The Pumpkin That Knocked Back — Before sunrise, with mist smelling like wet straw, Bram set himself a dare: drive the pumpkin truck from the upper field to the roadside stand without rattling a single pumpkin. Read the full story →
Before sunrise, with mist smelling like wet straw, Bram set himself a dare: drive the pumpkin truck from the upper field to the roadside stand without rattling a single pumpkin. He eased past the barn, hands light on the big wheel, while dry leaves skittered over the lane like tiny paper mice. Then came a hollow knock from the truck bed.
Bram stopped beside the fence. Knock-knock. Not the tailgate. Not the wooden slats. He climbed down, trading one warm mitten to the cold rail so he could reach between the pumpkins. “Who’s tapping?” he whispered. A small striped field mouse peeked from a pumpkin’s curled stem, holding a seed like a lantern.
The mouse had been trapped when Bram loaded too fast. Bram carried that pumpkin back to the haystack, where a hidden tunnel breathed out the sweet smell of stored corn. He reached the stand late, with fewer pumpkins and colder fingers, but every turn felt full of secrets. If you follow the leaves around the truck bed, you might guess which pumpkin knocked back.
