“What the hell was that?” Danny said, spitting out his sandwich. It was a lousy sandwich anyway. Ray’s eyes were as round as Kennedy dollars.

“That came from the locker,” he said

“It didn’t.”

“Did too.”

“It did,” Danny said, and they flew from their chairs like startled starlings.

You heard stories, but they were just that: someone brought to the morgue by mistake waking up in a cooler. It never really happened, though. Did it? Not anymore, anyway. But Danny and Ray ran to the fridge and pulled the heavy door open. It was a scream they’d heard; Danny had never known what “bloodcurdling” meant ‘til now.

Ray yanked the door open and froze. He couldn’t be seeing what he saw: a deformed, black, spotted lump sprawled in a dark puddle, holding a purple jack’o’lantern…

A mustachioed pumpkin with bushy eyebrows? What?

And it wasn’t black, it was red. It only looked black because it was covered in… from… it was chewing on…

Ray threw up. The frog stopped eating and turned its feral eyes on him.