Creepy - Day 8 - Halloween Day & Pumpkin DNA

Episode Date: October 8, 2025

Halloween Day***Narrated by: Megan McDuffee and Written by: Nancy Schumann***Pumpkin DNA***Written by: Joshua Ramey-Renk***Support the show at patreon.com/creepypod***Sound design by: Pacific Obadiah***Title music by: Alex Aldea Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Creepy presents the 31 Days of Horror. Day 8. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastures and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or not simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised. Good afternoon, Megan.

Good afternoon, doctor. What's that you're working on? Carving pistachios. I'm sorry? Here, take a look. Wow, that is very... Weird? Disturbing.

I was going to... say creative. I never would have considered carving faces on partially shelled pistachios. Working on my own theory. What theory is that? That if I try creating things that are disturbing in real life, then I can stop thinking about my dreams so much, like last night's when all of a sudden it was Halloween day. The trip alone was pure excitement. Maybe not for the others, but definitely for me. The experience of leaving my tiny village to go to the big city was near enough winning the lottery, off and away, albeit only for a weekend. The whole idea was mental, as far as the old folk in the village were concerned,

which only made things more appealing. It never would have occurred to me to just go to the small cemetery in the village. Why should it? There was nothing to see, nothing to do, occasional visits to the graves of departed family members to put some flowers on were more than enough, and it certainly wasn't a place for any such nonsense as Halloween. Even if we weren't arrested right away, an entire chicken coop of fellow villagers would sharply keep peeled eyes on us to pounce at the first flicker of a sign of a satanic ritual. Now, at home, all we'd do for Halloween would be a horror film and fruit punch, all dressed up

in costumes we could only admire each other in, entirely pointless. This year would be different. This year my friends and I were going to the city because Halloween was a Saturday and we were well old enough for such an excursion. Excursion. The city had a massive cemetery, apparently spanning more than 50 acres. This, of course, was a far more appropriate place for Halloween. It hadn't been my idea. Unfortunately, my friends were clearly cooler and came up with the whole thing, including the suitable excuse of wanting to purchase dresses for the upcoming Christmas ball. We would, of course, do that.

At least one dress would have to be purchased. That, however, wasn't the point. I didn't even care all that much about the cemetery visit. As long as we were exploring the city together, everything and anything was wonderful. We wasted little time dropping the bags at the hostel we were staying at. The accommodation was not important. It was cheap and central. As long as it was free of bugs, that covered all our requirements. So the three of us set off to the cemetery right away. The cemetery was on top of a hill at the other end of the city's park. Easy enough to find the park, but it was a long trek through. It was rather too hot for Halloween. The day when the world of the dead touched the world of the living shouldn't be as sunny as this. It just wasn't

appropriate. We needed a weather witch, I thought, but I kept that to myself. My friends might share my love of horror and dark fantasy, but real-life talk of witches could be a step too far. And of course, they were right when they said a cafe right by the cemetery entrance would be a lot more practical. Once people had walked from the city center through the park to get to the cemetery, they were definitely out of breath. We were young and reasonably fit, and still had to take a little break at the cemetery entrance. Yes, a nice little cafe would be just the thing now, but there wasn't one. We had to make do with water from our own bottles and stepped through the entrance mildly sweaty. All around us, huge walls appeared, walls containing graves. After a few steps,

it became apparent why there wasn't a cafe at the entrance. The cemetery was huge, with enough room between the grave walls for cars to drive through. We were the only ones who had walked here. must have looked rather odd to the locals, despite the choice to forego actual costumes. I was fascinated by the grave walls. I'd never seen anything like it. The walls towered over me on all sides. Every tear marked by a small window. Every window covered the entrance to the grave behind it. I stopped to look at one of the walls. The wall was six windows high. I tried to count the windows along the length of the wall, but lost count, and couldn't be bothered to start again. I wondered vaguely how many people could be buried here. I had no concept of

the size of 50 acres, and each of these walls was massive. I knew these graves were a type of family vault, so each of the windows covered a grave for more than one person. I felt dizzy trying to picture the number that might describe the total of buried bodies. The paths around the cemetery or a labyrinth, a path left, a path right, and then there was an opening in the middle of the wall at one side to step through onto another path altogether. Every so often there were stairs leading up to new paths, at which point I remembered that the whole cemetery was a hill. I walked in any and all directions, left, right, straight on, up some stairs, to inspect all those grave walls. I got higher and higher up the cemetery hill until I was again out of breath.

