tf-warlock:

The Spirit

As she entered the pumpkin-lined room, her eyes immediately were drawn to a pumpkin tucked in the shadows of the room’s far end. There, sitting apart from the other pumpkins, was one of particular oddness. Its shape was almost pear-like, fat bottomed and tapered at its top, long twirling stem grasping out at her, insisting, demanding her attention. She clutched her purse tight to her chest and took a hesitant step, the sensation that was drawing her forward grew stronger yet.

For a moment she tried to exert enough will to take her eyes off the withered and lined surface of the squat gourd, but it was as she was frozen, her pulse raced, and she began to sweat, but she did not blink.

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