Picture the scene...
A cold misty halloween eve
on a quiet suburban street.
A lone scream splits the silence.
The air tastes violence,
a knife through the heart.
This is how the story starts...
A body, lay in pools of red,
surrounded by orange pulp.
Face, carved.
Eye hole caves stare lifeless,
and where her mouth once sat,
a gaping hole, candle flame flickering back.
For upon this night in a moment of halloween tradition,
she picked a pumpkin, took it to her kitchen,
and started to carve.
She didn't hear the curses yell,
nor the words that damned her to eternal hell.
With a flick of her wrist, she twisted the knife.
the face fell apart, it had gone awry,
she smashed the pumpkin with a fist.
Picked another pumpkin to restart.
Looked away for just a blink.
but when her eyes returned
the pumpkin was nowhere to be seen.
He had taken a detour via the sink,
taken a knife and sunk it in, the body fell. thump.
The pumpkin screeched an inaudible sound
to the wind, dropped to the ground
splattering orange all around.
The horror starts to flow,
when the moon takes on a wicked glow,
and out of the fields below
an army of hungry pumpkins show.
Their comrades final shriek,
a call for the army to take to the streets.
Ready to devour, they carve a path through human meat,
until they are there at the foot of your bed.
You scream and scream. Waking the dead.
Oh, and by the way,
that pumpkin that looked like it had been destroyed,
seems the pieces have gone astray.
Maybe he is watching on now
with vengeful eyes, carved big and wide.
You thought his candle had flickered out,
but now his flame is burning bright.
What is that tapping in the corner?
Tap, tap scrape. Tap, tap, scrape,
The sound of serrated blade edge
of which there is no escape.
As the blade swings up, carving at your face,
the pumpkin laughs and walks into the night,
by walks I kind of mean rolls,
in a weird roll, thwump, roll, thwump way.
But by morning on every doorstep,
the blood will spray.
Thanks for reading
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