Beneath a bruised October sky,
Where autumn mist and shadows lie,
A quiet town forgets its past—
But darkness never stays asleep for long.
As flickering orange eyes ignite,
The carving starts within the night.
They stalk through woods of barren oak,
Cloaked in embers, frost, and smoke—
Bone-carved scythes and hollow grins,
Harvesting the town for sins.
When night falls cold and leaves bleed red,
The pumpkins rise to claim the dea
