[ WP ] Turning your girlfriend into a pumpkin was the last straw . Your wizard house-guest has DEFINITELY overstayed his welcome .

There were several things wrong with this situation. First of all, Halloweenie was in my bedroom. Second of all, he was holding a carving knife up to a pumpkin. Third of all, the pumpkin was *screaming*. 
 
 `` What are you doing?'' I snatched the pumpkin away from him and cradled it in my arms. The wailing abated, replaced with muffled sobs. They sounded vaguely familiar. 
 
 `` This pumpkin has no mouth!'' Halloweenie shook his knife with exasperation. `` It desires release only I can provide.'' 
 
 `` Why was it screaming? What are you even doing in my room? Where did Erin go?'' I glanced between the disheveled bed and Halloweenie's glowing wand. Fury began welling up inside me as my brain made the connection. `` Why?'' 
 
 Halloweenie shrugged. `` Look, you know the feeling: you're walking down the street, you see a perfect molded figurine of a person—'' He traced the outline of a deformed hourglass with his chubby hands. `` —and you get the urge to, y'know, use their body as a sculpting block.'' 
 
 I shook my head, agape. `` No?'' 
 
 `` Well, you are n't really the intellectual type, I guess.'' Halloweenie thumbed his chin. `` What about this: you ever get the urge to go up and punch a guy in the face, just to see what would happen?'' 
 
 His pudgy nose was looking like a really tempting target right about now. I clenched my fists and took a deep breath. `` What's your point?'' 
 
 `` Well, sometimes you just get the urge to turn a girl into a pumpkin.'' 
 
 `` Sometimes'' was more like `` all the time.'' It was the middle of summer, but Halloween was a year-long celebration for Halloweenie. During his week here, he had reanimated corpses in my living room, dumped some skeletons in my closet, and turned my dog into a werehuman. Enough was enough. 
 
 `` I do n't care about your urges. You need to learn some impulse control like the rest of us.'' I set down the pumpkin on the floor between us. `` Now change her back.'' 
 
 `` Well, you told me I should manage my impulses better.'' Halloweenie adjusted his glasses with the tip of his wand. `` So I'll have to think about it.'' 
 
 `` Change her back, or I'm kicking you out.'' The words exploded from my mouth in an uncontrollable bark. This was not an ultimatum I could enforce; Halloweenie could just turn me into a pumpkin if he so pleased. Still, it was a fate preferable to one as a doormat. 
 
 `` Come on, lighten up.'' He offered me a sheepish smile: it was apologetic only in appearance. `` Ca n't you at least appreciate the artistic merit of all this?'' He stretched his arms out, and cobwebs began to spread across my ceiling. 
 
 `` Okay. Do n't change her back then. Just get out.'' I stormed over to the door and thrust it open, motioning for him to leave. `` I'll find some wizard who's not a Halloween-obsessed freak and have them undo your creepy magic.'' 
 
 Halloweenie's composure seemed to shatter at that remark. A film of water glistened in his eyes before he blinked it away. `` Fine,'' he said, his voice cracking. He waved his wand, and a plume of smoke erupted from the floor. When it cleared, he was gone, as was the pumpkin, and Erin was back. She ran over to me and buried her head in my chest, forcing my neck upwards. The cobwebs were still there. Fucker. 
 
 `` Oh, thank goodness you got rid of him,'' she said, digging her fingernails into my back. `` Being a pumpkin was... just...'' 
 
 `` It's okay. He's gone for good now.'' I began to rub Erin's back, but she suddenly wrenched away from me. 
 
 `` It's too late,'' she said, sinking to her knees, `` I was a pumpkin for too long.'' 
 
 `` What?'' 
 
 `` You need to bring him back.'' Erin sobbed into the floor. `` I ca n't live as a human anymore. You need to tell Halloweenie to change me back into a pumpkin.'' 
 
 Dread crept into my stomach as I joined Erin on the floor, brushing her hair away from her cheek. `` Pumpkin... I mean, Erin. No. What are you talking about?'' That fucker would pay. I'd stick a razor in his candied apple. I'd carve a Jack O'Lantern into his face. 
 
 As I stroked Erin's face, something scratched me. I slid my finger along her cheek, tracing the path of the sensation. It was a seam. I gripped it and pulled: her entire face tore away to reveal a layer of wizened skin underneath. The impostor turned to look at me, and I found myself face-to-face with my least favorite wizard. He took the discarded mask and held it out in front of me like a pouch. 
 
 `` Trick or treat!''
