A few weeks ago, my kids and their friends carved pumpkins. They placed their lovely creations on the steps leading up to my front door.
It didn't take long for the Georgia heat to rot those babies. After three weeks, they were infested with fruit flies, which swarmed around them. Their insides were black. I'd say they looked a lot like shrunken heads.
Did I do anything about them? No. I wasn't home much, and when I was, I was too busy doing other things.
Finally, my boy, Bubba, commented on them. "Mama. We have the scariest house on the block. Seven rotten pumpkins and a dead mum (which wasn't quite dead, just a little thirsty). Who's going to come trick-or-treating here?"
I gave him an evil laugh. "Nobody. This is the house of doom, and I'm the evil witch who will give them bags of carrots instead of candy!"
Hee, hee, hee!