Just like that, the gigantic figure instantaneously vanished with a quiet, rattling hiss, and the pumpkin thudded quietly to one of the hallway's throw rugs.

All was still. Nothing was damaged. Nothing was falling apart. Sheffer had his legs. Not a creature was stirring, not even a shark. And the decaying pumpkin that had served as the monster's head? It was actually pleasantly fresh, orange, un-carved, and uninjured from its fall, even.



...


Rock watched with a hard, intent, just slightly disgusted expression (almost a toned-down version of Mako's own) as Dr. Henshin fluttered slowly back up the stairs and out of sight.

There was awkward silence.

He sighed, closed his eyes, dipped his head, and massaged his nose bridge. With nary a word, he started back over to and up the stairs to the storage room, dragging his feet the whole way.

***


Daybreak came, and the exterior lights extinguished. The warm fragrance of Autumn permeated the peaceful abode; the corresponding breakfast had been one of pumpkin pie, pumpkin soup (a ghost's pumpkin soup, one could say), and pumpkin fritters, with roast pumpkin seeds as a take-along snack in lieu of the usual in-flight peanuts. It was with some measure of spite that Rock had prepared the morning's meal from that one, large ingredient; it was with a healthy sense of irony that he carved its remains into a hasty, but festive jack-o-lantern, and left it on the empty TV stand in the lobby for all to enjoy.

When the fuel truck finally came, he was all too happy to guide it to the hangar and get the aircraft fueled up. While it was still early yet, he had everyone's luggage loaded, and the plane out, gleaming proudly (or maybe a little "rustily" or "dustily" is more like it) in the bright morning sunlight.

The big, well-matured aircraft, built of corrugated metal and equipped with three large, loud, smokey propeller-driving motors, was probably not what the group thought they were signing up for. It was ugly, old, and smelled faintly of engine exhaust inside and out. The interior, with its weathered leather seats scrunched in close, was at least large enough to hold twelve or more, but the rear two seats had been removed and replaced by a small sofa, crudely strapped down by ratchet ties, purely to accommodate Tank. (There was also another ratchet tie in place to serve as a lapbelt for the tortoise's safety, of course.)

Once everyone was aboard and the hatches were shut, the lumbering machine made a terrifying, blaring, bumpy, roaring sort of takeoff down the dusty, uneven old dirt runway that ended in a drop off a sheer canyon. It only dipped a little before it eventually pulled up into the sky, though, and lazily began weaving its way through the many stone pumpkin-topped spires on its ascent.

Finally, they were off the ground, and out of that place.

"If anybody gets airsick, do it out the window," cautioned the headset-wearing monkey over the PA from his seat somewhere in the high front of the airplane. "We'll be stayin' pretty low, just a few thousand feet, so it ain't like there's any cabin pressure to worry about."

*Click.*

... He picked it up again.

"And there ain't any bathroom, so I hope you took care'a that before we left."

*Click.*

"... Of course, there's always the window for that, too, I guess."