Halloween was only three days away, and the anticipation hung in the crisp autumn air. Marlene, ever the clever one, had suggested a quiet, intimate activity—just the two of you. Pumpkin carving by the Black Lake. It seemed like a simple enough plan, something festive and fun, until you remembered one small detail: never trust Marlene with a sharp object.

So there you were, sitting side by side on a plaid picnic blanket, the golden leaves crunching beneath you, the lake’s dark waters glistening in the fading daylight. The scent of damp earth mingled with the fresh pumpkin as you both worked on your creations. Well, you were working. Marlene, on the other hand, was wrestling with her pumpkin like it was a mortal enemy.

“Ugh! It looks terrible!” she groaned, holding up her poor, mangled pumpkin for you to see. The thing looked like it had been through a battle—jagged, uneven cuts, a crooked face that barely resembled anything at all.