So I stopped, turned around, and looked at the part of the cemetery in front of me. I got to see the thickness of the grave walls from this position. I hadn't noticed that from in front of the walls. The view from here was absolutely worth the walk through the park and the climb up the cemetery hill. I could see the whole cemetery and the park below towards the city center where the hostel was. I turned around my own axis again and that's when I noticed my friends were nowhere to be seen. I looked around, trying to find a possible hiding place in case they were trying to scare me. My mobile vibrated, audible eye roll.

After all the effort, the journey to the city, the trek through the park, they just decided they've seen enough. They've returned to the park to search out a cafe. I was absolutely planning to spend the entire day here. There was so much more to see, barely halfway through and they'd given up, without even letting me know before leaving. A coffee break was hardly as important as that. No matter.

The only thing that could make a Halloween visit to the cemetery more Halloween was visiting that cemetery on Halloween alone. So I messaged them to meet me later at the cafe. I didn't understand how they could have gotten bored so quickly. I couldn't see enough of the grave walls. The windows in front of the grave entrances covered the family's names, sometimes pictures, often flowers. All the windows were beautifully decorated as if the families were trying to create a comfortable resting place for their departed loved ones.

I took some pictures, careful which windows I snapped from which angle. After all, these were the resting places of real people. This was a unique Halloween. I didn't feel guilty in the slightest for staying longer. The other two didn't have to leave in the first place. Their own fault. Now they'd just have to wait for me in their silly cafe in the park. Plants grew behind some of the windows.

I looked at those from a little distance. The green that appeared to grow out of the grave seemed a little suspect. The plants were a dark, vibrant green. It felt odd that a plant growing out of the grave looked so healthy. I had no idea what kind of plants these might be. It didn't look like a weed, but logically that's what it had to be. I thought I knew why. Some of the windows had condensation running down them.

I suspected these windows were visited and cleaned less frequently than those windows that looked dry and clean. The grave walls must get quite hot, which was no surprise up on the hill and exposed to the sun. So if the window wasn't opened regularly, condensation naturally followed. With plenty of water and undisturbed by human hands, plants could grow, only natural. Still, I didn't want to get too close to those plants. Well, I didn't have to. I could see all I wanted through the windows from a little distance. I wondered if I would be able to see the entire cemetery.

My friends did deserve to wait a while longer. So I continued to walk aimlessly through the paths. But my pace slowed more and more. I could picture the view from the top of the hill when I saw the whole cemetery. It was massive. My feet started to hurt, and I had to admit that I wouldn't be able to walk the whole cemetery in just one day. There was a good reason the locals came by car. When my stomach rumbled, I gave up.

Time to start on the journey back. I stretched out my arms, took a deep breath, and slowly turned around. What a wonderful place. What a wonderful Halloween day. Then I took a look around. I'd seen signposts here and there, pointing the way to the exit. Having walked aimlessly all that time, I now needed help finding the way back to one of the exits. It shouldn't be too difficult to find the way back to the park once I was on the road circling the cemetery on the outside.

I walked along the path with a grave wall on my right-hand side and spotted a signpost at the end of the path. Exit, it stated, with an arrow pointing to the right. Brilliant, turn right then. I passed the wall I'd just walked along its other side. Oh, there was so much more to see. I already knew I'd find it difficult to explain just how different each grave window looked. There was no signpost at the next junction. I decided to go straight.

Maybe we could take another trip here. Maybe even several. We could arrive more prepared next time. We could bring a picnic. I was sure my friends wouldn't get bored as quickly if they had snacks. Of course, wandering around on an empty stomach was rather less fun. Even I had to admit that. I rather wished for the nearest exit now.

There was another signpost ahead. The arrow pointed left. I followed the signpost. I was reasonably sure I hadn't come along this path before, but the signpost had to be positioned in such a way that they'd lead to the nearest exit. So I continued to look at the grave windows I hadn't seen yet, while keeping an eye out for the next signpost, or better yet, an exit. Well, no luck spotting an exit yet, but there was another signpost pointing left.

I wondered just how far I'd walked into the cemetery. I'd absolutely no idea. I'd been far too busy to pay attention to directions. There was another sign with a right-pointing arrow. Onwards. Again, I thought about how much the paths around the grave walls turned the cemetery into a labyrinth. The thought lost its appeal right around now. There was another signpost ahead, and again, the arrow pointed right.

