The Great Pumpkin

The moon hangs full and bright in the clear night sky, casting its pale light over the pumpkin patch. All is still and quiet except for the gentle rustle of dry corn stalks in the autumn breeze.

Suddenly, the ground begins to rumble and churn. With a burst of soil and vines, the largest pumpkin in the patch illuminates with an unearthly glow and rises up. Its vines writhes and reshape themselves before melting away to reveal the form of a lean, trim man in a svelte business suit cut in this year's latest fashion. His gloved hand reaches up, experimentally touching the firm surface of his pumpkin head.

He pauses, as if in thought. What expression would suit him best this year? After reaching a decision, he swipes his fingers and carves out his facade. Luminous eyes and a sharp, jagged mouth. "Much better," he chuckles, shaking off pumpkin juice from his glove. The Great Pumpkin, deity of the autumn harvest has made his grand entrance, though his audience is sorely lacking.

With languid strides he meanders across the pumpkin patch. Dry leaves and vines rustle around his polished leather shoes as he makes his inspection. With a wave of his hand, creeping tendrils emerge from the soil, gently caressing each plump gourd and probing for any flaws or blemishes. A satisfied smile creeps across his carved visage. "A fine crop this year," he murmurs approvingly to himself. "I trust you'll all go on to do great things."

Turning with a flourish, the Great Pumpkin begins to stride down an overgrown path leading away from the pumpkin patch, vine tendrils creeping ahead of him to push back encroaching vegetation. He has an important appointment to keep tonight at the old barn on the edge of the property. A gathering of locals who still keep the old ways and honor the harvest with offerings left in secret. Such loyal believers help sustain him, even as the world turns away.

It's charming, the things mortals do to amuse themselves each season. He's watched their habits and hobbies change and adapt over the ages. Harvest dances, festivals, songs and spirit shared freely. In truth, he yearns for the revelry, but with each passing year his believers continue to dwindle.

Despite the relentless march of time, Old Man Linus keeps his annual vigil, a lone candle lit in the window of his farmhouse over the hill. It's a beacon of belief, but sadly not enough. Not anymore. The old man's strength is waning. The Great Pumpkin suspects the mortal only has a few more seasons left. Time is of the essence, and he needs fresh followers if he's to retain his powers.

The Great Pumpkin continues along the winding forest path, the vines parting before him as he strides confidently through the night. The harvest moon filters down through the skeletal branches overhead, casting strange shadows that shift and scurry as small creatures dart through the underbrush. He pays them no mind, focused only on reaching his destination ahead. In recent years Linus has used the farm as host for a variety of festivities; the haunted hay ride is one in particular that might be worthwhile—

Somewhere in the distance, a startled yelp rings out followed by panicked footsteps crashing through dried leaves and corn husks. The Great Pumpkin pauses, pumpkin head cocking to one side curiously. Moments later, someone bursts out of the corn stalks onto the path ahead of him, nearly colliding into his tall frame.

"Well well, what have we here?" The Great Pumpkin purrs, vines curling around the path to block any escape. How gratuitous. It's so much easier when he doesn't need to seek out followers. Perhaps this one strayed from the corn maze. "You seem to have lost your way, little one."

The old barn sits atop the hill, silhouetted against the night sky. Inside, candles flicker amongst bales of hay, casting dancing shadows on the weathered wooden walls. Old Man Linus stands alone, tending to an altar made of pumpkins. His wrinkled hands tremble as he lights the candles one by one, placing them carefully amongst the gourds. The flames illuminate the pumpkin's carved faces - some fearsome and gnarled, others comical and bright.

He recalls a time when others would join him. Believers, he liked to think they were. But now he remains the only one, holding vigil for The Great Pumpkin once again. He carefully unveils the biggest pumpkin from beneath a weathered blue blanket. The light flickers and glows from inside its hollowed out face. A tired smile creases the old man's face. "I'll believe enough for the both of us," he reassures the pumpkin.

There's a creaking sound from behind, and Linus pauses before looking over his shoulder. Cecile peers into the barn, holding the door ajar. Could it be? A believer? Or perhaps just a wayward visitor. He decides to assume the former. "Welcome, welcome," Linus gestures with trembling hands to usher the last minute guest inside. "I was just about to start the ceremony. The Great Pumpkin is upon us at last, and he will be most pleased to have your company."

Before Linus has a chance to continue, the candle flames sputter and dim as a breeze swirls through the barn. The air turns cold and heavy with the scent of turned earth and decaying leaves. A low rumble echoes from the pumpkin patch outside as the ground begins to tremble.

Linus's eyes grow wide behind his spectacles. "It's him! He's coming!" he exclaims. The old man clasps his hands together, quivering with excitement.

The soil churns as vines erupt forth, snaking and twisting towards the barn. They crawl up the walls and slide across the floorboards, sprouting orange flowers as they go. The pumpkins seem to glow from within, illuminating the barn with an eerie flickering light. And then all falls silent.