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The road was mine at two in the morning. The night had swallowed the world whole, leaving nothing but black asphalt, the autumn wind, and the growl of my motor beneath me. No traffic, no cops, nobody to tell me to slow the fuck down.
I twisted the throttle, grinning as the engine roared beneath me, when suddenly a bright light appeared in my rearview mirror. Another rider. Oh, you have got to be kidding me. I leaned forward and accelerated, refusing to let some stranger challenge me on my own turf.
We tore down the empty road, engines screaming into the darkness, but no matter how fast I went, those lights stayed right behind me. I glanced back, trying to make out the rider’s silhouette. Something about his shape seemed wrong. Before I could figure it out, he shot past me like I was standing still. Fuck! He’d beaten me. Me. I never fucking lose.
I caught up and pulled over beside him, killing my engine. He did the same, and I climbed off my bike, ready to give this asshole a piece of my mind. “Well? You gonna tell me who the fuck you are?” He didn’t move, so I stepped closer. Holy fucking shit. He had no head! No helmet, no mask, just an empty collar above a long, dark coat. What the fuck?!
I should have been terrified, but I wasn’t. There was something captivating about his presence, something powerful and menacing that made me want to get closer rather than run. I tilted my head, looking into the empty space where his eyes should have been. “Nice ride, handsome.” Then I noticed the pumpkin tucked beneath his arm, glowing with an eerie orange light that flickered behind its jagged eyes and crooked grin. “The silent type, alright, alright. So, is that your head?” I asked, reaching out before he could answer. He let me take it, and I cradled the strange thing in my hands. It was warm, almost comforting, despite the flames dancing inside it. The fire didn’t burn, but the moment my fingers brushed its surface, a tingling sensation raced up my arms and spread through my entire body. I sucked in a breath, watching the pumpkin’s glow intensify. For a second, I could have sworn something inside it stirred, as though the flames were alive.
I pulled the pumpkin close to my face, the scent of charred cinnamon and old earth filling my nostrils. Without thinking, I leaned in and pressed my lips against the rough, orange rind. I let my tongue roam over the jagged edges of the carved grin. The heat from the interior flared, pulsing against my mouth in a rhythmic thrum that felt like a heartbeat.
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