🎃 (If you're still doing it, I am totally in live with all the monsters you've written!)
The biggest, most perfect pumpkin ever seen, beachball-sized and a brilliant flame-orange color, sitting in the middle of a commercial patch that’s long since been picked clean by prospective families. A curious patch-goer, confused as to why this gorgeous prize gourd is still sitting there, goes to pick it up, only to find it won’t budge from the tangle of vines it rests upon. They yank harder–and the vines suddenly spring to life, coiling up their arms and squeezing tight. As they kick and struggle and shout for help, the pumpkin slowly rises off the ground, suspended atop an ever-growing mass of leaves and tendrils, branching and knotting around each other until they form a spindly torso and twisting arms and legs, clad in an old patched-up coat and ill-fitting trousers. The pumpkin–no, the head–swivels round on its viny neck, revealing a grinning face already carved into it, lit with an unearthly glow that no candle could achieve. It leans in towards them, rind-fangs creaking apart, and whispers in a hollow, echoing voice: “Boo.”
literally any upper middle class tiktok self-identified ‘that girl’ in a pastel workout set with a thirteen step skincare routine and a green juice is a million times closer to being patrick bateman irl than any self-identified sigma film bro