Crimson Descent

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In the town of Hollowbrook, Halloween was not just a celebration—it was a reckoning. For centuries, legends whispered of the Pumpkin King, a figure both feared and revered. Children would carve their pumpkins and hang lanterns not merely for decoration, but as offerings, hoping the glowing faces would keep him at bay. For those who were kind and good-hearted, Halloween night was a time of treats and wonder. But for the wicked, the night held darker promises.

On this particular Halloween, as the air grew colder and the skies swirled with the dark hues of twilight, the story of the Pumpkin King became more than just an old tale. Something stirred beneath the soil of the town’s oldest pumpkin patch. The sun dipped below the horizon, and a low rumble came from the ground as vines began to shift.

That night, three children—Emily, Sam, and Marcus—wandered the town in their costumes, their candy bags heavy with treats. Emily, dressed as a witch, was the leader, brave and smart. Sam, her younger brother, wore a skeleton costume, and Marcus, the troublemaker, wore a pirate’s outfit. As they walked, Marcus kept bragging about how he had stolen candy from smaller kids earlier in the evening. Emily scolded him, but he just shrugged. "What’s Halloween without a little trickery?"

The air around them began to thicken with mist as they neared the edge of town, where the old pumpkin patch lay, overgrown and neglected. The pumpkins there were twisted and rotten, their vines coiling like serpents. A shiver ran down Emily’s spine. “We shouldn’t go any farther,” she whispered. But Marcus, with a mischievous grin, kept walking. “Come on! Don’t be such a scaredy-cat. There’s no such thing as the Pumpkin King.”

Suddenly, the ground trembled beneath their feet, and the wind picked up, howling through the trees. The sky seemed to darken unnaturally fast, and the pumpkins in the patch glowed faintly with an eerie, orange light. The air smelled of earth, decay, and something else—something ancient.

From the center of the patch, something massive began to rise. A figure formed out of the shadows and vines, towering over them. His head was a giant jack-o'-lantern, carved with a twisted, sinister grin. His body was made of thick, gnarled roots and vines, and his glowing eyes flickered with fire. The Pumpkin King had awakened.

The three children froze in terror. The Pumpkin King’s voice rumbled, deep and ancient, echoing through the night. “Trick… or treat?”

Marcus, trying to be brave, stepped forward. “It’s just a costume. You can’t scare me.” But the Pumpkin King’s grin widened, and his eyes glowed brighter. He reached out a long, vine-covered hand toward Marcus. The boy tried to run, but the vines from the ground snaked up and wrapped around his ankles, pulling him back.

The Pumpkin King loomed closer, his voice soft yet terrifying. “I smell mischief on you, boy. You’ve played your tricks, but now it’s time for mine.”

With a flick of his wrist, the Pumpkin King opened his sack—a dark, swirling void of shadows and whispers. The air around them grew colder as the sack seemed to pull in the light, absorbing everything around it. Marcus screamed, but it was too late. The vines dragged him into the sack, his voice echoing into the depths until it was swallowed whole.

Emily and Sam stood paralyzed with fear, but the Pumpkin King turned his gaze toward them, his glowing eyes softening. “Good children need not fear,” he said, his voice now almost comforting. “Your hearts are kind, your hands clean. Tonight, you are safe.”

With that, the Pumpkin King turned and began to sink back into the earth, his sack now quiet. The pumpkins in the patch flickered one last time before their light dimmed. As the figure disappeared, the mist began to clear, and the normal sounds of Halloween night returned.

Emily and Sam stood in stunned silence. Marcus was gone, swallowed by the shadows, and the legend of the Pumpkin King had become terrifyingly real.

From that night on, the children of Hollowbrook never doubted the story. Every Halloween, the wicked feared the Pumpkin King’s judgment, while the good were rewarded with magic and wonder. For the Pumpkin King was not a villain, but a guardian of balance—a creature of fright, but also of fairness. And every Halloween, the town remembered: Trick or treat, the Pumpkin King shall decide your fate.

And somewhere in the night, a distant, eerie laugh echoed through the pumpkin fields, reminding them all that the Pumpkin King was always watching.