The Pumpkin in the Window
Every Halloween, the people of Willow’s End would pass by the old Thatch House — a crooked thing of brick and ivy that had been empty for years — and whisper the same story.
They said that when the moon was full and the wind blew from the east, a candle would flicker to life inside the dusty front window, illuminating a single jack-o’-lantern. Its face changed every year: sometimes grinning, sometimes frowning, sometimes carved in a scream so human that children crossed the street rather than look.
No one knew who lit the candle.
This year, thirteen-year-old Nora decided she would find out. She waited until her friends’ laughter faded down the lane, then crept toward the Thatch House. The air smelled of wet leaves and something else — something sweet, like burnt sugar.
Through the fogged glass, she saw it: the pumpkin. Its grin was lopsided, too wide, its eyes cut deep and cruel. The flame inside danced like it was breathing.
Nora’s hand shook as she pushed the door open. It gave a soft groan, as though the house were waking.
Inside, the air was still, heavy with the scent of earth and wax. The pumpkin sat on the sill, its light casting long shadows across the walls — and in those shadows, she saw others.
Dozens of pumpkins, unlit and uncarved, stacked neatly in the corners. Their skins were pale, almost human.
The candle’s flame sputtered, then steadied. The grin in the window seemed to deepen.
And a voice — not loud, not even quite real — whispered:
"Every year, one new face."
Nora turned to run, but her feet wouldn’t move. Her reflection in the window twisted — her eyes glowing orange, her mouth stretching into a jagged smile.
By morning, the Thatch House was dark again.
But in the window, a new jack-o’-lantern glowed.
Its face was carved with a terrified expression…
…and the villagers swore it looked just like Nora. 🎃
Stake: lehongnhat314