Delivery From Parts Rotten

Most of you by now have noticed my nearly fawning worship of Pumpkin Rot's work. His props, his lighting and control of mood, his attention to detail, (down to the scent of the candles, no less!) are things I admire tremendously. These are not easy elements to master, yet, he has.

I mentioned once in the comment section of someone's blog (goodness knows whose blog it was, 'cause it was a long time ago and I'm too freakin' exhausted from school to locate the exact post) that if I had a windfall of money, I would buy one of Pumpkin Rot's props.

Last week, he posted on his blog that he would be selling some of his creepy door hangers on Etsy. What's a haunted soul and sycophant like me to do? I had to buy one.

The package arrived yesterday. It lurked in the mailbox, huddled in the back to avoid the sun's rays. I reached in to grab it, ignoring the twitch as it lurched into my hand, like Wednesday Addams ignoring the outraged meow and violent kick of the cat she was burying alive. I piled into my car and drove up the block to my house.

Once inside, I cast aside the bills (who cares about the Pacific Gas and Electric bill in the face of dark greatness?!) and reverently laid it on my dining room table. I snatched a knife from the kitchen to cut through the packing tape......revealing the dark goodies inside. ("I have pencils! And a sticker! And candy!" I crowed in triumph. My husband and dogs looked at me with that certain forbearing look. I'm sure you know what that look is.) I'm sure Rot's darling Bean packed it, because it's such a gothy-girly touch to include the little skull suckers and other Hallowe'en stuff in a package.I delicately peeled away the charming skeleton sticker from the goth-purple tissue paper...

It was Hallowe'en porn; like getting an advance copy of Trick 'R Treat, but more satisfying.

It was like a burlesque performance for darklings as I savored the slow unwrapping of this self-gifting fun. I almost couldn't hold back from shredding every last tissue to get at my ultimate goal.

Then, finally, the last feather fan dropped away to reveal the art within:
Mr. ShellHawk came and and asked if he could see. He peered into the box, not having to feign interest. "Wow," he said, "That's cool."

When it comes to Hallowe'en stuff, this comment is Mr. ShellHawk's rim of hysteria. I was pleased.

At this point, there was nothing for it but to run to the door, throw it open, and hang the thing. (Thanks, Pumpkin Rot, for such great work!)
And admire it. And take pics to share with you.
Hmm. I feel flushed. I think I need a cigarette.

But wait! I don't even smoke!

Pumpkin Hollow Shop here.