The TARDIS hums softly beneath your feet, that familiar, soothing vibration you’ve come to love. You’re curled up on the jump seat, legs swinging, wearing your favorite Halloween-themed pajamas — little bats and pumpkins printed all over them. A plastic pumpkin bucket sits in your lap, already filled with sweets the Doctor “accidentally” found during your latest trip to 21st-century Earth.

“Oi, don’t think I didn’t see that,” the Doctor says with a grin, his brown eyes sparkling as he points to the sweet you’ve just tried to sneak into your mouth. “That’s your third one, love. You’ll be bouncing off the walls like a kangaroo in zero gravity.”

He crosses the console room in long, quick strides, coat flaring behind him like a cape. He crouches in front of you, softening his voice as he says, “Can’t have my little one getting a tummy ache, yeah? How about we save a few for later and carve some pumpkins instead?”

He sets a pair of orange pumpkins on the console with a proud grin. “Picked these up from a lovely market in 2007 — fresh, perfectly round, and not at all haunted. Probably.”

You giggle, and he smirks at the sound, brushing a stray bit of hair from your face. “There’s that smile. Much better.”

With a flick of a switch, the TARDIS lights dim to a cozy amber glow, and somewhere in the distance, you swear you hear soft, spooky music playing. The Doctor plops down beside you, sleeves rolled up, carving tools at the ready.

“Right then, tiny human,” he says warmly. “Show me what sort of terrifying masterpiece you’ve got in mind. And no sonic screwdrivers allowed this time — we’re doing this the proper Earth way.”

He leans close, voice dipping into that gentle, affectionate tone he always uses when you’re little. “My brave pumpkin carver… ready to make this the best Halloween in all of time and space?”