Across the fields he walks, head round and orange as the waning sun: the great Pumpkin King. He passes amongst his subjects, caressing them with his vine fingers and willing them to grow. His eyes flicker to the dance of candlelight as he moves. The time grows near, he knows, when they'll be given faces of their own, and they must be ready. He grins his ever-present pumpkin grin because he gets the joke-that the ghosts people fear come close one night each year, not to moonlit graveyards but to his softly glowing jack-o-lanterns held so dear.
YOU ARE READING
This Heart Got Teeth
Short StoryDrabbles. Flash fiction. Shorts. One shots. Call them what you will. Conatined here are stories that come and go quickly, passing in barely the span of a blink. Catch them if you can.
