Page 28 of Fixing the Grumpy Pumpkin King
Locke’s grin widened, but he opened it. The smile faded, replaced by something softer. Wonder, maybe. He stared at the seed nestled in silk, glowing gold like captured sunlight. “It’s... a seed?”
“Not just any seed.” Jack moved closer, close enough that he could smell Locke’s sweat and stage makeup and underneath it all, that old magic that called to him. “This is from the first grove that grew in the Loam. When I was still new and the world still remembered what magic was.”
Locke lifted the box toward the stage lights. The seed’s glow intensified, pulsing like a heartbeat. “It’s beautiful. It’s actually glowing.”
Jack’s voice dropped lower, more intimate. The stage suddenly felt very small, just the two of them in this circle of light. “Once it touches soil, it will spring forth a vast forest. As beautiful as you are.”
Locke’s breath caught. His fingers trembled around the box, and he had to blink several times because his eyes were suddenly stinging. When was the last time someone had given him something that actually mattered? Not flowers orchocolates or generic gifts, but somethingmeaningful? This wasn’t about grand gestures or showing off. This was Jack giving him something from his own realm, something that mattered, somethingancientand magical and—
“Jack...”
“You deserve something precious. Something that will last.”
Locke’s throat worked. He looked up at Jack, at that carved pumpkin face that somehow conveyed so much emotion through simple lines. “This is... this is better than the harvest feast. I mean, the food wasn’t bad, but this is—“
“INCOMING! BACKDROP!” Jimmy’s voice echoed from somewhere in the darkness beyond the stage lights.
“This is really—“
Something slammed into Locke’s shoulder. Hard. The crew carrying a massive painted backdrop, not looking where they were going, too focused on not dropping the unwieldy thing. Locke stumbled, the box flying from his hands.
Time slowed. Jack reached for it, but too late. The box tumbled through the air, hit the stage floor, and the seed rolled out straight toward the pile of prop dirt and autumn leaves clustered stage left for the harvest scene.
“Oh no. Oh no no no—“
The seed touched soil.
Magic erupted. Dense smoke billowed outward, thick and orange and smelling like the Loam itself, ancient and wild andalive. Through it, Jack could see the seed sprouting, growing, expanding impossibly fast into a miniature forest right there on stage the size of the available dirt on the floor. Small but dense, surrounded by swirling mist.
“Don’t touch it!”
But Locke was already moving, already reaching for it. “I can cover it, maybe if I—“
“Locke, WAIT—“
Too late. Locke’s hand touched the edge of the tiny forest and the worldpulled.
Magic yanked at them both. The sensation was like falling upward, reality inverting, space folding in on itself. Jack grabbed for Locke instinctively, catching him around the waist as the pull intensified. The stage, the theater, the confused shouts of the crew everything blurred and compressed and then they were…
Inside.
Jack landed on soft moss, Locke stumbling against him. They stood in a forest that should not exist, could not exist, in any normal understanding of space. Above them the dense and white clouds slowly dissipated. Through them, giant faces appeared. The rehearsal crew, peering down at the miniature forest like giants examining a curious toy.
Locke looked up, eyes wide with panic. “We’re INSIDE the forest? Holy fuck Jack! Did they see...do they see us?”
Jack steadied him, hands on Locke’s shoulders. This close, he could feel Locke’s heart racing. “No, trust me. They saw nothing and they can’t see us inside.”
Locke spun around, taking in the impossible space. Ancient oaks with leaves in shades of gold and crimson rose around them, their branches spreading wide overhead. The air smelled like autumn incarnate: sweet apples and the ancient-fire smell of burning heartwood and rich earth that had never known human touch. Soft moss carpeted the ground beneath their feet. Somewhere nearby, water trickled over stones, a gentle stream that sang with its own quiet magic.
It was beautiful. A piece of the Loam, manifested here. Jack’s realm, compressed into a space small enough to fit on a stage but vast enough to contain forests and streams and centuries of accumulated magic.
“Okay. Okay, this is fine.” Locke’s voice was tight, controlled panic bleeding through. “How do we get out?”
Jack watched the clouds above them continue to dissipate, revealing more of the crew’s confused faces. From down here, they looked massive, distorted. He could hear their muffled voices, tinny and distant. “Do you wish to pop out of a mini forest in front of everyone? Because if you do then I can get us out now.”
“NO WAY!”
“Then we wait until everyone leaves.”
