Halloween Silliness: It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown

A Genre Mashup

A number of years ago, I saw posts of a drawing that reimagined Charlie Brown as if drawn by Frank Miller and set in the comic-book universe of Sin City. It was simultaneously hilarious and amazing. It looked something like this:

Art: Ninjaink, Script: Jean Luc Pham

I’ve always wanted to do something similar, but in writing. Now that Sherlock Holmes lives in the public domain, for example, one could easily write new Holmes stories set in the worlds of Jane Eyre or Blade Runner.

Well,

Writing in the Dark with Jeannine Ouellette

gave me just the right chance to be silly and have some fun. If you don’t know Writing in the Dark, it’s a wonderful site for writers and there is a prompt exercise every Wednesday—I check in when I can because I know I’ll try something new and it also doubles as my “Daily Pages” from The Artist’s Way. The easiest way for me to plug her site is that Jeannine Ouellette cares about good writing. Me too. Sold.

So yesterday’s prompt included a chance to do a genre mashup—take a well-known story and set it in the constraints of a different genre or world. In the spirit of Halloween, and remembering the comic panels above, I figured why not The Great Pumpkin? Why not Linus as “hard boiled” or “noir.”

The ridiculousness I produced is below for your Halloween pleasure. Do not hold this against me for too long.

Let’s Dance, Pumpkin Head

They always come back home. Call it instinct. Ritual. Something inside says, I was born here, I will die here, guts and all. It’s just a matter of when, of feeling their slimy seeds draw them back to the soil. 

I’ll be waiting, again. 

My blanket holds a life’s worth of body heat, so I’ll sit until the morning paper hits the steps. The Great Pumpkin promised presents for us kids of the world, but of course it was a scam. Another hollow gourd with a carved smile and pumpkin-spice promises. 

Justice is coming. 

Forget candy. Forget knocking on doors with that stiff, Charlie Brown. Our neighborhood stopped being sweet when I was five, and I’m boy enough now to make my own lunch. I want what I’m owed. It can rain canaries and dogs for all I care. All it takes is one blanket and an iron will. I’ve got both in spades.

Sally’s here. Again. Young dame with not much upstairs but she’s not bad for a Brown. Sweet kid. She believes me. She knows Pumpkin is real and puts herself on the line without fear. I bet underneath those blond curls are roots as dark as Halloween nights. She should scram, now, because Pumpkin wears a round lumpy face. Carving it up was an improvement, believe me. And the stem, it curves off the top of his massive head like a blade. This ain’t no goddamned holiday. If this goes sideways, I’ll carry it like an old Tootsie Roll in my side forever.

I hear rustling behind the fence, strange cries, but I bet it’s that deadbeat dog, Snoopy Brown, fighting another war that ended years ago but never stops in his crazy beagle head. He’s been to hell and decided not to come back. They say his plane went down and he’s had a biscuit loose ever since. Poor son of bitch. Hell, he’s no help in the jungle of the pumpkin patch, but I could use him. A good dog is hard to find, but he’s drowning at the bottom of a dirty bowl. Maybe I can bum a smoke from him.

The rustling gets closer and the weight of it all socks me in the gut. He’s here. Pumpkin always comes home again. Rising from the dirt, he’s as big as City Hall. I tell Sally to beat it but she doesn’t flinch. Tough broad. She grabs a fistful of blanket. I pull the other end to my chest, put my thumb in my mouth. This ain’t no costume party. I drink lattes like you for breakfast. Come to Linus.