Pumpkin Snatch: The Carnivorous Pumpkins of Narana

The people of Narana are known for two things: their bountiful squash exports, and their peculiar burial customs. These two facts are not unrelated. You see, this low-lying, bog-bound region is home to a particular cultivar of pumpkin which has found an unsavoury solution to its habitat’s poor soil. When a local dies, their body is interred in an empty lot in the nearest cemetery, and a fresh pumpkin sprout planted in place of a headstone. The pumpkin’s growth is accelerated by the windfall of nutrients from its downstairs neighbour, and it grows broad and strong, or as the locals like to say, ‘hale as a horse on th’ mount’. The newly grown pumpkin will, in turn, protect its grounds from graverobbers and hooligan teenagers alike. I have come to this humble shire today to investigate the properties of this marvellous plant, and perhaps bring it back to our own lands far to the west.

I stood at the gates of the cemetery as Caine shifted from foot to foot. The locals tell us that the pumpkins are used to their particular scent, and do not attack when they visit to pay respects, but they cannot make the same guarantee for us foreigners. I asked them what happened to the last oblivious fool to stumble past the gates. They pointed me to a particularly-vibrant pumpkin plant in the corner.

"He served his purpose," was all they said.

"Alright, then," I said, pulling my runed case out of my satchel. "Just a vine clipping will do, but a sample of the flesh itself would be ideal."

Caine gulped. But he was resolute. He took his first step past the gate, and it wasn't long before I saw those sinister green vines creeping across the ground towards his foot.

"Watch th-- watch the leg!"

He skillfully sidestepped one swipe, but the brutish blooms were in a frenzy now. One blue pumpkin lunged at him, its rind splitting open in a jagged line like a fanged grin. Caine squealed as it chomped down on his wing, and then half a dozen more vines and leaves swarmed over him, dragging him down to the earth.

I couldn’t stand idly by and watch him be eaten by these sinister squash. I leapt up onto the top of the drystone wall, and pulling my spear from my back, I stabbed and sweeped at them, severed vines and pierced rinds until they pulled away to retreat back to their respective graves. I felt the spear’s shaft dip as Caine clamped his beak around it, and with a great heave, I lifted him up, off the dirt, until he could spread his wings and flap his way back over the wall.

I stepped off the wall and sank down to lean against it. Caine flopped down next to me, spitting a beakful of yellow flesh onto my chest. It felt a little tingly, until I realised that it was trying to chew through my skin.

“Not today, foul flora,” I said, scraping it into my case. As I snapped the lid shut, the runes on the wood glowed, sealing it in for good.

So... perhaps we should’ve been a little more prepared. Hopefully no locals were around to see that particular desecration.