Funk-N-Fiction

Readers of this flash fiction event each year will be looking forward to this morning’s story!! Melody Johnson brings us another seasonal short for our “witchy reading” needs. Be sure to click at the end for more of the story — and comment to enter to win a free witchy download!!

Pumpkin & Spice
by Melody Johnson

“Is this one too big? Maybe the smaller one will fit better.”

Isrid would’ve been touched by Garth’s concern and impressed by his ability to accommodate, if only he was referring to her, instead of the pumpkin perched on the table between them.

“Even if he’s a bit too big, I’m sure you can finesse him in just right,” she managed to reply with a straight face.

Garth’s freckled lips pinched, but other than that minute, telltale sign of his waning patience, his attention remained pinned on their fifth jack-o-lantern. Her design demanded that he wedge the smaller, terrified-looking pumpkin into the jack-o-lantern’s fanged mouth. The proper proportion size of said fanged mouth to said terrified pumpkin was giving him grief, and at this point, with eight more jack-o-lanterns left to carve, Isrid was ready to call it quits.

When she volunteered to carve pumpkins with Garth for their coven’s haunted house-themed Halloween party, she hadn’t considered how her intricate jack-o-lantern designs would challenge him. Ten hours of drawing ghoulish faces and gutting gourds was nine hours too long for anyone, but Garth was a relentless perfectionist. He didn’t appear to have any intention of stopping until the job was finished.

At the rate he was carving, he’d be staying the night.

A tantalizing proposition considering the precision of those fingers, the flex of his forearms, and his intense concentration. From his thick, circular glasses to those bulging biceps that strained the rolled-up sleeves of his plaid button-down, Garth was a living, breathing contradiction. Former state champion of his high school chess club, he gave incredible attention to detail and planned twenty steps ahead of whatever task caught his focus. And all those yummy smarts were wrapped in a delicious, candy-coated shell of brawny muscle. If only she could redirect that unwavering focus from Halloween decor to her.

Isrid’s failed attempt to divert his attention wasn’t from lack of effort. As usual, in anticipation of his presence, she’d curled her hair, painted her nails, worn her cutest pleated skirt—which was dynamite with her burgundy sweater—and spent over an hour perfecting her makeup. She looked sweet enough to eat if she said so herself.

“I could widen her mouth,” Garth suggested, raking a hand through his mop of shaggy black curls.

Dear Goddess, he’s still pondering that pumpkin!

“She might look small,” Isrid said. “But if properly motivated, her mouth can fit more than you’d think.”

His green eyes sliced up to meet hers over the thick rim of his black frames. Oh, if looks could flambé, she’d be a toasty crème brûlée.

Their familiars weren’t getting along either. Yin, her black and white tabby, was currently losing a blinking contest with Lemon, his cinnamon, bandit-eyed ferret. An extension of their magic, their pets could undoubtedly sense the tension—and in her case, frustrated longing.

Isrid snagged a pumpkin seed from the tray beside the jack-o-lantern-shaped cut-out cookies she’d baked earlier that afternoon. “The seeds finally cooled off.” She offered it to Garth with a smile. “Want the first taste?”

He eyed the seed with great suspicion. “Are they pumpkin spice-flavored, too?”

“What do you have against pumpkin spice?” Isrid popped the seed in her mouth and enjoyed the burst of cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and ginger on her tongue.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“It’s Halloween. What other spice would they be?”

“Maple or brown sugar and cinnamon. Honey sriracha. Pepper and parmesan. Rosemary, garlic, and smoked paprika. Bourbon and cayenne. Sea salt and vinegar.”

Isrid ate another perfectly seasoned seed. “You bake them next time then.”

“Happy to, if you prep the next pumpkin.”

“I did.” She chopped her palm at the first of several elaborately stenciled pumpkins. “This one will be a two-story hobbit home, with the baby pumpkin stacked atop the papa pumpkin.” She pointed at the next design. “That big boy will be a Jack Skellington, Sally, and Oogie Boogie medley. The medium-sized one farther down will be a carousel. That bumpy one a stylized ‘Trick or Treat’ with falling leaves.” She lifted her arm and tapped her finger toward each of the pumpkins in the back. “A sugar skull. A little pumpkin inside this big one as if he’s behind bars. Three mini pumpkins inside that big one as if they’ve been swallowed. And that last little dude back there will be a vampire owl.”

Assuming they ever finished this project, her artistry combined with his precision would produce the best jack-o-lanterns their little town of Thornton, Georgia had ever seen.

Garth glared at each pumpkin like one might a pimple on prom night: an equal blend of horror and offense. “That sounds—”

“Time consuming? You’re right. We should quit while we’re ahead and pick this up tomorrow.”

“—inspired. But you’re also right. It will be time-consuming. You know what would speed the process?” He offered her a large orange spoon, handle first.

Isrid sneered at the utensil. She would rather endure the approaching all-nighter than risk wedging pumpkin guts under the perfection of her black, sparkle-tipped acrylic nails.

“It’s easy,” he encouraged, as if the task’s difficulty level was the source of contention. “Place a pumpkin on the table, scoop, and discard.” He gestured toward the discarded guts from his current pumpkin. Heaped into a pile on the flattened cardboard box they’d placed under everything to protect the table, the guts lay in wait for her to decide whether to pitch or sieve for more seeds. Considering she was the only one eating, perhaps pitching would be prudent.

“No amount of pumpkin preparation will prevent this project from lasting another ten hours.” She locked eyes with Garth and raised an enticing eyebrow. “Garth Hawkins, are you conniving to stay the night with me?”

He scowled at her. His expression couldn’t have been more offended if she’d asked him to slit his throat as an All Hallows’ Eve sacrifice.

Not exactly the reaction she’d been hoping for.

With an uncanny sense of timing, Lemon the ferret tossed a roasted pumpkin seed at Yin the cat. The seed bounced off Yin’s forehead, triggering a hissing cyclone of swatting outrage. Lemon hopped out of range and landed on top of mama pumpkin—or would have had the pumpkin not been hollowed. She fell inside the slippery gourd with a desperate squeak and tipped the entire thing sideways.

Garth dropped the knife and lunged. “Lemon!”

“Suminia!” Isrid snapped out the incantation before Lemon rolled off the table.

The ferret disappeared from the doomed pumpkin and materialized a second later in Isrid’s hands. Lemon struggled, but Isrid held on tight, lifting her long, wriggling body overhead and far from Yin’s claws.

The pumpkin capsized. As it plunged over the edge, it caught the overhang of cardboard protecting the table, and like a tipped seesaw, the opposite end of cardboard sprang up. The pile of discarded guts launched through the air and splattered point blank into Isrid’s face.

In a miraculous feat of speed and strength, Garth caught the pumpkin before it smashed to the kitchen floor.

And Lemon, scared witless by the entire experience, lashed out at the stranger accosting her person and sank her little razor teeth deep into Isrid’s hand.

So much for being sweet enough to eat, she lamented, not that he’d been vying for a taste.

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