10/03/2026
A Sneaky Hollow moment - By Andrew Retchless
THE GREAT PUMPKINFEST DISASTER — 2026
The banner had been strung across the Town Square from the church with the leaning spire all the way to the bayonet on the Remembrance Day soldier at the cenotaph. Anytime a banner was strung across Sneaky Hollow, it was generally a sign that something big—and quite possibly explosive—was about to happen.
The Frappier brothers were already taking bets on whether Harold would actually stop time or simply nudge the Hollow into a parallel dimension. Either way, business was brisk. Hollis and Charmaine had dragged their army-surplus helmets and gas masks out of Storage Trailer Number 7, the one labelled USE IN CASE OF WAR, INSURRECTION OR HAROLD. Priscilla, as always, the image of order and organization, was issuing parking permits and establishing a security perimeter around the Town Square, while Earl had opened his fallout shelter and restocked the canned goods and fresh water supply.
All in the name of what, you may ask? Pumpkinfest.
Harold had somehow convinced Mayor Bucky that Sneaky Hollow needed its own Pumpkinfest, just like Lennoxville. And in a moment of sheer insanity that Bucky would later claim had been taken completely out of context, the mayor had said yes.
Now, for those of you new to Sneaky Hollow, Harold Hartley is, by almost any reasonable definition, a genius. He is also a well-intentioned genius with a tendency to go off script in ways that nobody, including Harold, could ever possibly anticipate. There was, for example, last Halloween's automatic candy-delivery system. It began as a labour-saving device and ended as a misfiring candy cannon that accidentally neutered two of Priscilla’s more timid tabby cats. Priscilla still refuses to discuss it. The cats even more so, and 52 Smarties that are embedded into the Town Population sign have been declared an historical monument to Harold’s mis-ingenuity.
All week long, pumpkins began arriving in the Town Square. Big pumpkins, small pumpkins, orange pumpkins, green pumpkins. By Thursday, it appeared Harold had somehow diverted the entire southern Quebec pumpkin supply into Sneaky Hollow.
Behind a large, hastily erected tent, Harold could be heard in full construction mode. There was hammering, clanking, grinding and, every so often, a great WHOOOOOSH of steam would rise above the canvas. Nobody knew why. Nobody was allowed near, or in reality had enough nerve to go near.
In the Pine Knot Café, the gossip had reached fever pitch.
"I'm telling you," Earl said, leaning across the counter. "He's out of control this time. Hasn't slept in a week. This one's gonna be the Big One."
Jim merely smiled and stirred his tea, looking very much like a man who could already see the future. "Hope you've got lots of pumpkin latte spice, Daisy. You'll need it."
At that precise moment, Bernice and Beatrice walked through the door.
"What the hell would Harold need dowsing crystals for?" Beatrice demanded.
Bernice nodded. "And my arc welder."
John MacAbee looked up from his coffee. "And my acetylene torches from the garage."
Earl's eyes widened. "I'm telling you. He's building a pumpkin-powered starship. Planning to race good old Elon to Mars."
The crowd laughed. Nervously.
Then the café door burst open and Fergus McHale stood in the doorway. The usually unflappable Fergus, recent winner of the blue ribbon at the Mosher Valley Fair pumpkin competition, was florid red. Some witnesses would later swear there was actual steam coming from his ears.
"THAT'S IT! HE'S CROSSED THE LINE! My prize pumpkin is gone!"
Daisy emerged from the kitchen, wiping flour from her hands onto her apron. "The big one?"
"THE big one! I locked it in the shed myself. Two padlocks!"
Jim raised an eyebrow. "Seems a little excessive for a vegetable."
Fergus ignored him. "Harold stole it! Sure as the beard on my face!"
Daisy frowned. "What in Aunt Thelma's bunion would Harold need all that pumpkin mass for?"
Nobody had an answer, which, in Sneaky Hollow, was generally when you started worrying.
The café door opened again and Harold entered, grease stained, his hair standing up like an angry mop and his bug-zapper hat glowing gold as though he'd just won a medal. He looked around the room triumphantly.
"It's ready. LET PUMPKINFEST BEGIN!"
Priscilla cleared her throat. "Harold."
"Yes, Priscilla?"
"Usually a festival has... participants. You know. Kiosks. A marching band. Refreshment tables. Activities for the children. Perhaps a pie contest. Do you get my drift?"
Harold, pumped up on more adrenaline than two teenagers at a high-school prom, merely snorted. "Next year, Priscilla. This year I'm modelling it as more of a..." He paused. "...prototype festival."
You could have heard a pin drop. In Sneaky Hollow, the words prototype and Harold and... DISASTER had a long and unfortunate history together.
The silence was broken by Gaston bursting through the café door.
"Harold! Your tent. Let me say... c'est pas bien."
Harold smiled. "That's normal. The prototype is just warming up."
Gaston stared at him. "Well, if dat's warming up, I'm leaving for Georgeville. I might be outside de danger zone."
That was when they heard it.
WHOOOOOOOOSH.
The windows of the Pine Knot rattled and everyone looked toward the Town Square. The top of Harold's tent was beginning to inflate. Not dramatically, just enough to suggest that something underneath it was developing opinions of its own.
Harold's eyes widened. "Oh."
Jim put down his tea. "Oh?"
"Nothing to worry about."
That, of course, was the exact moment everyone began to worry.
Harold sprinted across the street and naturally everyone followed, although from a safe distance. Or what they believed was a safe distance.