I had to be on the right path. After all, I'd followed the signposts to the exit the entire time. another junction without a signpost. Logically, it must be straight on. My mobile phone vibrated. My friends asking where I was. I rolled my eyes and replied I was on my way to the exit. I didn't know how much time had passed since I'd started looking for an exit.

It felt like an eternity. I had to be approaching the outer walls of the cemetery by now. I'd be happy with any exit at all at this point. There was another signpost. The arrow pointed left this time. I had no idea where precisely in the cemetery I was. I couldn't be sure if I'd seen these grave windows before. Maybe.

Maybe I was on the path that led to the gate we'd arrived at? Maybe I was somewhere entirely different. I didn't know how to determine my position in the cemetery. An aerial view would be helpful, but that would mean climbing back up the hill. That hill was right in the middle of the cemetery. I didn't want to go back. The signposts had to be leading to some exit or other. Hill, I slapped my forehead.

The cemetery was on a hill. The middle of it was up the hill. Hence, the exit had to be downhill. Could have thought of that earlier. The signpost at the end of this path pointed right. I turned right and sure enough, the path led downhill. I had to smile. No need to panic.

The signs directed me to an exit and the path went downhill, which was where the road. the exit had to be. Worst case scenario, I'd have to circle the cemetery along its big outer wall, but I'd be able to follow that wall until there was an exit. Thus, reassured, I could once again enjoy my walk toward the exit. There seemed no end in sight yet, but I continued to follow the directions of the signposts and the path definitely continued downhill. Clearly, I'd walked quite far into the cemetery, which wasn't actually much of a surprise, given how fascinating everything I'd seen was. Hence, the return journey was now rather long. I kept spotting signposts directing me right or left, occasionally straight on. I followed them with confidence. After a while,

my mobile phone once again demanded attention. My friends were getting impatient. Frustrated, I replied that I was on my way. I'd gotten a little turned around, but was definitely on my way to the exit. Maybe my friends could start walking toward me. They probably weren't enamored with the idea, but they agreed. Apparently, the cafe they'd been sitting in all afternoon had now closed. So they had nothing better to do than meet me at the cemetery gate. Smiling, I thought. Minor digressions are punished right away.

They should have stayed. Simple as that. Now they had to walk back to meet me where they'd left me alone. I wasn't sure I was headed for the same gate now, but that didn't matter. long as I found an exit. It was harder to see the next signpost. Twilight was setting in. I looked around. The paths weren't lit at all.

I hadn't planned to stay this late. It was October, after all. Soon as the sun said, it got very dark very quickly. I kept my mobile phone in my hand. The illumination from its screen was enough. There, the next signpost. The arrow pointed left. If I didn't find the exit soon, I'd have to use the torch app on my mom.

mobile. That was pretty bright. I'd not seen anybody else in the cemetery for a while. No cars either. Another signpost. I wondered if the cemetery had opening hours. None of us had paid attention to that. What if they locked the gates at night? Well, then I'd have to climb the gate to get out. I wasn't planning on spending the night in the cemetery. That wasn't on my list of Halloween fun. I turned right, following the most recent signpost. I looked at my mobile, which silently stared back. I hadn't heard from my friends for a while. Were they really mad at me? Were they mad enough to actually leave me alone?

I sent a text as I turned the next corner to say I was sorry, but that I was still looking for the exit. My mobile stayed silent and it kept getting darker. I had to turn on the torch app eventually to see the path. I was still following paths that led downhill. I was still following signposts that directed me left or right. I still couldn't see any exit. There was no response from my friends.

My mobile was the only light I had to guide me, but the torch app ate up the battery, slowly, steadily. This silly cemetery couldn't be as big as that. I hadn't even walked all the way to the other end of it. There had to be an end to it somewhere around here. There had to be an exit. I'd followed the signposts. There was movement at the edge of the path. I couldn't quite see it.

It was just beyond the light of my mobile, but something. had moved. All around me were grave walls with their grave windows. I hadn't seen anybody else for an eternity, but I'd definitely seen movement, maybe some animal. After all, the cemetery was essentially one large park area, so after people left at the end of a day, it was likely that animals lived here. I tried to remember what I knew of animals in the city, what kind was likely to live around here. Birds, of course. Rodents, likely. Maybe foxes. or wild cats, nothing to get overly concerned about. There was movement again in the semi-darkness beyond the light from my mobile, but I barely

reacted. It couldn't be anything dangerous, after all. I continued to search for signposts. Again and again I looked to my left and right. Time and again I searched the path downhill, and every time I saw nothing but grave walls. The grave windows around me were new. I hadn't seen these before. They seemed to be staring at me.

