Ordered Chinese food tonight, and the person on the other end called it “bwokwee” and it tickled me to no end. I’m sure my Mandarin pronunciation of anything vegetable would be far worse.

Day 11 of #mabsdrawlloweenclub2025 –  Pumpkin.

The moon hung low like a held breath tonight, bright enough to sketch silver trails through the trees. The forest felt like it was waiting for something… and then I heard hooves. Slow, deliberate, echoing in the marrow of the dark.

Out from the ink of the woods, he appeared – headless, but not helpless. Cloaked in shadow atop a restless horse, posture straight as an exclamation mark. In his raised hand, the pumpkin burned like a lantern of mischief, flickering grin carved too wide to be friendly. It wasn’t just light – it was a signal. A warning. Maybe even a celebration.

The horse snorted fog into the night air, ears twitching like it could hear things I couldn’t. The rider didn’t need eyes to look directly at me – I felt the attention like a cold fingertip on the spine. But instead of dread, I felt… invited. As if the forest opened the door just for this moment.
Pumpkins aren’t always cozy porch guardians or pie filling. Sometimes they’re helmets of haunted memory. Sometimes they’re the only beacon in a headless world.

When he vanished back into the trees, the silence felt heavier for knowing what rode in it. I stayed a while longer, watching the moon return to being just the moon.
But I swear I saw a faint orange glow deeper in the woods… and it was smiling.