The street was quiet now, the kids had gone home, and the only light came from the streetlamps and the flickering jack-o'-lantern on his porch.
He had carved the pumpkin earlier that day, giving it a wide, crooked grin and triangular eyes. But now, in the darkness, the orange glow gave it an unsettling look, the shadows making its grin seem too wide, too⦠sharp.
He rushed to the door and opened it, expecting to catch someone playing a prank. The porch was still empty. But the pumpkin had moved again, closer than before, as if it was inching toward the door on its own.
Jakeβs skin prickled with unease. This wasnβt possible.
Suddenly, the candle inside the jack-oβ-lantern went out, leaving the face in complete darkness. Jakeβs breath caught in his throat. He turned to go inside, but before he could close the door, a new sound stopped him.
A faint scratching noise, coming from inside the pumpkin.
Slowly, he knelt down, heart pounding. He reached out, hesitating, and lifted the top of the pumpkin.