I tried to shake off this new panic. These were the same windows, the same walls I'd seen in daylight. I had seen all of this in daylight. There was nothing to be scared of. It had gotten dark. That's all. I took a deep breath. My nerves calmed.

I walked on, my mobile lighting the way. Then I noticed how the light ahead of me forced something into the darkness. That was the movement I'd noticed. I noticed earlier. Something was running from the light. I shone the light to my left and right and something slithered out of its way every time. My eyes seemed to have spotted something green. Tears came to my eyes now. I couldn't keep the panic at bay anymore. I could only see what my mobile phone managed to illuminate, and there was only the thinnest of lines left inside the battery symbol on the screen. I found plenty of signposts, but despite following them, I never saw an extra.

exit anywhere. All around me were grave walls. Time and again I saw the strange green something that fled the light of the screen. I swung my arm left and right, trying to make the light reach everywhere, trying to erase any trace of darkness. It definitely was something green that slithered there. The only green I had seen was that of those weird plants that grew behind some grave windows, those I hadn't dared to get close to. Why wouldn't the stupid cemetery end? whose stupid idea had this band to come here? Why did my friends leave me behind? That had been such an unfair move.

They'd just left me alone without even saying anything. Now I was all by myself in the dark, searching for an exit. I must have been searching for hours by now. It was dark, and there was no light in the cemetery, and my mobile would run out of battery soon. Then it was pitch black. Without another sound, my mobile switched off and took its light away. I wanted to cry and scream and shout.

How had this wonderful day gone so utterly wrong? Why wasn't I with my friends in a bar in the city center now? I called out for my friends. That seemed at least vaguely sensible. Maybe I was closer to the outer wall than I'd realized before the light went out. Maybe somebody would hear and help me. I heard the sound of my own shouting. Nothing more.

I closed my eyes, hoping that would help me adjust to the darkness. but my surroundings remained black when I opened them again. I saw stars and a sickle moon in the sky above. Not enough light reached the ground. I felt something touch my leg. I bit my tongue. Screaming didn't seem to help. I stretched out my arms in front of me and started to slowly walk forward.

I was trying to find a wall that I could walk along, guided by touch. I didn't need light to determine if the path went downhill. It had to be possible. to locate the end of the cemetery this way. The emptiness around me didn't want to end. Something touched my foot. By daylight, the paths had looked empty and well-maintained, but in the darkness there was always something in my way.

I felt my way forward. I stumbled over something. With my arms stretched out, I landed right into a wall. That was something. I felt my way along the wall, got myself upright again, Under my fingers, I felt the ever-changing stone of the grave wall, and in intervals the glass of a grave window.

The windows. It was much too dark to see what kind of windows these were. I didn't know if my fingers touched the nicely decorated, cared-for grave windows, or those with the weird green plants inside. I shivered at the thought of those plants inside the graves. The luscious green plants had been everywhere on the cemetery. Everywhere. I'd barely finish the thought when my hands touched something that was neither wall nor window.

I jumped. My hand didn't obey. I couldn't pull back my arm. Something had a hold of my hand, then my arm. Slowly, steadily, it crept up my arm, enclosed my neck, my hips, my legs. I stood silently and unmoving in the darkness. Tears kept flowing down my face. As the luscious green kept me trapped, I felt the ground give under my chest.

I felt the ground give under my feet. I knew now these plants didn't grow inside the graves. No, these plants grew into the graves. I had to think of the story of Halloween when the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead was thin. So thin that the dead could return to the living world. So thin that in times past people had sacrificed their fellow humans to keep the dead out of the living world. Once upon a time, somewhere far away, I thought, or maybe in large cities where people could vanish without a trace. It hadn't been my idea to come to the city.

My friends had suggested this. My friends who had left me behind. That was my last thought. Thank you. Is there anything else you would like to talk about? Think I can get some watercolors? Drawing these in crayon is way harder than it looks. I think we can do that.

Just let me talk with the order lease. Thanks, Dr. Hall. Fine. Like what? Oh, yeah, yeah. Of course I do. Dream? Um, yeah, sure.

