In the ribbon aisle of Felt Presence, the pumpkin chose six inches of plum satin.

“For the basket?” asked the skeleton.

“For you.”

The skeleton looked down at its apron.

“Where?”

“Your wrist, perhaps.”

It held out one narrow arm. The pumpkin tied a bow, then adjusted the loops until they matched.

The skeleton turned its hand slowly in the lamplight.

“Will it interfere with carrying?”

“We should test it.”

The skeleton lifted the tissue-lined basket.

The bow trembled beside the handle.

“Quite secure,” said the pumpkin.

They took the long way back.