, , , ,


I’m here! I realize that I ignored my blog last weekend and have now failed in my attempt to write a story everyday. Sorry. Maybe, a few of you out there missed me? Or not. I did not fall off the face of the planet or die, but real life scooped me up on fun-filled adventures. Okay, not really.

I was in charge of choosing the stones to put on our new fireplace surround. It’s looking good, however, staring at rocks and finding the perfect spot for them created a  puzzle hell. Good thing I like puzzles.

*slaps self* Back to the reason we’re here. The Midnight Society is CELEBRATING HALLOWEEN! For it deserves to be celebrated. Check out their blog here and all the fun they are having. I still have to finish and post my flash fiction piece (you can too here) and I am working on a poem to enter in their poetry contest (learn about that here). And THAT is something, because… hello, who’s not a poet?

This girl. But the prize is … well, awesome.

And yes, the fabulous writers at The Midnight Society have forgiven me for missing the 18th, which was my choice! I probably would have done something with a black cat. And the 19th, which was October… no idea about that one.

Still, plenty of fun left. Today’s word is pumpkins. Hmmm… what about the perfect pumpkin? Oooh! Or how do you grow the perfect pumpkin?

Pumpkin Food

Perfection takes time. It takes love. It takes dedication.

I wander along the row of pumpkins in my greenhouse, trailing my black-painted fingernail along the orange skin. Halloween approaches and only the best will do. People travel miles to experience my haunted attraction.

Pausing, I gaze at a slight discoloration. Rage floods my mind as it splatters against the wall. Another meets its end, seeds and slimy innards crawling towards the floor. I clench my fists and stare at the final few, my last chances to achieve my goal. Failure will destroy me.

People pay to be terrified. My grand finale is legendary. And if I can’t finish my monster, if he doesn’t have the perfect head…

The wires remain connected to the stems. I groan and stomp out of the building.

Anger paints my thoughts red. The dark wooden shed sits within the trees behind the greenhouse. The lock clicks as I yank it from the door, which creaks in pain as I throw it open.

With a cry of frustration, I kick a dead woman out of the way, her brown hair scattering across her blank face.

A man with black hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, huddles shaking in a corner, his green eyes staring at invisible horrors, created by me. The wires sit firmly attached to his head. Yet, he weakens.

But hope isn’t lost. I turn to two girls trembling on the floor, shrieking. Their eyes wide with the terrors twisting through their heads. A push with my mind sends a new wave of what scares them most tumbling into their subconscious. The wires carry their emotion to my pumpkins.

Fear creates perfection.


What would Halloween be without a bit of fear? Happy pumpkin picking!