Sunday 7 April 2024

Sunday Serial, 240 x 70, Gill James,11. The Pumpkin 31 October 2018,pumpkin smoothy,

It sat there defiant somehow. Winking and blinking.  The biggest pumpkin Jake had ever seen.  His grandfather had won prizes for his pumpkins, but he’d never grown anything as big as this.

There were holes that looked like eyes, a nose and a mouth. The top had been cut off too.  A candle burned inside.  The flesh had been scooped out. Had someone used it for soup?

 A group of small witches and wizards by the look of it, and a zombie or two, were making their way along the street.   Jake quickly darted behind the bushes.

The smallest witch rang the doorbell. The door opened.

“Trick or treat,” called the young monsters. 

“My, you’re an amazing-looking witch young lady,” said a woman dressed in an ankle-length green dress and what must be a wig of long black hair, streaked grey. Her face looked vaguely green as well. “Now, don’t be greedy. Just two chocolates each, now.”

Jake’s stomach growled.  She seemed kind  enough. Maybe he could ask her if for some of the soup. 

He waited until the little monsters had made their way further down the street.  Then he crept up to the door and rang the doorbell.

The woman in green opened the door but her smile dissolved quickly and was replaced with a look of disbelief.  Her eyes closed as she groaned and fell unconscious to the floor.

Darn. Ever since the accident he’d always had this effect on people. No soup for him today then.  However, there was a bowl full of chocolate treats on a little table next to the door. He helped himself to two fistfuls.  They would have to do for now.    

About the author

Gill James is published by The Red Telephone, Butterfly and Chapeltown.  

She edits CafeLit and writes for the online community news magazine: Talking About My Generation.

She is a Lecturer in Creative Writing and has an MA in Writing for Children and PhD in Creative and Critical Writing.


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