[ TT ] You carve a pumpkin one day and the object you carved comes to life .

Deep, careful curves, a deft hand twisting and turning, scattering flesh this way and that. The knife, an extension of the body, as powerful a tool as a mallet to a craftsman, a hammer to a blacksmith and a sword to a soldier. Beauty. The very essence of art in the shape of a pumpkin. 
 
 If only. 
 
 Rachel had n't carved a pumpkin in years. Not since she lived back home, close to her family, close to her friends. Even back then, she was n't very good at it, but she loved trying. In truth, she did n't choose the pumpkin very well either; speckled with those blotchy, black marks that they sometimes get, tilting backwards to make carving an almost dangerous endeavour, and a slight discolouration of green mixed in with the orange. It's looks were just about as appealing as a night in doing a child's activity on your own listening to `` Monster Mash'' on a loop, but nevertheless, it was what was available. She missed those days as a kid. 
 
 *'' I was working in the lab, late one night...'' * the speakers droned as she glanced at her work. Two eyes, lopsided, and a toothy grin missing a few teeth, not by design but by a careless slip of her hand. 
 
 She remembered she had some leftover chilli. Deep in the back of the fridge, despite not having much else in there. The glorious feast of a single woman, all grown up and living the life. Rachel missed the homemade meals. 
 
 *'' When my eyes beheld an eerie sight''... * 
 
 There came a voice. `` Chilli is not meant to be a leftover meal. Great the first time, but upon the second attempt it's all... soggy.'' The shock of it caused her to bang her head on the roof of the refrigerator. 
 
 She had that sinking feeling of redness in her face and a weight in her chest. That feeling that you know *should* be a fight or flight response, but instead replaced by a simple absence of either. Just a stillness. A stiffness. A back straightening, hands not up to defend oneself but frozen by her sides. A shot up the spine that raises the neck so quickly at another time one would be worried about whiplash. Who could blame her, though? There was a voice in the house, and it was not her own. Unless, that is, she was sorely mistaken about the lyrics of Bobby Pickett's classic and it did indeed include a comment about the quality of second-go-round chilli. Unfortunately, that was doubtful. 
 
 *'' For my monster from his slab, began to rise...'' * 
 
 `` Now now, do n't be too surprised. It's not all bad. I'm realizing the voice I've been gifted has a deep, wise kind of emotion to it. Like if Morgan Freemon died and was reincarnated as a pumpkin.'' It was then she noticed that yes, indeed, the pumpkin was speaking with her. That was the first realization. The second was that that's a terrifying occurrence. The third was that the pumpkin's grin was now shifting up and down, as a person would while speaking. The fourth was a distant, less important one, but she nevertheless noticed that the pumpkin did, after all, sound remarkably like Morgan Freemon. `` Now, if you so please, could you un-slack your jaw and turn off this repulsive song. While I'll admit that it's oddly fitting, you're a grown woman who lives alone. There's no place for it.'' Her fourth realization was that he was somewhat sassy, much the same way a grandfather is when he chastises the youth at a family function. To be fair, that thought was about as far in the back of her mind as it could be. Realization number one - that the pumpkin was actively having a discussion with her - was at the tip of her mind's spear. 
 
 Gathering her wits, she turned off `` Monster Mash''. Head still beating and face still red, she calmed her nerves and walked to the pumpkin that had undoubtedly held a tape recorder or a microphone or *something* that would provide an explanation and pulled off the loosely fitting cap in which she carved out the insides from. 
 
 The pumpkin's voice went from a steady softness to an indignant roar. `` Excuse me, young lady, but where are your manners? I know it's polite to remove one's cap in the presence of a woman, but that one is a part of me and I've grown quite attached to it.'' Where the fight or flight was missing before, she had found it most decidedly in propelling herself across the room and lying sprawled out against the wall. 
 
 Finally, she gathered the courage to speak. `` What the hell?!'' was what came out. Better than nothing, but not much better. 
 
 `` Oh, if only I knew. I just appeared here. Little more than that.'' The thinner pieces of teeth, accidentally shaved too thin during the carving, flapped lightly as it spoke. It's eyes could n't move but still seemed to stare directly into hers. 
 
 `` That's it? You just appeared here, and...'' she stumbled, aghast. Understandably aghast, but that mattered little. 
 
 `` Yes, I just'appeared here.' Is that what your parents said when you fell out of the womb?'' His response made her feel foolish for having asked it, but she was n't sure why. `` If you do n't question the very nature of your existence, why should I? I'm ugly as sin, made from a sloppy hand, but I do n't blame you,'' although his tone made it sound as if he did, `` the same way that you do not curse the heavens for your rather unflattering nose.'' 
 
 `` Fair point, I guess,'' she replied, hand unconsciously creeping up to her face. 
 
 `` Now, answer me this...'' her eyes bulged slightly, as the fact that a pumpkin had begun speaking to her was surprising enough but the idea that it was the one asking the questions shocked her further. `` Why is it that you're a thirty-year-old woman-'' 
 
 `` Twenty-nine.'' She replied defensively. 
 
 `` Very well, but almost thirty. Why is it that... a woman of your age, we shall say... is alone in her apartment, listening to'Monster Mash', carving a pumpkin alone? To show it to your friends, or your family, that you've moved away from?'' She could n't tell if it was bringing to light a valid argument or if she was falling under the sway of the smooth, reassuring Morgan Freemon-like voice. 
 
 `` I needed to come here. I work here.'' The absurdity of arguing with a pumpkin dulled itself for the time being when she had to defend her most important of life choices. `` They offered me a better position-'' 
 
 `` To what?'' 
 
 `` To improve my-'' 
 
 `` Leftover chilli. No life improvements come from reheated, leftover, microwaved chilli.'' 
 
 There was a pause. Perhaps the pumpkin thought it had gone too far in its judgements. Perhaps it was waiting a moment to let the thought sink in. Perhaps she had lost her mind entirely, and it was no longer capable of coming up with more advice from an overgrown orange plant. 
 
 `` Take a look at the sunset,'' it said. `` It's beautiful. It's what will eventually kill me, having me wilt away, but it's beautiful. It would be that much greater if you had someone to share it with. Instead, you're here. At the very least, I have my mother to share this sunset with me. I'd say that after ten minutes of being alive, I have more value in my life than yours.'' 
 
 The shock was wearing. She pulled herself up from the floor and lifted the pumpkin, bringing it to the couch to sit and watch the sunset together through the window. She thought about her choices, what was right and what was wrong, what she missed and what she did n't. 
 
 A while later, she asked again. `` Why are you here? Why now?'' 
 
 `` I could n't tell you. But if I had to guess...'' She believed the pumpkin was thinking, but without a functioning brow it was difficult to guess. `` It's because it's almost Halloween.'' 
 
 `` And?'' 
 
 `` Why did you make me, Rachel?'' 
 
 `` Because it reminded me of a kid. It's fun, I guess,'' she said softly, trailing off on the last few words. 
 
 `` You ca n't go back to being a kid. But you can go back to what made you happy then. What makes people whole. I wo n't have many more of these sunsets left, so you'll have to find someone else to take over for me. Who do you want that to be?'' 
 
 They sat in silence for a while, taking in the view, watching the sunset and the passing planes.
