Once upon a time, a girl earned the help of a bird, a squirrel and a hippopotamus by sharing her snacks, even though she really really wanted them. In return, those animals helped her sneak out and attend the Pumpkin Ball, the most magical festival of the season.
And it was just as magical as she expected. The Ball was held outdoors, despite the autumn chill, with a large tent assembled in case of rain. Glowing orange bulbs hung from the rafters, and wooden tables lined the walls. At the center, the floor was open for dancing, and at the head of it all sat the Pumpkin Throne.
Every year at the Pumpkin Ball, a Pumpkin Queen was chosen from the throngs of party goers and given the chance to preside over the festivities, deciding the dances, the songs, the games. It was magical indeed, as long as the Pumpkin Queen was not the sort to favor quiet games of cards or music with too much bass.
But that year, it seemed as though things were going to be different. It started out magically enough: the lucky girl was chosen, crowned, and led to the throne. But once she was seated, things started to go wrong. The commands she issued had nothing to do with the Ball or dancing or games. They were political in nature, and also, sort of evil.
And then she noticed the eyes. Everyone around her had red eyes, and all were staring adoringly at their new Queen.
She began to feel a little suspicious. And then she began to feel a little bit scared, as everyone else looked suspicious at her. Assuming of course that dozens of red eyes staring her down as if she’d just changed the channel without asking, meant they were suspicious.
“Not on the guest list!” someone cried, before they began to chase her.
“Not on the guest list!” they chanted, as they removed rifles, spears and pitchforks from petticoats and topcoats and trench coats.
And then she ran. It seemed the only logical thing to do.
And at some point, amidst the running and hiding and occasional taunting, something important occurred to her.
She wasn’t on the guest list.
She hadn’t been expected.
So whatever had afflicted her fellow townsfolk was not afflicting her, and therefore, she was the only one who could do anything.
At that point, she stopped running. She waited until the crowd caught up, and demanded to see the Queen. And when the Queen appeared, all red eyes and orange finery, the girl challenged her.
“A teasing contest,” she declared. “For the town.”
And so it began. Long into the night, it seemed, they insulted each other’s hair, clothes, intelligence, girth and mothers. Finally, the Queens crumpled and burst into tears. All around her, the townspeople returned to normal. They crowned their new Queen, and finished the night with food, dancing and games.
Far later into the night, everyone started to make their way home, laughing and talking, so that they hardly noticed her.
Even the girl almost didn’t noticed the former Queen crouching in the bushes, waiting.
She wondered how long she would wait.
© Beatrix Cottonpants Original
