The Game of Brave Grins — Under the first cold moon, somebody had to make the empty pumpkins smile. Raff carried a twig in one shaky paw and tapped three times on each hollow shell: tok, tok, tok. Read the full story →
Under the first cold moon, somebody had to make the empty pumpkins smile. Raff carried a twig in one shaky paw and tapped three times on each hollow shell: tok, tok, tok. His new game was secret-simple: draw a face, make that face, and hold it until the bats guessed it. Easy—unless the face was a brave grin, the kind with teeth.
The orchard smelled like wet leaves and pumpkin pulp. Raff carved a tiny triangle nose, two round eyes, and a grin so wide it almost touched both sides. “Your turn,” squeaked Vella Bat. Raff’s knees rustled in his leafy suit. He showed one small fang. Then another. The pumpkins seemed to lean closer.
So Raff lifted his chin and gave the biggest, wobblest grin he owned. Moonlight slipped inside the carved mouths, and every pumpkin on Castle Lane began glowing back. Ever since, jack-o’-lanterns wear wide grins on chilly nights—because one little monster dared to smile first; can you spot which grin still looks a bit wobbly?
