Milly
2012-11-15 15:01:27 UTC
What do you think of mine?
"Come on," I say, knocking gently on the pumpkin's lumpy skin, "Come on out, I won't hurt you."
Nothing. The pumpkin remains the same, creases on its skin like tiny rivers, lumps in between them like little boulders. A beeswax candle flickers nearby, the scent warm and familiar.
I grasp the stem of the pumpkin with both hand, and grunting, hoist it up. It feels uncomfortably gnarled and twisted beneath my firm grip. I lower it onto the gentle fire; it licks the waxy skin for a moment's breath, and then...
CROKA, comes a noise, and I am not holding a pumpkin anymore, but the leg of a orange, lumpy toad. It struggles in my grip, and I release it.
"Hallow's Day is over," I tell it, "you're free to go."
It looks at me curiously with bulging glass eyes, then shakes the orange paint off of itself and hops away.