the smallest fraction of intellectual effort by my thoroughly educated and highly magnified brain, to be sure, but it is far more intelligent, clever and humorous than anything your brain, made up of seeds and pumpkin gunk, could ever hope to muster.”

“Using big words and putting letters in your name doesn’t make you intelligent,” Jack retorted, “Nor does having an enormous ego.”

The Wogglebug scoffed, “Arguing with a fool is never advisable, they’ll drag you down to their level and beat you with experience.” 

The Tin Woodman hushed them again, worried that this bickering might ruin Ozma’s birthday.

Jack retained a bitter silence for the rest of everyone else’s meal, folding his arms and looking on impatiently as everyone else who wasn’t a magical construct ate. After everyone had finished, it was time for Ozma to open her gifts. 

  “I may have been showered with many gifts today,” Ozma said to her guests, “But truthfully, there’s no greater gift than the company of my dearest friends. Dinner with all of you is the best part of any birthday. You’re all like family to me. I will love all of your gifts, but not nearly as much as I love you.”

The room erupted in “Awww.” The Tin Woodman placed his hands over his heart and shed an oily tear after this speech. Jack drummed his fingers on his head and leaned on his elbow. 

“You’ll love my gift best,” he said under his breath.

The plates were cleared away, and the presents piled before Ozma. The largest present had to be placed on the floor, for it was too big to be on the table. Ozma’s friends often had trouble year after year coming up with gift ideas, especially because Ozma already had practically everything she could ever want. But long ago Ozma had let them know she would be happy with anything, and she forbade them from endangering themselves just to get a gift that would “outdo” the others, as had happened more than once. Still, each of her friends put their foremost effort into their gifts, some of which took months of preparation. 

Jack’s gift was something he had put all of his effort into. His clumsy wooden hands didn’t give him the most dexterity, but with enough motivation there was a lot he could do. And he wanted to prove that with his gift for his father.

“Oh my, what is this, Jack?” Ozma asked happily as she pulled a large pumpkin out of the gift box. The pumpkin was smooth and polished, and on the front was a beautiful engraving of Ozma herself.

“It’s a papier-mache,” Jack explained proudly, “It won’t rot like a normal pumpkin, because it’s made of mashed up paper pulp and bound with glue and adhesive.”

“It’s beautiful, Jack, thank you,” Ozma said with a gracious smile, before her eyes turned to the largest of the packages, “Alright, I can’t stand it any longer. I have to know what’s in that large box.”

“Ah, well allow me, your majesty!” the Scarecrow offered as he got up from his seat and walked to the box. He undid the wrapping paper, and the box fell open, revealing an intricate, life-sized statue of Ozma made entirely of a mosaic of colorful dried corn kernels. This reveal caused gasps around the room. Ozma’s eyes lit up in a bright smile.

“Oh my…however did you make this, Scarecrow?” Ozma asked.

“I’ve been at it for months, my princess,” the Scarecrow said fondly, “Jellia helped give me all of your measurements, and I studied portraits and drawings, doing my best to get it just right. The core of the statue is supported by carved corn cobs.”

And just like that, Jack’s papier-mache pumpkin, that he’d worked so hard on, was forgotten. Jack growled under his breath.

“I must say, even I’m impressed by the sheer ingenuity of it,” said the Wogglebug, looking it up and down.

“I sure can whip up a good batch of brains in a jiffy, eh?” said the Wizard with a wink.

“I don’t want to brag, but, I’ll say you can,” the Scarecrow said.

“Your brains…aren’t real!” Jack shouted suddenly, making everyone turn around. 

“What’s that? Of course they’re real!” the Scarecrow retorted.

“That was a very unkind thing to say,” the Tin Woodman remarked.

“You weren’t any smarter after the Wizard stuffed your head, it was nothing but a confidence boost!” Jack snapped back, “Why does everyone act like you’re such a genius and I’m an idiot?!”

“Jack, why are you acting this way?” Ozma asked sternly, taking his hand, “This isn’t like you.” 

“I’m tired of being disrespected and treated like I’m stupid!”

“It’s that pumpkin on your shoulders,” Ozma frowned, “Ever since you came in here with that you’ve been in a foul mood. Why did you carve a face like that?”

Jack tried to pull out of Ozma’s grasp, “Everyone makes fun of me because I always have that dopey smile on my face!”

