Max, a curious boy with tousled hair and wide-eyed wonder, wanders along the forest’s edge. He halts, drawn by the odd pumpkin nestled in a bed of damp earth and leaves. Its deep grooves and already-carved, eerie eyes seem to follow him. The air is tinged with the scent of cold moss and woodsmoke, and the sky glows with the last golden rays of the waning sun.
Max sets the pumpkin down, brushing dirt from its rough surface. He studies the uncanny face, wondering who could have carved it so perfectly, yet so strangely. Shadows stretch across the wooden floor; a gentle wind rattles the windowpane. As Max crawls into bed, the pumpkin’s grin seems to widen in the shifting light.
Max is just drifting into sleep when a faint, chilling whisper threads through the stillness. "Let me in..." Heart pounding, Max sits upright, scanning the shadows. The garden beyond his window is empty, and the pumpkin’s eyes gleam with reflected moonlight, unblinking and oddly expectant.
Sleep comes harder to Max as the wind howls through the branches outside. The whisper returns, colder, more urgent. "I’m cold... let me in..." The boy shivers, torn between fear and fascination. He hesitates before finally opening the window, hands trembling, and clutching the heavy pumpkin to his chest.
Max places the pumpkin on his desk, watching as its carved eyes dance with eerie light. Shadows writhe along the walls, and the scent of damp earth fills the air. The whisper grows clearer, almost joyful. "Thank you, Max. Now we can play forever..." The flame pulses, casting long, twisting shapes that seem to beckon him closer.
On the windowsill sits the pumpkin, its grin impossibly wide. Where once empty, its eyes now resemble Max’s—bright, curious, and forever caught in a moment of surprise. Outside, Willowbrook stirs, unaware of the change within. Only the pumpkin smiles, whispering softly to itself, awaiting the next curious soul.
