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FORTY-FIVE | THE PUMPKIN FAYRE (PART 2)

“Okay,” I laughed, shaking my head in disbelief. “This is incredible.”

The dusky purple twilight, masked by a few thin, grey clouds, shone above the meadow. But the field below was cast into darkness, save for the flickering of a few dim solar lamps stuck into the ground. There were no children up here, and the meadow felt still in the comparative silence.

The sounds of the Fayre carried – we hadn’t walked far – but the atmosphere was starkly different up here. The meadow was teeming with pumpkins, many of which had been carved into, forcing gory, threatening grins and narrowed slits for eyes into their rounded faces. Above, there was a brief buzzing sound, followed by a sudden shock of light. There were great bulbs strung across the meadow, too, it seemed, but as quickly as they’d come on, they shut off again.

The sheer volume of pumpkins was what made the display

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