“Live Pumpkin Carving!” read the sign, same as every year. Carving a Jack-O-Lantern, still on the vine, was so satisfying.
But the field was empty. The owner had strewn clothed skeleton decorations amid the orange gourds. Still, no people.
Shrugging, we flashed our tools and began, hard carapaces giving way to soft flesh and weeping juice.
So enthralled, we missed the vines. They snatched our knives, holding us down. My pumpkin winked a triangle eye, plunging the stainless-steel point into my chest. My shrieks couldn’t drown out the chuckle from its half-formed mouth: “Can’t wait to eat this one’s seeds!”
Day 21 of 31: 100-word Drabbles
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