CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED–TRIUMPH

Just when they were about to concede defeat and throw in the proverbial towel, a familiar voice rang out with unmistakable glee from across the otherwise deserted main thoroughfare. "Well hullo there, young'uns! Y'all wantin' a closer gander at Big Dolly, I reckon?" There, in all her fecund, gargantuan glory, loomed the towering visage of what could only be described as the world's most grotesquely obese pumpkin. This gourd - for surely it could be nothing else - easily dwarfed Jasmine and Claire combined, its massive orange bulk nearly scraping the power lines as it sat in bloated, unadulterated immodesty along the curb. "Beatrice Jenkins, at your service," the stooped old crone cackled from her perch beside the elephantine squash, looking for all the world like a wart on a toadstool in comparison to Big Dolly's monolithic circumference. "You young'uns aimin' to get an eyeful of our town's record-breakin' pumpkin patch prize this year?" Even as the old codger's gnarled, flayed