Why Do We Carve Pumpkins? The Spooky Story Behind the Jack-o’-Lantern

It always starts with a small thing, right? Someone walking past a porch in late October and spotting that glow — orange, flickering, grinning like it knows a secret. A pumpkin with a face. Kinda weird when you really think about it. Why that? Why pumpkins, knives, and candles? Why the ritual of scooping out their guts and putting them on display like trophies of the season?

It’s one of those traditions people don’t question anymore. We just… do it. But there’s something underneath. There always is. 

The Old Story (That No One Really Tells Right)

So, here’s the thing. The whole carving thing didn’t start in America. Nah. It came across the ocean with old Irish and Scottish stories. Folklore. Spooky stuff whispered by firelight.

There was this man named Stingy Jack — yeah, that’s his name — who tricked the Devil. Like, actually outsmarted him. Twice. But when Jack died, Heaven didn’t want him, and Hell wouldn’t take him either. So he was stuck in the dark, wandering. The Devil, probably out of pity or spite, tossed him an ember from Hell to light his way.

Jack put it in a carved-out turnip. A makeshift lantern. That’s where “Jack of the Lantern” came from. Over time, it turned into “Jack-o’-Lantern.”

When people from Ireland and Scotland came to America, they found pumpkins — bigger, softer, easier to carve. The tradition just… shifted. And boom. The Halloween symbol we all know. 

It’s Funny What We Keep

It’s kinda beautiful when you think about it.

An old legend, a flicker of light in the dark, and somehow, centuries later, we’re still doing it. Not because we believe in Stingy Jack, but because something about it feels right.

There’s something about lighting up the dark that humans can’t stop doing.

Maybe it’s not about ghosts or ghouls. Maybe it’s about wanting warmth in the cold season, a bit of glow when everything gets darker earlier.

People don’t talk about that part much, but it’s there — under the fake cobwebs, the flickering pumpkins, the soft hum of a motion‑sensor ghost woman tombstone that startles everyone in the yard and then makes them laugh. Even the scares have warmth to them, somehow. 

The Modern Twist (and All That Plastic Stuff)

Now there’s a whole industry around it. Plastic pumpkins, glowing LED faces, sound-activated skeletons. The kind that starts with “just one little prop” and ends with a full cart of fake spiders, haunted props online, and somehow a ghost woman tombstone that you swear wasn’t in your plan.

And there’s something kinda thrilling about it too.

Technology meets folklore. The story of an old soul wandering in the dark, now reborn in battery-operated ghosts.

Oh, and don’t even start on Halloween animatronics. They’ve become a thing of their own — like half theme park, half fever dream. But you know what? There’s a comfort in it. Familiar scares. Predictable jumps. Controlled fear. 

Little Rituals We Don’t Notice

It’s not just about pumpkins. It’s about rituals. We need them — even the silly ones. Especially the silly ones.

Because carving a pumpkin isn’t just cutting a vegetable. It’s this slow, satisfying process of:

•   picking the right one (round, but not too perfect)
•   spreading newspapers on the table
•   that first cut, when the knife sinks in
•   the smell — sharp, earthy, kind of nostalgic
•   and finally, the light

It’s messy. It’s creative. It’s ancient and new all at once. 

The Odd Comfort of Darkness

Halloween gets brushed off as fun and games — costumes, candy, fake blood. But underneath, it’s always been about darkness. About making friends with it.

The pumpkin’s glow? It’s defiance. The same reason people visit haunted houses or buy escape room horror props kits for their basements. It’s about playing with fear safely. Finding control in the chaos. 

Maybe It’s More Than Just Decoration

Think about it — why do people keep returning to the same traditions?

Because they connect us. To something older. Something human.

Pumpkin carving is a way of reaching back to ancestors who told stories in the dark, who needed symbols to make sense of the unknown.

And even now, when we’re surrounded by screens and neon and endless noise, there’s a strange peace in sitting quietly, knife in hand, making a crooked grin out of orange flesh.

You can scroll through Halloween house decorations online all day, but nothing quite feels like this — the simple act of carving light out of something solid. 

A Quiet Ending

Maybe that’s why it never gets old. The pumpkin thing. Because it’s more than just a decoration. It’s a small act of memory. A flicker of warmth that says — darkness is fine, as long as we’ve got light to carve through it.

And every porch, every little glowing face lined up in the night… It’s like a thousand tiny reminders that even the spookiest things can be beautiful when we face them. Anyway. That’s the story. Or at least, the one that still makes sense.