I: JACK-O-LANTERN

There wasn't much to say about the day before Halloween. It was damp, it was grey, it was quiet. No one got much done, yet everyone seemed to be busy. And as withered stacks of raked leaves grew taller, the ominous fog around the mansion's moss-covered walls thickened to the likes of churned butter, and BEN Drowned got booted through a window for eating all the candy, something sinister stirred between the innocent autumn breezes.

Come nightfall; the skies burnt black.

Autumn's chuckle vanished, and a hag's shrewd cackle took its place, putting the bare branches under a spell to force them to dance, creak and groan, opening the stage for those vile, wicked childhood fears to roam freely.

Just the wind rustling a branch, or a claw tapping on the window? (Not knowing which to believe, you hide under the blanket, praying your shivery little form will go unnoticed as menacing shadows ghost on the wall).

For the creepypastas, the noises weren't unsettling. They were the monsters lurking in the dark; the figure fogging the rain-splattered glass with its raspy breath.

What did unsettle them was the moon.

A sickle in the sky, yellow like a mouth full of rotting teeth – so unnaturally close and so uncharacteristically large it was... unnerving to look at. Although no one mentioned it or brought it up during conversation, they all knew something was amiss.

But, no matter who they were - a demonic clown tucking himself into bed, or a villainous illusionist flipping through a book of bedtime stories, they did the same thing:

They ignored it; pretended it wasn't there. This uneasy atmosphere is all in your head. The colour of the moon doesn't mean a thing. Don't be spooked by Devil's Night.

Nothing is different.

Nothing bad is going to happen.

It's just the wind.

Something wicked this way comes? No. Something wicked had already come, and it was knocking on Laughing Jack's window.

_______

The monochrome clown was dreaming a simply wondrous dream. Eyeless Jack had died, the moon was made out of cheese, and someone discovered a way to make it rain candy.

He was rather disappointed to awaken prematurely.

It took a tick or two for Laughing Jack to accept he was back in the miserable world, where he wasn't the sole 'Jack' of the house, the moon consisted of inedible rock, and the only kind of Candy Rain was a 90's hip hop song.

Stupid wind, stupid tree branch... Smiley wouldn't wake up because of that, so why should I?

(On the contrary, Smiley would've woken up to such a sound, and gone to investigate it too.)

Pouting, he lay his head back on the pillow and turned over, closing his eyes, willing his begrudging spirit back to its delicate sugar-spun dreams. He melted into the softness with a sigh, cosy as a purring cat. The strangeness didn't matter so much anymore; there was just warmth, night-quiet, and sleep.

Then, a little child sang.

"All around the cobbler's grave, the beetle chased the weasel," Her horrifying pitch was like torn fingernails assaulting a chalkboard. "The beetle thought t'was all in fun..."

Hearing his signature song altered - no - butchered, and then played back to him made Laughing Jack's shoulders sink with a cringe. He sucked in a breath, and held it.

"POP! GOES THE WEASEL!" she shrieked, followed by a mad chitter, mad cackling.

Tiny fists banged on the windowpane.

Before his eyes were fully open, he bolted upright in bed. Drawn to the singing, inclined to follow it; the way the children marched with the Pied Piper up to the mountains.

His roommate, Eyeless Jack, should've been sleeping in the bed opposite, but Laughing Jack couldn't hear him snoring – or breathing, for that matter. Either he'd died (dreams do come true! the clown thought excitedly), or he just wasn't around.

In the pitch-black gloom, Laughing Jack curiously prodded at where E.J's body would be.

Crumpled blankets; the bed was unoccupied. Damn it! Where was that good-for-nothing name stealer when he needed him? Laughing Jack huffily span on his heels and took towards the window, secretly wishing he didn't have to confront the weird noises alone.

Rat-a-tat-tat! The clamour subsided to a weary knocking as he approached. When the tips of his claws touched the sill, it died off altogether.

"Hellooooo? Anybody here?"

His warm, sugar-infused breath misted the glass.

"Anyone at all?'

No creepy children singing. No smudgy handprints on the window. Just the surrounding swaying pine trees; giant masses in the night, their needles writhing and twisting like tiny maggots. His gaze reeled upwards.

And the mysterious golden moon, half obscured by a plume of dark clouds. Laughing Jack frowned; looking at it filled him with a feeling difficult to describe... An obscure sensation at the pit of his stomach, hairs prickling at the nape of his neck.

Laughing Jack swallowed, but his throat stayed dry. Exhaling deeply through his nose, he turned his back on the lunar presence and looked down. The pink bunny faces on his slipper-clad feet beamed back at him.

Silly Jack! Whatever will you imagine next? the fluffy footwear seemed to chuckle.

He managed a half smile, and a low laugh. Just some wind rattling a tattoo on the windowpane (look at how it's shaking the trees!), and a bleary-eyed clown who thought he heard a thing, late at night.

That song gets stuck in my head almost every day – no wonder it was my brain's first choice of creepy auditory hallucination. Now where the heck is Eyeless-

"Johnny's got the whooping cough, and Timmy's got the measles~ That's the way the story goes..."

