The Painting Of His Pumpkin

With the tip of his brush he picked the tear of my cheek and put it on his painting. "Now it's perfect," he said and took a step back to admire his work.
I looked at the portrait in front of me; my own face stared back at me. Except it wasn't me, it was a perfect, flawless version of me.
He caught me staring and gave me his famous smile. "You look beautiful, I'm sure it'll look nice next to the others."
Others? "So, you've painted girls before?" It came out sounding more defensive than I'd intended to.
"Only the really special ones, pumpkin." He brushed my hair out of my face and stared into my eyes. His hand was cold to the touch. Something in his eyes made me shiver and I moved over to the window. "Why did you paint me? And why did you need my tear?" I asked his reflection.
"That way I can always look at you. You'll live forever, pumpkin."
Something was off, I could feel it in my gut. I turned around and was face to face with him. He had moved silently and faster than I thought was humanly possible.
He flashed his famous smile again, only this time it did not reassure me. It was too big and his skin too pale. His eyes eyed me with a look I could not place. Was it hunger?
His smile grew even wider and I could see his teeth now. They were too long.
Before I could make a sound, he had already grabbed me and sunk his teeth into my neck. "I did, I do, love you, pumpkin", was the last thing I heard before the world turned to black.

The end