Inside the tent stood what Harold would later describe to the insurance adjusters as a Rapid Fermentation Pumpkin Conversion Apparatus. It consisted of three stainless-steel tanks, seventeen metres of copper tubing, John's acetylene equipment, Bernice's arc welder, Beatrice's dowsing crystals, two pressure valves, something that looked suspiciously like the radiator from Earl's old Buick, and Fergus's prize pumpkin.
Or what remained of it.
Fergus made a sound normally associated with wounded livestock.
"MY PUMPKIN!"
Harold barely looked up. "Science requires sacrifice, Fergus."
"I'LL SACRIFICE YOU!"
Earl and John grabbed him while Harold hurried to the control panel. The idea, he explained while turning several valves, was actually quite simple. He was making pumpkin w**e. The problem was fermentation. It took too long.
He turned and proudly proclaimed, "Fermentation takes time. Harold does not."
So Harold had devised a system to compress several months of fermentation into approximately seventeen minutes.
Jim stared at the machine. "Harold?"
"Yes, Jim?"
"Has anyone ever done that before?"
Harold considered the question. "No."
Jim nodded. "Thought so."
Then something went PING, and everyone looked at the pressure gauge. The needle moved from green into yellow. Harold tapped it and it moved into orange. He tapped it again and it entered red.
"Harold," Priscilla said.
"Perfectly normal."
The needle passed red. There were no numbers beyond red. There didn't need to be. It went past red, through OH NO, and landed firmly in DEAR GOD.
Earl took one look.
"RUN!"
What happened during the next eleven seconds remains the subject of considerable debate. The insurance company has accepted Harold's version. We don't know why.
According to Harold, there was a "minor pressure-release event." According to Fergus, his pumpkin achieved low Earth orbit. According to Gaston, who had made it halfway to Georgeville before stopping to look back, the entire Town Square briefly disappeared behind an orange mushroom cloud. And according to Jim Wharton, who somehow never spilled his tea, "Well. That's new."
The explosion, or pressure-release event, as Harold continues to insist, sent pumpkin pulp in every conceivable direction. The church with the leaning spire turned orange. The cenotaph turned orange. The Pumpkinfest banner disappeared completely and was discovered three days later hanging from a maple tree near Fitch Bay.
Earl's fallout shelter survived beautifully, something Earl has mentioned several times. Priscilla's security perimeter did not. Neither did Harold's tent.
For several hours, Mosher Brook ran orange. The Department of the Environment was called. Then someone explained Harold. They apparently decided there were some things government simply wasn't equipped to deal with.
By late afternoon, Harold was sitting on the steps of the Pine Knot Café picking pumpkin pulp out of his hair. His hair was orange, his eyebrows were orange and his bug-zapper hat was orange. Across the street, Fergus stood staring at the empty space where his blue-ribbon pumpkin had once existed. Nobody spoke to him. His pressure gauge was still on the high side.
Jim looked toward the hills, where the first autumn colours were beginning to appear.
"Well," he said, "at least Harold matches the foliage."
Daisy laughed so hard she had to sit down.
And that, my friends, was where we had to leave the story, because the insurance adjusters arrived Monday morning.
But now their evaluation is complete. The paperwork has been signed and, remarkably, they have accepted Harold's version of events. Then again, this is Sneaky Hollow, where the truth has always been a little like the population.
Variable.
Earl, as always, has come to Harold's defence. "Look on the bright side. Same thing happened after the Skunkocalypse."
Priscilla stared at him. "What bright side?"
"Sales. Disaster drives sales."
And apparently Earl was right. The Pine Knot General Store is currently experiencing record demand for pumpkin pie filling. Daisy has added pumpkin muffins, pumpkin loaf, pumpkin squares and something called the Harold Special to the café menu. Nobody is entirely sure what's in the Harold Special. Daisy says that's the point.
Priscilla's orange tabbies are looking particularly resplendent this week, although, if you look closely, they may be just a little more orange than they were before Pumpkinfest. The two from last Halloween still avoid Harold. Probably wise.
But there is one final chapter to this story. You see, despite everything that went wrong with Harold's accelerated pumpkin-w**e experiment, one thing went spectacularly right. The alcohol content was significant. Very significant. So significant, in fact, that nobody is entirely certain the resulting liquid should legally be classified as w**e.
Earl tried a glass. He lost feeling in his left eyebrow for forty-five minutes.
John poured some into an old lawnmower. It started on the first pull.
That got Harold thinking.
Further testing revealed that Harold Hartley's pumpkin w**e was, in fact, an extraordinarily efficient biodegradable diesel fuel. And this is where things get interesting.
Representatives from Petro-Canada arrived quietly in Sneaky Hollow earlier this week. There were meetings, lawyers, documents and confidentiality agreements.
And yesterday afternoon, Petro-Canada purchased the patent.
For how much? We don't know.
Harold has been sworn to secrecy, which should keep the matter completely confidential until approximately Tuesday, because Harold Hartley has never successfully kept a secret in his life.
So the "prototype" Pumpkinfest has come and gone in Sneaky Hollow. The cats are orange. Mosher Brook has returned to its natural colour. The General Store is making money. Mayor Bucky is reviewing the town's festival approval procedures. Harold may have accidentally solved part of the world's energy problem, and Earl is already suggesting that next year Pumpkinfest should be expanded to two days.
Mayor Bucky has declined to comment.
Priscilla has not.
Her response consisted of two parts.
The first was, "Over my dead body."
The second was, "Gotta love Harold."
Which, in Priscilla language, is a maybe-yes-later response.
Happy Pumpkinfest from Sneaky Hollow, where even the disasters have an upside.
