Emma’s Adventures in Autumnland

Lucretia Stanhope

Emma glanced at the grinning jack-o’-lantern on the sign that read: TWISTED VINES PUMPKIN PATCH PICK YOUR OWN ADVENTURE. Voices and the hum of traffic grated against the beauty of the amber glow from the fading sun, urging her to enter. If nothing else, the patch promised a quiet escape from the ceaseless din.

The air inside the patch was thick with the scent of earth and spice. The kind of aroma that wrapped around you like a woolen scarf, comforting yet suffocating – and a little scratchy. Towering orange gourds and overgrown vines narrowed the desolate path.

“Hello?” she called.

A caw from a raven perched on a pumpkin echoed through the stillness, like a bell ringing in a distant, forgotten tower. It cocked its head, beckoning Emma closer, then took flight, gliding into the depths of the patch.

Drawn by a curiosity she couldn't quite explain, Emma followed, weaving through the pumpkins, which grew larger the deeper she ventured.

Ahead, knotted-together vines blocked the path, forming an archway that writhed and pulsed with a greenish light.

The raven circled back, landing on the arch. It cawed and said, “Do hurry,” before disappearing through the other side.

“Wait.” Emma hesitated briefly before stepping through.

On the other side, the air shimmered like spun sugar in a kaleidoscope of color. A springy carpet of moss squelched under her boots, releasing the aroma of spiced pumpkin. The trees were not trees at all but towering stalks of corn. Their leaves bent toward each other, whispering secrets.

Before her stood a long table, set for a feast.

The raven perched on the back of a chair at the head of the table, watching her with gleaming eyes. “You’re late,” it said before making a clicking sound as close to a tsk as a talking bird could.

Pumpkin dishes covered the table. Pies with crusts that sparkled with sugar. Soups that steamed in hollowed-out pumpkins. Lattes frothing with spice and cream. The rich aroma wrapped around her.

She took a seat. “I didn’t know I was expected.”

The chair beneath her shifted. It wasn’t a chair at all, but a massive pumpkin that had grown to accommodate her.

When she peered back at the table, she noticed the silverware beside her plate was not silver but polished bone. The fork’s prongs curved like talons. The spoon’s bowl was deep and hollowed like a small cauldron.

A lanky scarecrow with a carved pumpkin head emerged from the shadows at the end of the table. Its face flickered with the light of the candle trapped within. It wore a coat of leaves, stitched together with vines. It bowed, movements jerky, like a marionette controlled by unskilled hands. “Welcome, dear guest.” Its voice rustled like dried corn husks. “Please, partake in our humble offerings.”

The raven cawed.

Emma’s hand hovered over a slice of pie. “It smells delicious.”

The spoon beside her trembled, then spoke in an urgent whisper. “Beware, fair traveler. Once you partake, you may never return.”

She pulled her hand back.

The scarecrow’s carved grin widened. “Don’t listen to that old spoon. You’re in the heart of autumn, where all is bounty and celebration. Eat. Drink. What harm could come from indulging in a little pleasure?”

The raven’s eyes glinted with amusement.

Before she could decide, a gnarled, root-like hand emerged from beneath the tablecloth. Its fingers curled around her wrist.

A cat as large and round as a pumpkin, with fur more than black – devoid of color – appeared at her side, glaring at her with eyes like glowing embers. It spoke in a voice like the crunch of dead leaves underfoot. “You’re neither guest nor prisoner. Merely a trespasser in a world that does not belong to you. Taste us. Taste you. It’s all the same.”

Emma pulled her hand free from the vine.

The scarecrow’s grin faltered, its carved eyes narrowing.

The raven ruffled its feathers, its amusement fading.

The scarecrow’s voice grew more insistent. “Eat, drink, and join our eternal feast, or leave and return to your world, empty-handed and unchanged. Empty. Empty.”

Emma stood, her heart pounding against her ribs. She’d been empty. Hungry for something out of reach.

The table, the feast, the entire world around her pulsed with anticipation for her decision. The vines at her feet curled around her ankles, pulling her down.

Her stomach growled, begging her to sit and fill herself with delights. She wrenched her gaze from the irresistible feast.

The archway of vines glowed faintly in the distance.

The cat scratched her wrist. With the leisure only cats possess, it licked its claws. A slow grin pulled too wide for its face, stretching into the swirling sky, all teeth, tongue, and her blood. “Taste you. So empty inside. Taste us.”

Vines wrapped tighter, snaking toward the cut. The soup on the table bubbled and hissed, frothing over the edge of the pumpkin bowl and winding toward Emma, gathering food along the way.

She pried at the vine, ripping herself free. Her chair tumbled, sending her rolling. She scrabbled, crawling as fast as she could with her knees sinking into the pulsing ground. The scent of pumpkin and spices chased her, sizzling against the squishy decaying soil.

The scarecrow’s furious shouts echoed. “Taste us!”

The raven’s caws sharpened. “Taste us!”

The cat purred, still licking its claws.

The portal’s light enveloped Emma, pulling her into the pumpkin patch. She glanced back. There was just a twisted vine lying limply on the ground. The raven was gone. The pumpkin patch was silent and still.

Emma took a deep breath and dragged herself up. Her feet sunk into the path as though the ground beneath her sought to pull her back. The almost-taste of pumpkin spice lingered on the edge of her tongue, a reminder of the world she barely escaped – a world where the line between reality and fantasy was as thin as the skin of a pumpkin, and just as easily pierced.

