Quillby Shares the Moon Giggle — Under a rind-yellow moon, Quillby tucked one paw around his twig broom and tried to keep a giggle sealed between his whiskers. Read the full story →
Under a rind-yellow moon, Quillby tucked one paw around his twig broom and tried to keep a giggle sealed between his whiskers. It was a special giggle, fizzy as apple cider, and he planned to tap it into the smallest pumpkin before the stars blinked twice. The broom straw scratched his toes; dry leaves skittered skritch-skritch around the bare trees.
He lifted the broom like a grand wand. The pumpkins waited with crooked grins, the clouds puffed along, and Quillby’s hat stars wobbled as if they already knew the joke. “No laughing yet,” he whispered to his own nose, which twitched anyway. One tiny snort slipped out and made the broom bristles quiver.
Then a bat dropped from nowhere, upside down and beaming. She flapped once—whoomp!—and the trapped giggle bounced off her wings, split into silver hiccups, and landed in every pumpkin at once. The pumpkins chuckled, the leaves chuckled, even the moon looked thinner from smiling. Quillby laughed so hard he had to share the broom handle for balance; next time you spot that bat above him, see if you can tell which star is still giggling first.
