Pru and the Pumpkin That Went BOING!

Pru gave her pumpkin a mighty “Grow!” and heard a great big “BOING!”

The little pumpkin shot up from the patch beside her cottage. It grew past Pru’s knees, past her shoulders, and—boing!—above the cottage roof. Its curly stem wobbled like a green mustache.

Pru stared up at it. “That is not a tiny hat.”

She had been hoping to make a pumpkin hat for her doll, Miri. Miri sat on a wooden stool nearby, wearing a blue scarf and no hat at all. Pru had chosen the tiniest pumpkin she could find, hoping to trim it into a jaunty cap.

Now it was as big as a wagon.

A flock of hens hurried over to inspect the enormous pumpkin. One hen hopped onto its side, slid down, and landed in a heap of feathers. She clucked as if the pumpkin had done it on purpose.

Pru’s neighbor, Aunt Dottie, came out of the cottage carrying a basket of apples. She looked up. The basket tipped, and one apple rolled into a cabbage.

“Well,” said Aunt Dottie, “you’ve grown a fine pumpkin.”

“I only wanted a little one,” Pru said. “My spell was too loud.”

Aunt Dottie set down the basket. “Magic can be a bit like a puppy. If you shout, it may go bounding off in every direction.”

Pru looked at the pumpkin’s high, round belly. It was too heavy to lift, too wide for the garden path, and much too large for Miri’s head. Even the hens had stopped trying to climb it.

Pru fetched her spellbook from the cottage. Its pages smelled like cinnamon and old paper. She flipped past recipes for turning turnips into tulips and a rhyme for making muddy boots dance.

There, near the back, she found the shrinking spell. A little note in the margin said: “Best spoken in a whisper. Begin with a seed.”

Pru touched the page. “I remember this one,” she said. “But I’ve never tried it.”

The pumpkin gave a low, lumpy creak. Its stem bobbed once, and a leaf flopped over Pru’s hat.

Aunt Dottie smiled. “Then we’ll try it carefully.”

Pru tucked the spellbook under her arm and looked at the mountain-sized pumpkin. She would have to find a seed first.

Pru circled the pumpkin, peering under its leaves. She could not reach the top, and the bottom was pressed firmly into the soil. The hens searched too, poking their beaks into the grass. One hen came up with a worm. Another found a button. The third found her own feather and looked pleased with herself.

“Seeds are inside,” Pru said. “But how do we get one out without carving a pumpkin the size of a cottage?”

Aunt Dottie tapped the spellbook. “You don’t need to open this pumpkin. I saved some seeds from last autumn’s pumpkin. They’re in a jar in the kitchen.”

Pru hurried inside and returned with the jar. She tipped one seed into her palm.

“Now I whisper the spell over the seed?” she asked.

“Just so,” Aunt Dottie replied. “And keep your words small.”

Pru crouched beside the giant pumpkin. She remembered the note. She remembered her loud “Grow!” and the enormous BOING. This time she would not rush.

She cupped the seed between both hands. Then she leaned close and whispered the shrinking spell. The words were so quiet that even the hens had to stop clucking to hear them.

The seed gave a tiny wiggle.

The pumpkin gave a tiny hop.

“Boing?” said Pru.

“Boing!” said the pumpkin, and it shrank by a little bit.

Pru grinned. She whispered the spell again over the seed. Boing! The pumpkin hopped smaller. Again: boing! Smaller still. Each hop gave a funny little wobble, and the hens bounced in place as if they were playing a game.

Pru kept her hands steady and her voice low. She did not shout. She did not hurry. Whisper, wiggle, hop. Whisper, wiggle, hop.

At last, the pumpkin was small enough for Pru to lift. She set it on the garden table beside Miri. Its smooth orange sides made a bright little cap for the doll.

Aunt Dottie handed Pru a spoon. Pru scooped out the seeds, saved one for her windowsill, and carefully trimmed the pumpkin into a little hat. She added a soft leaf for a brim.

Miri’s new hat fit perfectly. The hens clucked approval, and one tried to wear the discarded stem like a necklace.

Pru carried Miri and the tiny pumpkin hat into the cottage. Aunt Dottie followed with the basket of apples, now safely upright, and the hens stayed outside to investigate the cabbage again.

Inside, the kitchen smelled of warm bread and cinnamon. Pru set Miri on a cushion near the hearth and adjusted the hat so its leafy brim sat straight. The little orange cap had a curled stem on top, like a miniature handle for the moon.

“Miri, you look ready for a very important nap,” Pru said.

She made a small scarf from a strip of cloth and tucked it around the doll’s shoulders. Then she placed Miri in her little bed, which stood on the shelf beside Pru’s own bed. The hat stayed on, tilted just a bit to the left.

Aunt Dottie poured warm milk into two cups. Pru sipped hers slowly while the cottage settled into its evening sounds: the kettle ticking, the clock going tick-tock, and a hen outside making one last, sleepy cluck.

Pru took the saved pumpkin seed to the windowsill. She set it in a little clay dish, where it could wait for spring. She did not cast a spell on it. It was only a seed, small and quiet, with all its growing still ahead.

“Next time,” Pru told it, “I’ll use my indoor voice.”

The seed stayed still. Pru thought that was a very sensible answer.

Aunt Dottie kissed the top of Pru’s head and carried the empty cups to the sink. Pru climbed into bed, where her nightshirt felt cool against her toes. Across the room, Miri rested beneath the pumpkin hat, looking as pleased as a doll could look.

Pru watched the hat’s little leaf brim rise and fall with the quiet air from the window. She imagined Miri dreaming of a pumpkin patch where every pumpkin was small enough for a doll’s hat, and every spell began with a whisper.

Outside, the hens found their way to the coop. The cottage grew still. Pru closed her eyes, smiling at the memory of the great big BOING, and soon the only sound in her room was the clock’s gentle tick-tock.