I’m not ready to die! I cry out in my mind—to God, the universe, my foremothers, or All Hallows’ spirits; I can’t be sure. Everything that has previously existed in my life has narrowed down to one imperative goal: survive. Heart set on home, I push myself until my lungs are burning and a pain flares in my side, stealing the breath from me. I gasp out in pain, my hand finding the confluence of my hip. A fucking stitch! You’ve got to be kidding me. Not. Now!

But in the next second, the stitch is the least of my problems. Something catches my boot, and suddenly I’m airborne. A scream rips from my throat as I fly for what seems like forever. I hit the sodden ground hard and shriek as pain radiates through me from my chest. My ankle feels like it’s at entirely the wrong angle.

“Fuck!” I sob, drawing myself up onto my knees. Reaching out for something, anything, with which to support myself, I find a large crooked stick. Gritting my teeth, I mutter a string of profanities under my breath as I clutch it with both hands, pulling myself up by sheer force of will. A low growl rumbles behind me, and I forget how to breathe. This is it. This is where I make my stand. This is where I die—in the woods on Halloween. Fucking perfect. A ridiculously nervous, bordering on maniacal laugh escapes me as I turn to face the wolf.

“All right, bitch,” I say, raising the stick like a baseball bat. “Let’s do this. If I’m going to die, you’re going to be chewing on my fat ass with one mother fucker of a headache!”

The wolf growls again, baring its fangs in a vicious snarl of warning.

“Come on!” I goad. “What are you waiting for?”

The wolf lowers its head, pawing at the earth as it gets ready to launch.

No. Fuck you! And then, committing my weight to the swing, I lash out first, bringing the stick around in a wide arc. I catch the side of the wolf’s face, and it seems as though the moment plays out in slow motion. I see the wolf’s flesh ripple with the impact of my blow, and its nose scrunch as the force knocks its head to the side—causing it to stumble and yelp.

“Come on! Is that all you’ve got? Where are your friends?” I shout, trying to ignore the searing pain in my ankle. I gingerly put weight on it, struggling to keep my balance. The wolf growls again, and its pack stalks from the darkness. “All right, now this is a party!” I scream at them, gripping the stick tight. If I’m going down, I’m going down swinging!

The wolves’ golden eyes glimmer in the moonlight like jewels. They’re such beautiful beasts. If only they weren’t trying to eat me… A brisk breeze ruffles my hair, and the air behind me chills so suddenly, and unexpectedly, that it feels like some cruel trickster has snuck up on me and tipped a bucket of ice-water down my spine. I freeze in place as the wolves whine. One after the other, they back-step, their glittering eyes focused somewhere behind me. Then the wolves flee as one, turning on their heels, deciding that I’m not worth standing up to whomever—or whatever—lurks at my back, bringing the chill of the grave with it.

Trembling, I will myself to turn and face my unexpected savior. Or is it damnation? Agonizingly slowly I find the courage to pivot around. Eyes on the ground, my gaze travels up a weathered black trench coat which whispers eerily in the mist as if it’s alive, like sentient, breathing shadows. I swallow the bile that creeps up my throat, daring to look higher still.

An imposing figure reveals broad shoulders, and upon those intimidating shoulders sits a pumpkin—a jack-O-lantern to be exact. With the most menacing, soul-sapping, sharp-toothed grin, and angled, hollowed-out eyes that burn not with the innocent flames of tea-light candles, but with the fucking fires of Hell. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound escapes. Not even a squeak. My lips move, but my lungs fail me.

The jack-O-lantern opens its coat with long, green, provocatively clawed fingers to reveal an equally moss-green body; the body of a man, but not. My unblinking gaze trails down solid pecs to find a ridiculously ripped set of abs … and then… Sweet mother of God! This abomination is packing the biggest, thickest cock I’ve ever seen. It must be twelve inches! And it’s green, too!

I can’t do anything but stare, immobile as the monster steps closer, its blazing eyes dancing with a terrifying intelligence. I gasp as a leafy vine creeps out from under his trench coat, trailing over the moist earth. Its delicate tendrils twist around my ankle, wrapping it up like a bandage of green gauze; then they tighten, and a cry bursts out of me at the sharp but fleeting pain that follows. I watch with rapt fascination as the vines uncoil, releasing my leg, only to disappear back beneath the jack-O-lantern’s coat of darkness.

I instinctively twitch my ankle, then gasp, glancing up at the towering monster before testing my weight on it. “It doesn’t hurt,” I whisper in awe. “You fixed it?”

The jack-O-lantern tilts its pumpkin head the way a curious cat might, as if it wants to communicate.

“Thank you,” I stammer, raising my voice above a whisper. “You saved me from those wolves, and now you’ve re-set my foot.” I lick my lips nervously when no conversation is forthcoming. “Can you speak?”

The monster shakes its head slowly from side to side, never taking its burning eyes from me. It watches me for a time. Then another tendril snakes out, writhing toward me to seize my wrist, tightening just enough to hurt. It tugs, drawing me nearer and nearer. I stumble forward, eyes wide, my heart in my throat as the living pumpkin vines pull my gloved hand toward its monstrous, green, dark-veined cock.