disappeared, I thought I saw more wooden fragments pushing themselves up through the soil.
I ran for the house, my left arm useless, dangling at my side, each step sending new pain ringing through it. I thought it must be broken.
I ran into the house, to Mr P. He was busying himself with some food, fussing near the oven.
“ I know what it is that caused this,” I said, breathless, and wincing with the pain.
“ What?” he said.
“ Your companion. The one you made. Whatever was in that powder, it went horribly wrong. That thing is still alive. And when it attacked you, I think, something must have happened. To you. To make your heads rot and decay. I think that’s what it is.”
Mr. P tilted his head to one side. He clasped his hands in front of him, and I saw that they were bare, with no gloves. The wood of the arms and fingers, little more than branches with crude extensions, was riddled with strands of sickly yellow. They wove up the arms like turgid veins.
“ Mr. P,” I said. “Jack. You need help. Maybe Ozma, or someone, can help you. It might be possible to fix this.”
“ It doesn’t need fixing,” Mr. P said. “You’re here now. That other one, she was a mistake. I didn’t need to make her, I just needed to find you.”
“ You’re not listening to me.”
“ I have something for you,” he said. “Come.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his kitchen. There, on the counter, was the pumpkin I had brought him, carved. Like his old mismatched face, its features spread across the skin of the pumpkin, the eyes jagged gashes that skewed apart from one another, the nose little more than a slit, the mouth a grotesque slash.
“ What is that for?” I said.
He looked at me, the smile stretched across his face, the way I had made it. “Why for you, of course.”
I stared, uncomprehending. I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“ So you can be like me,” he said. “So we can be together.” He reached down below the counter and brought up an axe. “We just need to get rid of the head you have now.”
I screamed.
I ran.
He stumbled after me. I ran for the fields, for the open sky.
“ Come back,” he called. “We can be together.”
I pushed my legs as hard as I could, but he was taller and his legs longer and I felt him crash into me, and push me down to the fresh soil. He rolled me over, straddling me with his wooden legs. Up close, I could see that the wood beneath the cuffs of his trousers was also covered with the same veiny growths.
“ Hold still,” he said, his voice still merry. “It will only take a moment.”
His sagging face hovered over mine, the smile wide. A brown slug slithered from his open mouth, like a tongue, dripping slime. It plopped onto my neck, writhing.
I screamed again.
My left arm was useless, broken, but I pulled my right hand free and clawed for his face. I hooked my fingers into his right eye cavity, and pulled. Great chunks of rotten pumpkin pulled away. The sickeningly sweet scent of rot filled my nose. I saw into the dark cavity of his head. Maggots squirmed and wriggled through the decaying pulp.
He gripped my broken arm with his hand and pain roared through me. My eyes rolled up in my head and everything went black for a moment.
When they flickered open, he was standing over me, the axe in his hand. “It will only hurt for a moment,” he said. “Then we’ll be together.”
I scrabbled with my free hand for something, anything that could help me. I stuffed it down into my coat pocket.
“ You’ve eaten of me,” Mr. P said. “I’m already inside of you.”
My hand closed on the Powder of Growth. I threw it at him and screamed the magic words. But the wood of his body was long dead and the pumpkin, too.
He brought the axe back. The veiny growths pulsed along his arms. They spread, coursing across the wood.
He toppled back.
I scrambled up and, using my good hand and all my weight, pulled on the axe gripped between his twig
I ran for the house, my left arm useless, dangling at my side, each step sending new pain ringing through it. I thought it must be broken.
I ran into the house, to Mr P. He was busying himself with some food, fussing near the oven.
“ I know what it is that caused this,” I said, breathless, and wincing with the pain.
“ What?” he said.
“ Your companion. The one you made. Whatever was in that powder, it went horribly wrong. That thing is still alive. And when it attacked you, I think, something must have happened. To you. To make your heads rot and decay. I think that’s what it is.”
Mr. P tilted his head to one side. He clasped his hands in front of him, and I saw that they were bare, with no gloves. The wood of the arms and fingers, little more than branches with crude extensions, was riddled with strands of sickly yellow. They wove up the arms like turgid veins.
“ Mr. P,” I said. “Jack. You need help. Maybe Ozma, or someone, can help you. It might be possible to fix this.”
“ It doesn’t need fixing,” Mr. P said. “You’re here now. That other one, she was a mistake. I didn’t need to make her, I just needed to find you.”
“ You’re not listening to me.”
“ I have something for you,” he said. “Come.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his kitchen. There, on the counter, was the pumpkin I had brought him, carved. Like his old mismatched face, its features spread across the skin of the pumpkin, the eyes jagged gashes that skewed apart from one another, the nose little more than a slit, the mouth a grotesque slash.
“ What is that for?” I said.
He looked at me, the smile stretched across his face, the way I had made it. “Why for you, of course.”
I stared, uncomprehending. I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“ So you can be like me,” he said. “So we can be together.” He reached down below the counter and brought up an axe. “We just need to get rid of the head you have now.”
I screamed.
I ran.
He stumbled after me. I ran for the fields, for the open sky.
“ Come back,” he called. “We can be together.”
I pushed my legs as hard as I could, but he was taller and his legs longer and I felt him crash into me, and push me down to the fresh soil. He rolled me over, straddling me with his wooden legs. Up close, I could see that the wood beneath the cuffs of his trousers was also covered with the same veiny growths.
“ Hold still,” he said, his voice still merry. “It will only take a moment.”
His sagging face hovered over mine, the smile wide. A brown slug slithered from his open mouth, like a tongue, dripping slime. It plopped onto my neck, writhing.
I screamed again.
My left arm was useless, broken, but I pulled my right hand free and clawed for his face. I hooked my fingers into his right eye cavity, and pulled. Great chunks of rotten pumpkin pulled away. The sickeningly sweet scent of rot filled my nose. I saw into the dark cavity of his head. Maggots squirmed and wriggled through the decaying pulp.
He gripped my broken arm with his hand and pain roared through me. My eyes rolled up in my head and everything went black for a moment.
When they flickered open, he was standing over me, the axe in his hand. “It will only hurt for a moment,” he said. “Then we’ll be together.”
I scrabbled with my free hand for something, anything that could help me. I stuffed it down into my coat pocket.
“ You’ve eaten of me,” Mr. P said. “I’m already inside of you.”
My hand closed on the Powder of Growth. I threw it at him and screamed the magic words. But the wood of his body was long dead and the pumpkin, too.
He brought the axe back. The veiny growths pulsed along his arms. They spread, coursing across the wood.
He toppled back.
I scrambled up and, using my good hand and all my weight, pulled on the axe gripped between his twig
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