I stood on the sidewalk outside Crafty Tom’s house and smiled. At 4 pm, the light was dying in the sky but his porch light blazed where his prized pumpkin had just stood. Every year, on All Hallow’s Eve at 5 pm, he whisked it away, carved a friendly face, and returned it just before trick-or-treaters began to arrive. But tonight, his pumpkin pride sat tucked beneath my left arm. Nondescript in size, the pumpkin was distinct in its perfect symmetry and lengthy stem that curved upward as twisted tree tipped with curling tendrils. It was the best that Crafty Tom had ever had. And now it was mine, for the moment.

“Hey Mister!”

I turned to see whose shrill voice had assailed me and saw a scruffy little boy in a parka and jeans. I went to stand over him threateningly and glared.

As the boy looked fearfully up at me, he sputtered in the frosty air, “P-p-p… please, Sir, can—. Can I have s-s-s-some candy?”

I raised my right arm, letting my web-like cloak block the streetlight, and coldly said, “You stupid child. I have no candy.” I laughed a deep bone-chilling laugh and watched the brat scamper away. Swiftly, I made my way next door, my home. The pumpkin under my arm felt alive and vibrant.

Once inside my cavernous kitchen, I set Crafty Tom’s prized pumpkin onto a slate slab. I smoothed my hands over its stippled ribbed curves. It was a perfect beauty. I turned to yank a large knife out of a drawer. When I turned toward the pumpkin, it seemed closer to me. Did it just wobble? I smiled as I thought, leave it to Crafty Tom to grow magic pumpkins in his little patch behind his little house.

Tossing back my long sleek black hair, I grinned sharply and taking the long shiny steel knife, I lopped off the top of the pumpkin. As I set it down with its long twisted stem, the curling tendrils tickled my hand. I laughed. With a silver serving spoon pointed with sharp teeth, I scooped out all the pulp, leaving a juicy, seedy mess. I then swiftly gouged one round eye out of the hollow pumpkin. And then I gouged out a square one. I roughly carved out a triangular nose. I knew that Crafty Tom would shudder if he could see this garish mess.

Suddenly, the square eye winked at me. I shut my cold heartless eyes. When I opened them, my left eye felt tight but my other eye was fine. And I saw that the pumpkin’s square eye was still a winking slit. Feeling furious, in one move I slashed out a toothless smile from ear to ear. I lit a waxy candle and stabbed its dripping taper inside the Jack O’Lantern. I looked at the clock. It was 4:45 and time to sneak the pumpkin with its botched face to Crafty Tom’s.

Holding the winking grinning Jack O’Lantern between my hands and facing me, I stared at its ugly face that leered as if enjoying a diabolical joke. I leered back. But, blast it, my left eye was still frozen in a slit. I hurried along the deserted sidewalk lined with leafless trees silhouetted by the monstrous burnt-orange moon. The wind howled as if it shared Jack O’Lantern’s joke. Well, the joke was on Crafty Tom. I clipped along his front walk and with fiendish delight set down the butchered Jack O’Lantern to face his front door.

The door opened. Startled, I released the Jack O’Lantern and looked up to see Crafty Tom’s face turn to horror and his mouth form a scream. I laughed hysterically to see him in such a state. As the horror on his ghost-white face worsened, I suddenly realized Crafty Tom had not yet noticed his butchered prized pumpkin. His eyes were on my face. My face.

I raised my hands to my cheeks and felt the stippled ribs of a pumpkin. I touched the top of my head and felt my long black hair knotted into a tall, stiff, twisted stem. I ran my hands down my face. A round hole and a slit made up my eyes, an empty triangle my nose, and a toothless slash my mouth. I shrieked and shrieked and shrieked. As the flame burning in my head shriveled up my  face, I turned and ran flailing into the darkness. And then I—.