“What are you doing with that on your head?” Molly screamed at her youngest son, who paced without pants and a pumpkin around his head. She seized his hands, pressing her ear against the vegetable.
“I was carving pumpkins for our party tonight, Mom. With George. Then he did this to me,” he turned his palms to the ceiling.
Before Molly could make out those words, another pumpkin smashed through her head. A convulsed chuckle filled the room. George held his belly tight so that it wouldn’t burst. Amidst the muffled screaming and laughter, three knocks echoed from the front door.