lopunny

The harvest moon hung like a ripe, luminous plum over the whispering fields, casting long, bruised shadows across the pumpkin patch. Inside this orange-glowing sea, the tiniest residents—round, palm-sized little pumpkins with stems like crooked wizard hats—were trembling.Out beyond the rotting wooden fence, the world was alive with terrifying noises. Clack-clack-clack went the plastic skeletons. Booo! shrieked the neighborhood children in cheap polyester capes. To a pumpkin no bigger than a teacup, the human world was a monstrous realm of giants, flashing lights, and sharp carving knives. They huddled together beneath the decaying vines, weeping quiet, pulpy tears.Rustle. Thump. Thump.The little pumpkins froze, squeezing their painted-on or magically formed eyes shut. Heavy, soft footsteps approached.