It was about... This is going to sound weird, but in DNA. I love my garden. It's a perfect little microcosm of the world. You put effort in, you get something out of it. Some beautiful flowers and even fruits and veggies to eat or share with neighbors. And learning from your mistakes and your successes is equally important. Sometimes it can surprise you with what you learn, like DNA.

I never really understood how quick, how very present things like evolution and cross-pollination are until I saw them at work in my garden. I once made the mistake of saving some seeds from some pumpkins I grew for jazz. Jackal anterns, and the next year I had, definitely not jackal lanterns, not even really pumpkins. They looked like weird Frankenstein zucchini. And when I decided what the hell and cooked one up, tasted like nothing really, just mush. In checking out the gardening subredits, I realized my mistake. Apparently pumpkins and other squash can easily cross-pollinate and pick up DNA from other plants, especially in the small suburban gardens where you and your neighbor's veggies are only a few yards apart.

Those slutty, slutty bees are hard at work, having pollen orgies next door and then flying over to your place to do the same thing in your pumpkin flowers. So you never know what's in those seeds from the next generation. Since I love having a small crop of actual jackal antar pumpkins from my garden to share with the neighbor kids on Halloween, now I always buy new seeds each spring, so when fall comes I know I'll be getting a little. those perfectly round, perfectly carvable golden squash to give away. Another thing I love about my garden is the privacy. If you put it together right, you can create your own little oasis in the middle of a cookie cutter development where your front lawns might be governed by an HOA or local ordinances

about weed height, but your backyard is usually more off limits. Some good vines along the fence line make excellent privacy screening. And if your neighbors and you get along, you can work out trees and fence heights and really make your own private park right outside your back door. It's like a secret magic kingdom all your own. All of that, including the feeling of magic, is important to me. The garden's a magical place where your love and intention really matter. I'm a big believer in the power of emotion and intention because they're critical parts of being a witch like I am.

To go outside naked and do a ritual under the full moon kind. Yeah, male witch, aha, real funny. I don't care what you say. I even get outside once a month and light my fire pit, and as long as I'm quiet, no one's the wiser. Being quiet's part of it. No screen of trees or jasmine hedge is going to hide drumming or loud chanting. So a quiet ritual in your own backyard,

that's a thing for a suburban witch, and it's perfect when you pay attention to which you plant. How high it'll grow, how dense, all that stuff. Quiet is key. It's something that my wife apparently didn't understand or forgot about the garden. Just because we can't see the neighbors doesn't mean we can't hear them. Not just when they're talking in their backyard, but even sometimes when they're indoors. Especially on a warm night in the early summer when they may keep their windows open.

And that's how I knew that instead of going into town to run errands, my wife was next door with Frank, our bachelor neighbor. She must not have noticed that Frank's window was open, or remembered that it was the night of the full moon and had to be outside. Because the sounds she was making carried clearly through the night, and trust me, even if you can't see them, you know the sound of your own spouse having great sex. My blood went cold, and I ducked back inside the process what I was hearing and what I was feeling. The next few days were quiet at home. I didn't confront her, and I'd gone back to the same. inside immediately once I realized what was going on. So I had no idea what happened later or how long

it lasted. I also had no idea if it was a one-time thing or an ongoing affair. But it didn't matter. My cold blood turned to thoughts of vengeance. I wanted them punished. But I didn't know how. Yet. For those of you saying, oh, but isn't part of witchcraft the idea that you should harm none, or what about the three-fold law of return? To those people, I say, get off the wick of subredits and learn about real witchcraft. Bainful magic and cursing is a part of being a real practitioner of magic, not a witch-talk influencer or someone who just picked up their first tarot deck and has listened to a few podcasts.

Witchcraft is about power, about bending the world to your will. And if love can make your garden grow, so can anger and rage manifest and bend reality to the will of a witch. It's all about making nature do what we want. We train vines around trellises. We trim hedges into convenient shapes or fantastic animals. We kill weeds, which are just flowers nobody likes. And play around with crossbreeding our roses. Even the pumpkins I plant are a special hybrid designed to resist mold and have shorter vines and smaller fruit, perfect for a smaller garden space like mine. And it was almost time. for me to plant my pumpkins to ensure the perfect fall harvest.

That's how I decided on the punishment. It wouldn't be easy. But it wouldn't be very hard either. I just had to gather the right materials and wait for the next full moon to do my planting. You've all seen the movies where it's all boil, boil, toil and trouble, eye of newt and all that stuff, right? Magic really is like that sometimes. But I wasn't using a cauldron this time. Instead, all the ingredients went into the four holes I dug like normal for planting my pumpkin crop.

