Page 27 of Charmed, I'm Sure

“That thing is alive,” he whispers.

“Technically, it’s enchanted,” I correct. “I advise you don’t try to touch it. It’s feral on the best of days and bites anyone who gets too close.”

He glances at me like he isn’t sure if I’m being serious. I am.

There was a vampire who considered himself invincible and who thought that nothing could ever kill him. When he was warned about the Giant Pumpkin biting, he tested the theory. He’s now one of the many ghosts haunting our small town. Some theories just shouldn’t be tested.

Miles circles the giant pumpkin, oohs and aahhs echoing from around it as he walks in a circle. He comes back to where he left me standing by the bronze placard.

“So this is clue stop number one?”

“Yes,” I say, pulling the folded clue list from my bag. “Now we have to decide what they need to find here.”

He leans closer to it, testing just how close he can get before it reacts. The pumpkin shakes when he’s within arms distance and he launches backwards, stumbling back beside me.

“Told you,” I chuckle.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Alright, so should we do like a historical clue or like…” He leans to the left and right. “Maybe something around it in a safe distance.”

I pull out the second sheet that Elora gave us.

“Sit.” I point to the bench. “Stay and be a good boy.”

“You know, I think I like that.”

I just stare at him. I plop down on the bench beside him.

“It looks like Elora plotted out a clue for us.”

Miles leans closer and peers over my shoulder. Mynotebook lays on my lap, my pen scratching across it as he watches. “You’re going with…Bigger than the average squash, older than the town's Sasquatch.”

“It’s a clue, not a dating profile.”

“Could have fooled me,” he says with a shrug.

I snap the notebook closed. “Next stop, The Wishing Well. You can pick the next clue since you think mine is awful.”

As we walk, he matches his pace to mine, which would almost be sweet if it weren’t for the constant sideways glances like he’s dying to ask something.

“Go ahead,” I sigh.

“Is it true that the well actually grants wishes?”

“Yes,” I say. “But it has a bad sense of humor.”

He cocks his head, listening intently. “Bad like… ironic?”

“Bad like gives you what you want but in the wrong way. For example wishing for a singing ability but never being able to stop.”

As if on que, Tim’s favorite disco tunes rings through the air. I tilt and lift my eyebrows.

“Ah, okay. I see. So be careful what you wish for.”

“Exactly.”

“So if I were to say, wish for a second date…”

“You would end up as a frog.”