No one jumps from the moon with night potatoes. Not even in the strange hallucinations that are brought on by eating the wrong sort of seaweed during a complex occult rite designed to make you think that you are in fact jumping from the moon.
Even when you go out into the woods on a dark night, compelled to find the moon fruit that appeared to you in a dream, you will not jump from the moon with night potatoes.
If you wake, shivering in the dawn to find yourself on the roof, in the company of a donkey who is probably chewing your clothes, you will not remember night potatoes helping you jump.
They would like you to jump with them, though. It takes them hours to climb trees in straggling groups, their tendrils barely equal to the task of ascending. The lights of their eyes guide them, and might draw attention to their ascent. If you followed them, you could jump with them, but this absolutely never happens.
When the time is right, the night potatoes link tendrils and, under the watchful gaze of the full moon, throw themselves into the sky. If you stand in just the right place and look up, it will seem that they are falling from the moon. They are not. But they do certainly fall. All the way down to the cold, hard ground.
Older and more cynical night potatoes will be there to observe the impact. Eyes are collected for the making of vodka.
As the night potatoes themselves cannot or will not speak, we can only speculate at their motives. There are those who say they do it to placate their own strange gods. There are those who say that night potatoes are evil, and determined to eradicate foolishness and gullibility from their gene pool. Others speculate that it is the urge to jump from the moon that sends them up trees and that they just don’t get physics and have no idea how far away the moon is.
Whatever the truth of it, we can assume that Lovecraft would find them entirely upsetting.