A Little Magic, a Latte Trouble

Robert Stahl

With his black robe billowing behind him, Malek glided like a wraith through the night, his magic warming him despite the chilly fall air. At the edge of the pumpkin patch, he floated down into the dead brown grass and whispered an illumination spell. The tips of his fingers ignited. Eldritch fire dispelled the darkness. He raised his hands up and called out into the field. “Come forth, Witch!”

In the glowing bubble of light, he saw nothing untoward. A few lonely scarehawgs dotted the landscape. A startled fizzlewisk ducked for cover. In the distance, the kingdom of Barel glowed wanly. Its citizens would be asleep, oblivious to any peril, just as the king preferred. Yet the dark hairs at the base of Malek’s neck stood upright. His nemesis was out there. He could feel it.

He extinguished his light and stopped to regard the pumpkins under his watch. Numbering in the thousands, they glowed like embers in the light of Eclipsia’s twin moons, as if lit by internal luminescence. This year’s harvest had been bountiful. The people of Barel would eat well this winter: pumpkin stew, pumpkin bread, pumpkin ale. Malek must not fail in protecting the patch. The kingdom counted on him.

He returned to the knights. The king had bestowed upon him five brave warriors, clad in gilded, gleaming armor. Despite their toughness, the men were shivering. “Look alive,” Malek said, his breath frosting in the air. “When our guard is down, that is when Negala will strike.”

Ronal lifted his faceplate to glare at the wizard. “Twenty moons now we have stood watch with you and seen neither hat nor broom of this supposed 'witch' of yours.” The captain’s steely gray eyes flashed. “Perhaps your magic has driven you mad?” His men snorted with laughter.

Malek bristled. “In my years of service to the king, my instincts have never been wrong.”

“Yes, we know your theory: the witch possesses a magical elixir, which bends men to her will when added to pumpkin.”

“'Tis no theory. One taste is all it takes. They would kill their own mothers for more.” His mouth watered with the memory on his tongue from many years ago. It was spicy, creamy and transcendent. “With the quantity of pumpkins here, she could enslave the entire – wait. Where is Ustaf?”

“Worry not. He went to relieve himself. Ah, here he comes.”

Amid the clinking of chainmail, a knight emerged from the gloom. “What?” Ustaf said. “Can’t a knight take a piss?”

The men laughed again. Malek’s cheeks reddened, yet he kept his gaze on Ustaf.

Ustaf joined his company with an urgent stride, then he pushed them aside. He stopped in front of the patch. With a defiant air, he plucked a pumpkin from a vine. “So beautiful,” he said, cradling the gourd against his chest like a babe. “Who would notice if one went missing? We could feast, brothers.” Balancing the pumpkin in one hand, he plucked a scabbard from his belt with the other.

“That’s not Ustaf.” Malek reached into the pack at his waist. He retrieved a handful of glittery dust, which he hurled in the knight’s direction. “Reveal yourself, Witch.”

There was a ringing clash and a stab of blinding light. When everyone’s sight returned, Ustaf was gone. A figure with glowing red eyes stood in his place. She wore a milk-white garment of silk, around which a scarlet robe undulated like an unholy cloud. Beneath two spiral horns, an almost angelic face regarded the men. Her very presence radiated power. The knights had faced the fiercest armies on Eclipsia, yet they quaked in terror under her malevolent gaze.

Ronal got them unstuck. “Snap out of it, men. Attack!”

The knights drew their swords and advanced.

Negala turned to face them, fire flashing from her eyes. She snapped her fingers. All at once, the knights dropped dead amid a clatter of armor.

She cackled triumphantly. With her long, elegant fingers she tore into the pumpkin. “At last!”

Mother Eclipsia, guide my aim, Malek prayed. He lifted his hands and gestured in a series of quick motions. The air behind the witch shimmered. A portal opened, glowing with otherworldly light.

Malek turned to face her. “Not on my watch, Witch!” Waves of power coursed through his body, and a bolt of energy shot from his hands. The Witch dropped the pumpkin. She fought to keep her ground. Malek poured more energy into his spell, poured it out until his bones ached and his teeth rattled. “Begone, Enemy. Never disturb this world again.”

Negala flew into the portal and disappeared with a horrible screech.

His knees suddenly jelly, Malek collapsed. Spots danced before his eyes. He gazed down at his hands to find the hands of a man twenty years his senior. The hair tumbling around his head was now as white as Eclipsian snow.

Her attack had taken nearly all he had – it would take him years to recover. Yet he had succeeded.

“The pumpkins are safe, my king,” he muttered, before passing out.
***
In a glass-walled boardroom overlooking downtown Seattle, the CEO turned his attention to the saleswoman. In her commanding red suit, she had immediately enthralled him. It was her eyes. The irises were flecked with fiery, red specks. He could look into them forever. “This is the biggest coffee brand in the world,” he said. “What’s so special about this new flavor of yours?”

She beckoned to the bottle on the conference table. “My spicy brew is one of a kind. Added to the beverages on your menu, people will do anything to get more.” Her fiery gaze locked with his. “Anything.”

The CEO smiled. “All those repeat customers. We’ll make millions.”

“Think of how powerful you’ll become.” She closed the distance between them.

“Where did you say you were from, Miss…”

The woman grinned wryly. “I didn’t.”

The CEO shrugged. “Got a name for this stuff?”

“How about simply, ‘Pumpkin Spice?’” Her eyes sparkled red. “Interested?”