by Birgit K. Gaiser

Grown-ups always ask where my parents are. I mumble: “They couldn’t come.” They know that’s code for a challenging home environment, so they put some extra treats in my pumpkin bag.

I look past them through the door, imagining what it’s like to live there.

Finally, when the pumpkins have gone dark, I return to my favourite house.

I knock. A woman opens. 

In a small voice, I ask: “May I come in?”

Full of concern, she nods. Lifts me up. Hugs me.

I nibble her neck and drink—just a little. If I’m careful, she’ll last until next year.

Birgit K. Gaiser

Birgit lives in Edinburgh, Scotland and writes short speculative fiction. They enjoy the slightly bizarre and characters who view the world with a healthy dose of sarcasm. They like to consult their PhD in toxicology for the occasional (literary) poisoning.

Facebook:  @BirgitKGaiser