This is for Sonya’s Three Line Tales photo prompt. I think I might have mentioned already, I don’t get pumpkins.
Photo © Shaun Holloway
When the blinding light lessened, we watched in horror as the excrescence that had grown in the night poured its innards through the valley, ribbons and shreds of pulped flesh, writhing and uncoiling.
The strange light in the sky retreated, still pulsing, an alien space ship some said, the Russians, others affirmed, and the unholy mess left behind continued to bubble and spread like pus.
Though we waited past dawn, the sun refused to rise, and by the new, metallic light that filled the sky in an even, dull glare, we watched, bile and terror rising from our stomachs, as smooth, white pods rose to the surface of the gluey mass, and the life inside struggled to break out.