I didn't want to be here.
Not in this town. Not in this creepy house. And definitely not during Halloween.
But when our mom overdosed and the state split us up, there wasn't much choice. Nathan and I were lucky to stay together—Aunt Miriam agreed to take us in when no one else would. I remembered her vaguely. A soft voice over the phone on birthdays. A Christmas card with a pumpkin sticker once, which felt weird even back then.
But now that I stood on the steps of her crooked, sagging house in Dagger's Hollow, I wondered if that sticker was a warning.
Nathan clung to my side, his thin fingers wrapped tightly around mine. "Why does everything smell like... pumpkins?"
I sniffed. He was right. The air was thick with the sour-sweet rot of overripe gourds, like something dying under a mask of sugar. Dozens of jack-o'-lanterns sat on every porch we passed, each one carved with unnaturally wide mouths—smiles that looked more like screams.
The front door creaked open. Aunt Miriam stood there in an apron smeared with orange pulp and something red that I hoped was tomato sauce. Her eyes were tired but warm.
"You made it," she said, forcing a smile. "Right in time for the festival."
---
The house smelled like nutmeg, rotting leaves, and something darker beneath. I caught glimpses of strange things: a goat skull on the mantle. A knife rack with a blade shaped like a crescent moon. And a massive scarecrow doll, sitting in a rocking chair by the window like it owned the place.
"I carved him when I was your age," Aunt Miriam said when she caught me staring. "His name is Mr. Gourd. He watches the town for us."
Nathan leaned close to me and whispered, "He blinked."
I laughed nervously. "No he didn't, Nat."
But I didn't look again.
---
That night, I couldn't sleep. Nathan was already snoring in the bed across the room, curled around his stuffed bear like a lifeline. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, heart thudding without reason. I kept hearing sounds—soft dragging across the porch, the wind whispering in a way that almost sounded like chanting.
At 3:33 AM, the door creaked.
I bolted upright.
A package sat on the floor. A small, rotted pumpkin with a slit carved into its flesh. I hadn't heard anyone drop it off.
Inside it was a photo.
It was Nathan. Lying in bed. Sleeping.
The photo was taken from inside our room.
---
I screamed.
Aunt Miriam rushed in moments later. "What's going on?"
I showed her the photo. Her face went pale.
"Who did this?!" I shouted.
She didn't answer. She just knelt, gently picking up the pumpkin, and stared at it like it was an old friend. "It's starting early this year," she muttered.
"What is?!"
She looked up at me with eyes that seemed far older than they should be. "Sweetheart… I didn't bring you here to live. I brought you here to survive. And if you want Nathan to make it through Halloween… you're going to have to learn the rules."