The Curse of the Pumpkin Patch Chickens!

Alabama has a haunting tale of haunted pumpkins, Producer Blake taking his PSL obsession to a demonic level and zombie chickens! Listen to the full story here! 

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
The Curse of the Pumpkin Patch Chickens. It was a
cold October morning on the farm. Fog rolled through the
chicken coop like smoke from a witch's cauldron. My roosters
were quiet, too quiet. Even Dolly, the hen who usually

(00:23):
greets me with attitude before coffee, was frozen, staring at
something out by the fence line. When I got closer,
I saw it a single pumpkin, perfectly round, perfectly orange,
sitting exactly where I have never planted one, and carved
into the side were three letters b L. A producer.

(00:52):
Blake had been bragging for weeks about his pumpkin patch Paradise,
said he'd grown the biggest gourds in Alabama. But something
about this one belt wrong. Then I heard it, a
soft cluck. The chickens started circling the pumpkin, eyes glowing

(01:12):
orange in the fog, and one by one they began
to peck at it. But when I turned away, just
for a second, the pumpkin wasn't there anymore Pumpkin spices forever,
and that's when I knew Producer Blake's pumpkin spice obsession
had gone too far. By the time I made it

(01:41):
to Blake's pumpkin patch. The sky had turned blood orange.
Rows of pumpkins stretched across the field, every single one
glowing faintly like candles lit from the inside. And right
in the middle stood Producer Blake, holding his pumpkin spice
latte like a trophy. Welcome the pumpkin head or maybe

(02:04):
pumpkin hair behind him, I swear, the pumpkins started chanting
pss pss pss. Their vines slithered through the dirt like snakes,
and one wrapped around Producer Blake's leg. He didn't even notice,
he was too busy bragging about his new pumpkin scented

(02:24):
beard oil. Then one of the pumpkins split open and
outrolled something small and fluffy. It was a chicken, but
not just any chicken. This one had pumpkin eyes. Before

(02:45):
I could move, the vine shot out and wrapped around
my boots. The chickens were closing in, glowing like jack
O'Lanterns with feathers. You can never escape the pumpkin patch
once you've had the spies. The last thing I remember
was Blake offering me a sip of his latte and
whispering pumpkin spice or pumpkin sacrifice,