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.