“Oh, what a night,” Brian Kay chortled, sprinkling his friends with eroded sediment of Milky Way and Snickers. “I mean, when else can you go around ‘n’ steal candy from kids, smash pumpkins ‘n’ stuff?”

So saying, the others backed away as Kay snatched the MacEllersons’ orange sphere in his hands, almost lovingly as if he weren’t about to engrave it in the pavement. He frowned and plucked a small Post-It off the top.

To Whomever it May Concern, it read, Before you mercilessly hurl this pumpkin into the ground, just remember that it is vandalism if you do.

He snorted and trampled the note into the ground, preparing himself for the moment. He hoisted the swollen gourd.

Kraka-SPLAT! “Ah,” he sighed, then frowned again as yet another slip of paper lay in the carnage. He picked it up.

Tsk, tsk. Didn’t listen? Too bad. His brow creased as small numbers flickered to life on the card. 5…4…3..

“Oh, sh—!” he cried, as the molten pumpkin blasted the night away.