Her body scrapes across the floor, skin dragging against wood with a sound I’ll never forget. Blood streaks behind her in thick, shining lines. Her hair tangles around the vines cinched tight at her wrists, every pull forcing her head at a wrong angle. A blistered burn mark splits her chest, blackened and angry, like something branded her from the inside out.
Val goes utterly still.
Wet heat soaks into my fingers.
Tears.
Each silent sob punches through my chest like it’s my fault. Like I failed to keep her safe from this.
I want to turn her away. I want to cover her eyes and drag her somewhere else. Anywhere else.
Drew’s body looms over Sandie. Its carved grin stretches wider as it bends, vines groaning like old rope under strain. For a single, horrifying second, it almost looks thoughtful. Proud. Like it’s admiring its craftsmanship.
Then it lifts the axe.
The blade catches the light before it comes back down.
Thud.
The sound slams straight into my skull.
Sandie’s head drops and rolls across the floor. It bumps once. Spins. Comes to rest beside the couch, eyes glassy and unfocused.
Blood pours from her neck, bright and slick, spreading fast across the wood.
My stomach heaves. Acid burns up my throat. I swallow it back because I don’t get to fall apart. Not now. Not when Val needs me upright.
A smaller pumpkin rolls forward, eager. It presses into the open wound, rind squelching against torn flesh. Roots explode from its underside, writhing, plunging deep. They wrap her shoulders. Her ribs. Her hips. Claiming her piece by piece.
The thing straightens.
Sandie’s body rises with it, limp and swinging, like a costume finally filled. Her pink sneakers drag across the floor as the pumpkin stands tall on her legs, wobbling once before finding balance.
Learning.
I press my forehead into Val’s hair and swallow a scream that would get us killed.
With easy, almost reverent care, Drew’s body raises a knife. Blood still slicks the blade, dark and clotted. He presses it to the pumpkin perched on Sandie’s shoulders.
The rind gives.
My body twitches with each scrape and drag of the blade. One of its vines caresses the butterfly tattoo on Sandie’s arm.
Triangle eyes form first. Then a wide, crooked grin, stretched too far to ever mean joy.
The pumpkin’s mouth gapes open. Seeds spill out and dangle in slick strands, swaying as if the thing is breathing.
I keep my mouth near Val’s hair and breathe the words I can’t risk saying aloud.
“Don’t move. Don’t breathe.”
The pumpkin on Drew’s body turns. The obvious leader. It bends and lifts Sandie’s severed head from the floor. Cradles it like something precious. Vines brush her hair back in a mockery of tenderness that makes my vision go red.
This thing is wearing my friend.
The others fall in line behind it, obedient as trained animals. Vines rasp across the floor. Boots scrape wood. Seeds skitter and roll, sticking to blood smeared in long, ugly streaks.
The front door groans open, then slams shut behind the backs of the demented trio, sealing us in.