Breath as cold as death swirled down the nape of his neck, freezing him to the spot. Out of the corner of his eye, Laughing Jack saw a tiny glowing face resting on his shoulder.

"Pop goes the weasel," the girl rasped, mouth inches from his ear. She wrapped a lock of his hair around her fingers, slowly twisting it until it hurt, and jet-black strands began to strain and break off.

He did not scream, gasp or react in any reasonable way. He stood completely still, shadows flickering over his shocked face from the translucent child's unnatural luminosity, staring at her through widened eyes.

The girl's face was mutilated.

(when witches go riding, and black cats are seen)

Her eyeballs made audible squishy sounds as they swivelled in their sockets. As she sang, her rotting gums chewed green mucus. Bruised muscles peeked through the yellowed fat of her cheeks. Her scalp was hanging off by a thin membrane of skin, disheveled pigtails dangling like limp rat tails, tied by a filthy blue bow.

(the moon laughs and whispers, 'tis near Halloween)

No foul smell, no putrid odour stinging his nose, nothing else but sight to reassure him the apparition he saw was real. Disbelieving, he pawed her hair.

His fingers passed through her braids. Vapour licked his skin.

The coldness reminded him of English winter during the eighteenth century. For a moment, he fell back into time. Warm scarf wrapped up to his earlobes, drawing funny faces on the frosted display glass of their favourite sweet shop, brisk wind nipping at his painted cheeks...

'Give me a lift, Jack! I can't reach high like you do.'

'Alright, kiddo! Hold on tiiight~!'

Pain broke the spell, and Laughing Jack yelped like a wounded dog. A second pair of hands were yanking his hair, ripping it out at the roots.

He grit his sharp teeth and shook violently, but the little hands clung on with impossible might. In fact, his vain attempt even made the children giggle.

"Again! Again! Again!" a new boy chanted.

Laughing Jack took a swipe at him, but his claws passed right through the child's willowy, malnourished body. The boy idly plucked hairs from his aching head like grass.

He tried to teleport: a flash of fizzling red static shocked his senses and stopped him at once.

Mind spinning, the monochrome clown rushed and rammed into a wall. The child didn't flinch. He stumbled back, lollipops and ducklings spinning around his head.

What's going on? I feel so... weak...

The little girl reached over, pinched his cheek and forced him to smile. She punched his swirly cone nose repeatedly, spewing out her own infuriating sound effects.

"Honk, honky, honk!"

This was the boiling point.

"GET OFF ME, YOU LITTLE MONSTERS!" Laughing Jack screamed, making mad, wild swipes at his back. He was physically shaking, frustrated tears misting his eyes.

"All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel..." the girl began, again, lazily draped over his shoulder in serpentine fashion.

"The monkey stopped to pull up his sock," the boy continued, unceremoniously wrenching a fistful of hair.

The monochrome dropped to the floor, legs sprawled in different directions, head tucked in. The floor tilted. Nausea bubbled in his gut; it felt wrong to stay upright.

"Pop! Goes the weasel," a drastically different voice concluded.

Wearily, the clown looked up; eyes focusing. A man, not a child, stood in front of him, wearing a long Grim Reaper's cloak and skull mask.

Behind the holes of the grinning mask, Laughing Jack glimpsed cruel, sky-blue eyes. He recognised them as easily as the light of day.

His heart jumped a beat. You...!?

Panting, he forced his heavy limbs to work, pulling himself up to his knees and then into a crouch. Something felt wrong, very wrong with his head after the static. He should've been shocked. He should've been questioning everything. But, all he did was say:

"Are these little monsters part of your killing collection? Shame on you. They're only kids."

"No. Shame on you, Jack."

Blank confusion crossed his face. A little clarity squirmed through his mental haze. "What?"

"I didn't kill them. You did."

The children weren't laughing anymore. The little devil on his shoulders released his hair and delicately slid off his back, along with the faceless girl.

L.J looked around.

There were more children. Many, many more, surrounding him and closing in fast; a pulsating circle of phantom light. At that moment, he dearly wished he wasn't alone.

Doctor Smiley was only a minute's sprint away. He'd know what to do. And even if he didn't, he'd still have something smart and medically correct to say about the situation

But he's not here.

Doctor Smirky, beyond a shadow of a doubt, wouldn't help him. But now, the illusionist's petty insults would've been welcome. Even if he just sat back and watched.

He's not here either.

Somewhere in the mansion, a grandfather clock struck eight. A somber tune rumbled through the scarce, lonely halls. Nighttime always buzzed with activity, 'pastas sneaking downstairs to cause mischief or for cups of coco, BEN's feet going pitter-patter, Slenderman grumpily shouting at random intervals for everyone to just go the f- to sleep, things that breathed life into the old place.

Not tonight.

Where is everyone?

Howling with sudden laughter, the children attacked.

Sally's costume: Trick-and-Treat Ren.
Artist: The one and only LyricRoyal !