“It’s a rotten pumpkin,” Ozma said as she relented and let go of Jack’s hand, ”I want you to get rid of it.”

“Fine!” Jack yelled, removing his head and slamming it into the ground, breaking it into pieces. His body stood motionless for a few moments, before turning around and stomping toward the exit; only to collide with a green marble pillar and fall backwards. 

Ozma sighed, and Dorothy gave her a sympathetic hug. Hugging Dorothy back, Ozma turned to Jellia Jamb, “Would you get him up to my bedchambers, please? And if there are any pumpkins in the kitchens, be sure to have that brought up too. I’ll tend to him later tonight.”

“Certainly, your highness,” Jellia said, walking over to Jack’s body and hoisting him to his feet.

“I guess we’ve been too hard on the poor pumpkinhead,” said the Tin Woodman, now feeling a little sad for Jack.

“Well if our jokes bothered him so much, why didn’t he ever say anything?” Scraps wondered.

This was indeed the question on everyone’s mind. However, there was nothing else to be done about it, so the party resumed, albeit with a dark cloud hanging over Ozma’s head as she worried about her son. 

Late that evening, when the party was over and the guests retired to their rooms, Ozma returned to her bedchambers, alone. Jack’s body sat motionless and headless on her bed. Without his head he was deaf, mute, and blind, but he could still think and move his body, as the magical Powder of Life had spread his consciousness all over his body, rather than concentrating it in the head like a natural living being. Until now though, Ozma hadn’t suspected that the expression on Jack’s pumpkin dictated his mood. On a nearby coffee table sat a large pumpkin and a carving knife. Ozma was grateful to Jellia for having found one on such short notice. So, she set to work, sitting beside Jack and carving him a new face, just like she did in the old days. She made sure it was the same jolly grin as always. It was little activities like this that made her feel like old Tip again, if only for a moment. Jack was one of the few people that had known her in her days as Tip. In the earliest days of her reign over Oz, Ozma used to always carve Jack’s new heads, until he went to live on his own, and learned to do it himself. Ozma reflected on how sad it was, letting Jack go. It must have been akin to what a parent feels when their child reaches adulthood and leaves home. 

When she finished the face, she carved a small hole at the bottom, and placed the head on the sharpened wooden stake that comprised Jack’s neck. Jack looked around the room, and then at Ozma.

“I’m…sorry, father,” Jack said at last, sounding just like his old self.

“I’m sorry too, son,” Ozma said with utmost sympathy, “I suppose we’ve joked about you for such a long time I never knew it bothered you.”

“I just want to be treated like everyone else,” Jack sighed, ”I’m sorry I ruined your birthday. I was just in such a bad mood with that head. It made me take it out on everyone.”

“Everyone wants to be treated with dignity and respect,” said Ozma, leaning back in bed, “So you thought if you carved a scary face people would start to take you more seriously, but it ended up making you mean. I suppose you couldn’t help what you said and did with that head.” 

“This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t taken the Sawhorse’s advice either.”

“So it was his idea,” Ozma gave a small smirk, “Well he couldn’t have known what would happen.” 

“It sounded like such good advice when he said it.”

She turned to her son, “You should have come to me for advice, Jack. You can talk to me.”

“I know, I should have,” Jack shook his head, “I’d been bottling those feelings up for years. I don’t know why I never said anything.”

“We didn’t know. I think everyone felt sorry after your outburst at dinner. I know the Wogglebug can be a bit much sometimes, and the Scarecrow can have a bit of an ego problem too. And Scraps, well, she doesn’t really know when to quit sometimes, she has to be told when she’s gone too far. But, I’m sure none of them truly wanted to hurt your feelings. We all care about you. You’re one of us.”

“I’m going to apologize to everyone for my rude behavior first thing in the morning,” Jack resolved.

“And I hope they’ll apologize to you too,” Ozma added, “And I apologize for laughing sometimes when you were teased. I’m going to encourage everyone to be more respectful toward you. You’ve accomplished a lot in your long life, after all. And you’re wise in your own way.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, “I promise to keep a smile on my face from now on.”

“That’s great to hear,” said Ozma, smiling back at him.

“I love you, father,” Jack replied.

“And I love you, son,” said Ozma, draping her arms around him happily. And from that day on, Jack chose to keep the same expression on his face as always.