On the edge of a forgotten village stood Mirewood Hollow, a place where the wind never stopped whispering — and the pumpkins grew larger than anywhere else. Every Halloween, their carved faces appeared without anyone carving them.
The villagers avoided the hollow, especially after sunset. But one year, a curious boy named Eli decided to uncover the truth. Armed with only a lantern, he ventured into the misty fields. The air was thick with the scent of rotting leaves, and faint murmurs drifted between the vines — soft, rhythmic whispers that almost sounded like words.
As Eli knelt beside the largest pumpkin, his lantern flickered. Its glow revealed a face already etched into the rind, one that looked eerily like his own. The carved mouth moved — and it whispered his name.
“Eli… we’ve been waiting.”
He stumbled back, dropping his lantern, but the light didn’t go out. Instead, every pumpkin in the hollow began to glow, their faces turning toward him one by one. The ground trembled as twisted roots burst free, crawling toward his feet.
He tried to run — but the vines snared his legs. The last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him was his reflection inside a burning pumpkin — screaming silently as flames danced in his carved eyes.
The next morning, villagers found a new jack-o’-lantern at the edge of Mirewood Hollow. It had fresh, warm flesh and a perfect carving of Eli’s terrified face.
And when the wind blew through the field that night, it whispered —
“We’re still hungry.”
id - pranshum90