Speaker 1: Kids. Do you have a spooky story to tell? If so,
we'd love to hear it. Fact or fiction. Send your
story to micro terrors at gmail dot com to have
it narrated on the micro Terrors podcast, posted on micro
terrors dot com, and published in a future micro Terrors
anthology book. Visit micro terrrist dot com and click on
the listener Terrors tab for more information and to submit
your scary story. Welcome to micro Terrors, Scary stories for kids,
where it's always the spooky season, full of chills, thrills,
and spine tingling spooks. Micro Terrors are family friendly frights
for those ages eight and up, and while our stories
are for younger years, we are still talking about things
that go bump in the night, and some children may
not be able to handle what others can. Parental consent
is recommended now fort to nights micro Terror.
Speaker 2: Pumpkin Slice written by Scott Donnelly. Fergus Burton loved Talloween.
He loved everything about it and everything about the season.
It fell in the crisp autumn air, the scent of
burning leaves, trick or treating, monster movies. It always filled
him with a sense of comfort and elation. The season
for him was nothing short of magical, But this year
Halloween had a different feel attached to it. Whatever it was,
Fergus couldn't quite put his finger on it. The feeling
started when he and his parents went to the Rustic
Roots farm market. Mister Burton, Fergus's dad, had a tradition
of picking the largest pumpkin he could find and carving
something spectacularly memorable into it. This year, the pumpkin patch
at Rustic Roots seemed a little less inviting and a
little more daunting. All of the pumpkins were abnormally large,
and their gnarled vines sprouted out of their stems like
over long, spindly fingers. Among the pumpkins, one particularly monstrous
one caught Fergus's eye. Its rind was such a dark
orange that it borderlined on blood red. Let's get this one,
Fergus exclaimed, impressed by the size and abnormal coloring. His
dad agreed, but struggled to lift the pump in on
his own, almost mistaking its unnatural weight as a thought
out resistance tactic. But mister Burton was determined, and with
the help of his family, they were able to successfully
get the pumpkin off the ground and all the way home.
When the sun set, mister Burton began carving. He thrust
the knife into the pumpkin's thick skin. A low, almost
inaudible whisper emanated from the pumpkin, but mister Burton hadn't noticed.
He continued to carve, but each cut felt harder than
the one before it, and it was wearing him out quickly.
Oh this stupid thing is looking for a fight, he grunted,
throwing the knife down and catching his breath. He turned
to Fergus, who sat at the kitchen table next to him.
Want to take a stab at it? He asked his son,
with a wink that put emphasis on his predictable joke.
Fergus hesitated as an uneasy feeling swam invisibly in the
air around them. Everything felt, and the barely audible whispers
coming from the pumpkin finally caught Fergus's ear, although he
thought the sounds were maybe just coming from a scary
movie as mom was watching on TV in the other room. Reluctantly,
Fergus picked the knife up from the table With a sudden,
conjured force, he drove the blade through the pumpkin's blood
red skin and carved through it with ease. His dad
sat back and watched in disbelief as his son sliced
through the pumpkin like soft butter. Fergus continued his work
until he was done. Then he lay the knife back
down on the table, the blood decorated with a stringy
red pulp. Fergus sat back and admired the face he
had carved. It was grotesque, with a wicked grin. It
was far scarier than he intended it to be. It
was like some outside force lent its unsolicited assistance. As
Fergus looked into the foul face of his creation, a
chill ran through him. At once. He stood from his
chair and quickly retreated from the room. His dad remained
at the table, unable to remove his gaze from the
weird and freaky face his son had carved. That night,
as a cold autumn zephyr blew outside and owls hooted
from the woods nearby, Fergus dreamed. He dreamed nightmares about
twisted vines constricting him like snakes and pulling him into
inescapable darkness. He woke up with a start, a cold
sweat sheathing his entire body. He was convinced he heard
whispers outside his window. Sitting up on the edge of
his bed, Fergus gathered his courage as the whispers grew louder,
before walking over to the window, pulling back the curtains.
He looked out and down to the porch, where he
saw the blood red pumpkin and its hideously carved face
glowing menacingly in the luster of the full moon. Fergus
closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. The
pumpkin was making him nervous and edgy. He turned around
and returned to his bed, hoping to keep the vine
wrapping nightmares at bay. He fell asleep. When the sun
rose on Halloween Day, Fergus's dad found their front yard
in shambles. The garden was in disarray, flowers and plants
uprooted and scattered about. The white picket fence that bordered
their yard was knocked down and broken. The windows on
their mini van were cracked and looked like spiderwebs. It
appeared as if something had run amok during the night.
It's those darn raccoons again, mister Burton exclaimed, or the
neighborhood cats, or maybe, he thought, while stroking his chin,
we're looking at a team up situation here, raccoons and
cats working together. Missus Burton questioned her husband's logic. His
dad could blame the raccoons and cats all he wanted,
but in the pit of his stomach, Fergus knew it
wasn't them. He could still hear the haunting whispers on
the breeze. Halloween night finally arrived, and for the first
time in his life, Fergus wasn't excited. He couldn't shake
the dreadful feeling that he'd been building ever since they
picked the pumpkin at the Rustic Roots farm market with
the trick of Treaters came by, all dressed like ghouls, superheroes,
and princesses. Some admired the scary looking red pumpkin on
their porch, while others refused to come near it. Fergus
didn't blame them, so it's definitely not just me, he
thought to himself, each time a small child halted at
the sight of it before fleeing. As the night continued on,
the barely audible whispers grew louder for Fergus, almost forming
full words and sentences at times, even though he couldn't
decipher their meanings or the words actually being used. Mister
Burton stood on the porch by the pumpkin, sneering at it.
This stupid pumpkin, he grumbled, first, it won't let me
carve it. That it scares away half of our trigger traders.
He turned to Fergus, who stood quietly in the doorway.
Fergus could tell his dad was frustrated and still a
little off put by how he wasn't able to carve
through the pumpkin as easily. Fergus, unable to explain how
that was possible, just shrugged.
Speaker 1: Well.
Speaker 2: His dad loudly continued, I think it's kind of creepy.
This whole thing is creepy. With one hard kick, mister
Burton launched the pumpkin off the porch and it smashed
on the ground in a sticky, pulpy mess. Fergus's lip
trembled as he watched the pumpkin explode on the ground.
Deep down, he knew his dad had made a grave mistake. Then,
confirming Fergus's fear, a dark mist seeped out from the
pumpkin's gooey remains, slivered up onto the porch and coiled
around mister Burton's legs. His dad froze, his eyes widened
in horror. The mist transformed right in front of him,
manifesting itself into a tall, dark, shadowy figure with red,
glowing eyes shaped like angry triangles, and a jagged mouth
that leaked a flowing red mist. You have disrespected us,
pumpkins for the last time, the evil shadowy spirit wheezed.
Year after year, you slice us up, burn us, and
then let us rot.
Speaker 1: Now you will pay.
Speaker 2: Gnarled vines irerupted from the smashed remains of the pumpkin,
wrapping around mister Burton and dragging him toward it. Mister
Burton screamed, pleading for help, but Fergus just stood in
the doorway and watched his dad get pulled down into
the earth. He wanted to scream, but the shock of
what he had just witnessed was enough to keep his
screams at bay. The shadowy Spirit then vanished, leaving only
a lingering echo of its vengeful whispers in the dying
Halloween night. Thank you for listening to micro Terrors. Join
us each Saturday for another scary story. For more fun
visit our website at microterrors dot com, where you can
get the latest micro Terrors news, read fun facts about
each story, sign up for our monthly newsletter, and even
send in your own scary story for us to tell. Plus,
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