voice suggested that she knew, and Nita shook her head with mingled shock and approval as a couple of detached zombie-legs and arms came flying out of the fracas. These pieces did not have time to reproduce themselves, for other pumpkins rolled or leapt after them and devoured them, then turned to look for more prey: and with every zombie they ate, the pumpkins got bigger. Nutrients, Nita thought. It’s all just nutrients to them. Uh oh—
In desperation a crowd of the zombies, maybe fifteen or twenty of them, had managed to break out from the main body of the attack and were lurching in desperate speed for the edges of the field. It was futile. A second wave of ever-growing pumpkins charged after the zombies and hunted them across the field no matter which way they ran, snatching at them and pulling them down, grabbing and gobbling every hastily-shed scrap, every half head and pulled-off leg: everything.
And then, without much warning, the roaring and the growling stopped. There were no more zombies. There was nothing left but a field full of gloriously bright orange pumpkins of unusual size, rolling slowly to various sprawling patches of vines, settling themselves down against the ploughed-up ridges, the light gently fading out of them. One last pumpkin, the very biggest of them—easily four feet across, its top beautifully webbed with the browned veining of sunburn—was settling down into a spot at the corner of the field: but it had a ghostly quality about it, unlike its smaller kindred. As the spell ceased execution, as the huge pumpkin’s interior effulgence very slowly faded and the cut places in its face smoothed over and healed themselves, the pumpkin looked at Nita one last time with eyes that had nothing to do with knives.
Thank you, Jackie said, for picking me.
And it vanished.
All around the four wizards fell a great stillness. The only thing breaking the sudden peace was the much-amplified noise from some nearby neighborhood’s own “haunted house”, a single werewolf-y howl echoing into the moonlit night around them.
Nita dusted her hands off; Dairine put up her lightsaber, and Kit stowed his wand. Ronan knocked one last sliotar of light across the field, where it fell in a brief bright burst of wizardry and dissipated. “And now we see, ” Ronan said as they looked across the former scene of zombie carnage, “why demons are scared of pumpkins.”
Off to one side there was an abrupt BANG! as someone teleported into the field a few yards away, in so much of a hurry that they didn’t care about the air displacement. Carl was standing there in his ghoul outfit, though all around him was a hot blue halo of light that suggested he had arrived ready for serious destruction of almost anything he might find. He looked around him in slight bemusement at finding nothing but a quiet moonlit field, a surprisingly large number of large leftover pumpkins for a suburban Hallowe’en, and a caveman, a pirate, a Jedi and an alien princess, all looking somewhat out of breath but very pleased with themselves.
“Tell me I missed the zombies,” Carl said, sounding actively regretful.
“We handled it,” Nita said. “But thanks for checking.”
Carl laughed. “I have a feeling the précis on this is going to make interesting reading,” he said. “Don’t skimp on the details. And don’t forget, you left your candy bags at our place.” He glanced around him one last time, shook his head, smiled. “Meanwhile, I have to go put more dry ice in that punch bowl…”
He vanished again, more quietly this time.
Ronan sighed and looked around the field. “Is it just me,” Ronan said, “or has my desire for large amounts of sugar completely deserted me?”
“It’s just you,” Dairine and Kit said, more or less in unison.
“Come on back with us anyway,” Kit said. “Who knows, you might recover.”
“Oh, all right…”
“One thing first,” Nita said, as Ronan and Dairine wandered off toward the
In desperation a crowd of the zombies, maybe fifteen or twenty of them, had managed to break out from the main body of the attack and were lurching in desperate speed for the edges of the field. It was futile. A second wave of ever-growing pumpkins charged after the zombies and hunted them across the field no matter which way they ran, snatching at them and pulling them down, grabbing and gobbling every hastily-shed scrap, every half head and pulled-off leg: everything.
And then, without much warning, the roaring and the growling stopped. There were no more zombies. There was nothing left but a field full of gloriously bright orange pumpkins of unusual size, rolling slowly to various sprawling patches of vines, settling themselves down against the ploughed-up ridges, the light gently fading out of them. One last pumpkin, the very biggest of them—easily four feet across, its top beautifully webbed with the browned veining of sunburn—was settling down into a spot at the corner of the field: but it had a ghostly quality about it, unlike its smaller kindred. As the spell ceased execution, as the huge pumpkin’s interior effulgence very slowly faded and the cut places in its face smoothed over and healed themselves, the pumpkin looked at Nita one last time with eyes that had nothing to do with knives.
Thank you, Jackie said, for picking me.
And it vanished.
All around the four wizards fell a great stillness. The only thing breaking the sudden peace was the much-amplified noise from some nearby neighborhood’s own “haunted house”, a single werewolf-y howl echoing into the moonlit night around them.
Nita dusted her hands off; Dairine put up her lightsaber, and Kit stowed his wand. Ronan knocked one last sliotar of light across the field, where it fell in a brief bright burst of wizardry and dissipated. “And now we see, ” Ronan said as they looked across the former scene of zombie carnage, “why demons are scared of pumpkins.”
Off to one side there was an abrupt BANG! as someone teleported into the field a few yards away, in so much of a hurry that they didn’t care about the air displacement. Carl was standing there in his ghoul outfit, though all around him was a hot blue halo of light that suggested he had arrived ready for serious destruction of almost anything he might find. He looked around him in slight bemusement at finding nothing but a quiet moonlit field, a surprisingly large number of large leftover pumpkins for a suburban Hallowe’en, and a caveman, a pirate, a Jedi and an alien princess, all looking somewhat out of breath but very pleased with themselves.
“Tell me I missed the zombies,” Carl said, sounding actively regretful.
“We handled it,” Nita said. “But thanks for checking.”
Carl laughed. “I have a feeling the précis on this is going to make interesting reading,” he said. “Don’t skimp on the details. And don’t forget, you left your candy bags at our place.” He glanced around him one last time, shook his head, smiled. “Meanwhile, I have to go put more dry ice in that punch bowl…”
He vanished again, more quietly this time.
Ronan sighed and looked around the field. “Is it just me,” Ronan said, “or has my desire for large amounts of sugar completely deserted me?”
“It’s just you,” Dairine and Kit said, more or less in unison.
“Come on back with us anyway,” Kit said. “Who knows, you might recover.”
“Oh, all right…”
“One thing first,” Nita said, as Ronan and Dairine wandered off toward the
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