Gourd to Death. Kirsten Weiss

truck. A young woman in a tiara sat atop the gourd carrying a sign listing its winning poundage.

      I hesitated. My attacker may have dropped his weapon, but confronting him might not be the smartest plan.

      I dodged into the high school’s marching band anyway. Its tunes clashed with the faint thrum of music from the stage at the south end of Main Street.

      A trumpeter trod on my foot. He glared, his cheeks puffing.

      “Sorry.” I pushed past him and onto the sidewalk.

      Something white flapped ahead. I plunged into the crowd.

      The sheet lay draped over a juniper in front of a familiar purple house. Fog hung low above the flat roof.

      I tugged the sheet free, scattering hard, blue juniper berries onto the sidewalk.

      Because Charlene would have my head if I didn’t, I climbed the steps to the purple front porch and knocked.

      The front door cracked open. A bloodshot eyeball stared out. “Is it safe?” Tally-Wally asked.

      “It depends on what you mean by safe.”

      “This blasted festival.” Tally-Wally pulled the door wider and groaned. “After the first hour, I want to commit homicide. Not that I ever would,” he added hastily. “Are you seeking haven from the crowds?”

      “No. Did you see who left this on your juniper bush?” I extended the sheet.

      He frowned down at me. “Someone left that on my juniper? Damned litterbugs.”

      “It was a prankster who tried to, um, scare me, but I didn’t get a good look at him or her. You didn’t happen to see anything, did you?”

      “Nope, I was watching The History Channel. All they’re talking about this month is ghosts and famous hauntings,” he griped, “not real history.”

      “Okay. Thanks,” I said, disappointed. But it had been a long shot. “I’ll see you around.”

      “See you tomorrow morning.” He shut the door.

      I hurried back to the old jail.

      Takako waited beside the ticket line, her head swiveling anxiously.

      “Blood is all well and good,” Charlene said to a kid in a zombie costume. “But what you need is more gore. A disconnected eyeball. Rotting flesh.”

      His mother hurried forward. She grasped the boy’s shoulders, tugging him away and frowning at Charlene.

      “Parents,” Charlene said. “They ruin all the fun.”

      The pumpkin racer bumped my sneaker.

      “Val!” Takako hurried to me and gave me a hug. “What happened? We lost you inside the haunted house.”

      “I don’t know how we got separated,” I said. “And then I saw a, er, friend.”

      “And she gave you a bedsheet?” Charlene arched a snowy brow and fiddled with the remote control.

      “Her costume was becoming a real pain.” I bundled it up and tucked it beneath my arm. “I told her I’d hold it for her at Pie Town. Did you see the winning pumpkin?”

      Charlene nodded. “Petros didn’t win. The crack was disqualifying.”

      I winced. Ouch. “He knew it would lose him the contest, but still, that must have smarted.”

      “Who’s Petros?” Takako asked.

      “He’s my assistant manager Petronella’s father,” I said. “It was his pumpkin that was on top of Dr. Levant.”

      A high-pitched scream echoed down the street.

      I started. Had my ghostly attacker returned?

      The crowd scattered, shrieking.

      A goat charged down the street, horns curved wickedly.

      “It’s a stampede!” Charlene shouted.

      “It’s a goat,” I said.

      “It’s a goat stampede!”

      A little girl sat crying in the middle of the road.

      “She’ll be trampled,” Charlene bellowed. “Val, do something.”

      “It’s a goat.” I glanced around. No one else was running for the girl. Where were her parents? “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” I jogged into the street and grabbed up the girl, clutching her to me.

      The goat focused on us. It increased speed, its hooves clattering on the pavement. It lowered its head, ramming position.

      Oooh, this was going to hurt. I turned one hip toward the goat and winced, readying myself for the inevitable blow.

      The pumpkin racer zipped between us and the goat. The animal skidded to a halt, its hind legs collapsing.

      A woman charged into the street and wrenched the girl from my arms. “What are you doing?”

      “I was . . .” I stammered. “She was in the street.”

      “Why did you take her into the street?”

      “I didn’t!”

      “Stay away from my daughter.” She stormed away with the child.

      “I was only trying to help,” I said weakly.

      “Charlene, Val!” Laughing, Takako jogged to my side. “You’re heroes.”

      “If I don’t get arrested for child abduction,” I muttered, face warm.

      Robo-pumpkin lurched toward the goat.

      Shaking its wooly head, the goat clambered to its feet. It nosed the pumpkin.

      “And Val thought I was sending her into a dangerous situation. I had it all under control.” Charlene smiled modestly. “Now, watch me herd the goat back to the petting zoo.”

      The pumpkin reversed, then bumped forward and tapped the goat.

      The goat nosed it back.

      Charlene fiddled with her controls. The pumpkin reversed and accelerated forward.

      The goat lowered its head, and the robot pumpkin rammed its skull.

      The goat shook its head, sniffed, and bit into the pumpkin.

      “Nooooooooo!” Charlene howled.

      The goat chewed meditatively.

      “Get away from my pumpkin!” Charlene hurried forward, flapping her hands.

      The goat took another bite, and Charlene snatched up the racer.

      A man in overalls huffed down the road. He grabbed the goat’s collar. “Sorry about that.”

      “He ate my racer!”

      “She eats everything,” he said.

      “We can replace the pumpkin,” I said.

      Charlene shook her finger at him. “Your goat’s a menace. I’ll—”

      I steered her toward Takako, who shook with laughter.

      My stepmother wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. Is the robot mechanism damaged?”

      “I guess not,” Charlene grouched.

      “Ray might be in Pie Town.” I glanced in that direction. “Maybe he can take a look at it.”

      “Later,” Charlene said. “I promised Takako we’d take her by the glass studio.”

      My lips compressed. I needed to return to Pie Town. But I also wanted to talk to Charlene about that ghost, and the glass studio was only around the block. “Fine.”

      We walked past the Lutheran