“You took too long,” the skeleton giggled. “The bean remembers what you forgot: you planted me here seven years ago. We’ve been waiting.”

That night, lightning split the moon in two. Pebble buried the bean under his windowsill, where the dirt tasted of old secrets. By morning, a vine had torn through his floorboards, coiled up the chimney, and pierced a cloud. The sky bled green sap.

And somewhere, in a cartoon drawing board, an eraser hovered.