Near closing time in Felt Presence, a skeleton offered to make the pumpkin slippers.

“I haven’t any feet,” said the pumpkin.

The skeleton looked underneath him.

“Oh. A different pattern, then.”

It cut a round piece of felt and stitched a little scalloped border.

The pumpkin settled onto it. For once, the counter made no small clink.

“Comfortable?”

“Extremely.”

The skeleton began packing away its scissors.

“Could you make another?” the pumpkin asked.

“For the teacup?”

“For upstairs.”

The shop had no upstairs.

The skeleton found a small wooden box and began measuring it.