Things I’m Looking Forward to this Fall

By Taylor

Y’all fall is my favorite season by far. No, it’s not because of pumpkin everything. Unpopular opinion, but pumpkin stuff isn’t that good. You can’t even taste the pumpkin. Apples are where it’s at for fall baking and eating, but that’s just my opinion. Anyways, lots of fun things happen in the fall, halloween, lots of fall decor, the leaves are falling, you can go apple picking, and carve pumpkins. It is literally the best. But on top of all that fun, we get a bunch of fun fandom things! Like new movies, fall shows start to premiere, new books, and games! Here’s my list of all the things I’m looking forward to this fall.

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Unlucky

By Jen P

 

On my daily trek down Main Street, I realize that Halloween has finally arrived. For weeks, the shop owners have been decorating for the occasion with their banners, orange flowers, and pumpkin carvings—my favorite of the three. I recognize my own likeness on one, so I give it a lick as I pass by. Hmm. That one’s been sitting out too long. But today must be the actual day they’ve been preparing for, as the humans themselves are dressed as witches, vampires and the like. The smaller ones carry buckets and sacks full of sweet smelling treats; while many of the larger ones drink warm cups of apple mead. If I’m lucky, I may catch some of the leavings.

I weave between the legs of the hairless giants, especially careful not to get stepped on by one of the females—as their paw-covers are sharper than those of the males. The few humans who notice me, jump back. Some turn and walk the other way. But mostly, I’m invisible.

I slip into my favorite alley unscathed, then leap into the dumpster behind the seafood restaurant. Looks like their whitefish spoiled. Pity for them. Dinner for me.

Finished with my meal, I hop from the dumpster to the damp alley ground. I then slip back onto the street and continue towards the suburbs. I’m full, but I never stop looking for food. Sometimes my meals have to last me a few days.

As I round a corner, a sharp shoe rams into my shoulder, sending me flying. The female attached to it merely stumbles.

My immediate reaction is to hiss. The female takes two steps back, clutching her heart, and shouts, “Cursed Little Wretch!” before removing the offending shoe. I’m no dummy, so I run. The shoe lands in the spot I just vacated, and the female’s curses follow me as I bolt through a thick patch of bushes at the back of the building. I imagine myself as little more than a black streak to the passing eye as I cover a distance in five minutes that usually takes me fifteen.

Once I make it to Pine Street, I settle back into a slow prowl.

Cursed Little Wretch. That’s a new one. Continue reading

The Pumpkin Carver

the pumpkin carver

By Jen P

 

“How you plan on getting’ all these home?” says the farmer who owns the pumpkin patch. He’s in his mid-fifties, in good shape for his age, tanned, and dusty from hauling gourds out of the field all day.

Any other day, Cecilia would be admiring his sturdy frame, imagining what he’d look like naked beneath her purple mandala sheets; but the scarecrow in the field behind him has her full attention. It’s unlike any scarecrow she’s seen—twice the size of most, and dark as if shaded by a different light than the world around it. Its body is made of sticks and tattered burlap, flapping heavily in the breeze. Dried pumpkin vines climb up its support beam on either side, giving the semblance of legs if she lets her eyes blur out for a moment. But what makes the scarecrow oddest of all, is its head: a sun-bleached deer skull, with great, curved antlers. Three sharp offshoots jut up from the major curved point of each horn, and a break in the jaw adds to the eeriness.

“Ma’am?” says the farmer, louder to get her attention.

She shakes her head. “Sorry. Yes. I’ll come back for the rest, if you’ll just sit them somewhere off to the side for me.”

“No problem.”

She points. “That’s some scarecrow you have there.”

He turns to look at it, as if he’s forgotten the hulking thing stands constant vigil in his field. “Oh, that’s Marvin,” he says. “We call him ‘the guardian of the patch’. Don’t do much about the birds, but he sure keeps the kids from sneakin’ in and smashin’ ‘em in the night.” Continue reading