The knife pierced the toughened skin with a pop! Beneath, the flesh sweats and oozes. It sticks to my fingers which I wipe on my apron. I desperately try to be neat, but everything is slimy. My hands shake as I hack, slice and scoop.
The sloppy innards get dropped into the bin and I say goodbye. I proudly place it on the doorstep and light the candle within it. The eye-holes illuminate. His grin beams, light bleeds onto the ground. I’m satisfied with my work and vow, next year…I’ll use a pumpkin instead of Mr Jack’s head.
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alt="Stone Jaws by Evan Baughfman"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Mannequin People by Michael J. Stiehl"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Gator by Randall Andrews"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Rude Awakening by Richard Lau"
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width="1200"
height="630"
>