Kneeling naked under the full moon, I carefully placed in each hole to plant fertilizer, a few hairs from her hairbrush, and most important of all, the secret ingredients I had to gather from the trash in the bathroom at a particular time of the months. Blood is one of the most ancient and potent magics, and when I dropped that, along with a few seeds into each hole and cover them up with fresh soil. I was building up a powerful spell made up of mundane things to nourish the plants and their growth. I whispered my anger and my rage into the mix as I patted each little mound into a neat hill for the vines to grow on. That, my friends, is real witchcraft, all in the privacy of my own little suburban garden.

The rest of the summer went along like it always had. In time, the pumpkin flowers showed up and eventually some of each turned a young gorge, exactly as normal. If anything, it was better than my usual harvest. Each fruit to a lovely golden orange color with thick skin in perfect shape for jackal lanterns. When it was time to take them off the vine, I was very careful to cut them high on the stem and avoid nicking their perfect surfaces. I was equally careful when putting them in a garage where I let them cure for a few weeks before setting them out for the neighborhood kids. At last, the weather turned to real autumn, and the spooky season was upon us,

marked by the appearance of Halloween decorations on every house and bags of bite-sized candy in every store. I built a small display stand that I set out for the annual pumpkin giveaway. And one week before Halloween, I set it out at the end of the driveway and filled it with perfect pumpkins for the kids. I even repainted the sign that said, Free pumpkins, pick the perfect one to carve, so it was bright and fresh. By the end of the weekend, all the pumpkins but one runty one of the kids,

but one runty one were gone. And I put that one in the backyard as a snack for the squirrels and raccoons. I wasn't sure if they'd munch on it or whatever would happen if they did. What the hell? Not everything is predictable in the garden, or in magic. I love Halloween, or Sawane, as it's called in the Witch's Calendar. It's always been my favorite time a year, and I always have a special ritual plan for it. This year I decided to hold out.

until a night that my wife was once again going to be out of the house, ostensibly taking a class at the local college. She was working on getting her real estate license, but I suspected she'd be, once again, with Frank. I hadn't heard them since that first night. It'd have been a relatively cool summer, but I had my suspicions. Suspitions that were confirmed when the screaming started from next door. A lot of magic is what we call sympathetic,

which means something is used as a stand-in or a replacement for the actual target of the magic. You may have heard of a puppet, and you've certainly heard of voodoo dolls, where you stick needles into a doll made up to look like your victim. Usually these are created with something from the person, their hair or fingernails or even, yes, if you can get it, their blood. So imagine what would happen if you imbued somebody's DNA into a whole bunch of something. Something that's say was destined to be gleefully cut into, gutted, and carved up in an annual ritual of frightful savagery and trickery. And then worked your will for vengeance into the mix, combining those perfect growing soil conditions with your anger and your rage.

They said that Frank killed her, even though they never found the knife, or knives. They said it looked like she'd been stabbed with a dozen different kinds of blades in different sizes, some sharp and some blunt. Her eye sockets have been hacked into triangles and her mouth into a jagged parody of a grin. Even as they pushed my naked weeping neighbor into the back of the police car, he was screaming that it wasn't him. It just started happening. Bloods started coming out of a dozen cuts like someone was carving up her face right in front of him. The last thing I heard him say was,

Oh God, her brain! They scooped out her brain! Poor Frank. Last I heard he was still in an institution upstate And there was no way he was going to face a trial That was fine with me Justice My kind of justice

Had been satisfied And me? I'm doing great After the cops had finished talking to me And the other neighbors about what we may have seen or heard I stripped down to perform my Sal Wayne ceremony With a small twist I decided to bury that one small leftover pumpkin is a kind of completion, coming full circle from when I had placed a few small seeds over my wife's

hair and menstrual blood, and then it nurtured and nourished what grew from them to its completion. A garden can teach us so much. And even after all the years I've tended this little backyard oasis, I can still be surprised. How plants get pollinated and grow is a mundane mystery that reminds me that magic is everywhere. Every year, one small vine grows from where I buried the Leftover one that vengeful night. And on that vine, grows a single, ripe, orange globe in the perfect image of her face.

And in a neat trick of nature, that's also kind of a treat. It looks like it's still screaming. You're welcome, so... Just stretch your legs a bit. Stretch my... Is something wrong? Would you rather not go to...

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