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Dusk had a bite of winter in the air that made the dry leaves shake on the branches. While they were a riot of colour during the day, at night, the piles of leaves draped the land in indistinguishable smears of blackness. Despite the modern world taking advantage of thick walls, instant heat, and never-ending light, this darkness reminded people that the land was ever ready to take them back to the shivering frightful days from eons ago. It was perfect.
A thin bone-white hand thrust through the loam under the oldest tree in the town. A closer look revealed that it was not just bone-white, but actual bone that rattled as the fingers felt around the ground. An arm followed up out of the dirt, and soon an entire skeleton stood under the moonlight. It dusted the soil off its black suit, adjusted its bat bowtie, and cracked its neck first from side to side, then all the way around. Jack Skellington, King of the Pumpkin Patch, Master of Fright, and Mr. Unlucky, had arrived.
"Not as glamorous as a sleigh and reindeer, but it gets the job done," he said. He reached down behind him as another delicate hand emerged from the ground. He helped The Seer, Sally, to her feet and looped an arm around her waist.
"Welcome to the world of mortals, my dear," he said.
He watched as her wide eyes took in the street. They were standing in a park near what looked like a school, with one- and two-storey houses running in both directions. Various ghost, pumpkin, and witch decorations dotted the yards for Halloween. Across the street, a late-night jogger ran past, oblivious to their presence.
A smile stretched along Sally's stitches. "Jack, it's wonderful! I never could have imagined anything like this. Thank you for bringing me."
Jack wrapped her in a hug. He could never get enough of touching her, of being close to her, even after all these years. "Of course. You're the Queen of Halloweentown now. It comes with certain perks." He winked.
It was still a week before Halloween. On that day, all the gateways opened and the denizens of Halloweentown poured into the mortal world to really let loose. But for Jack—and now Sally—these gateways were open all the time so he could come and go as he pleased. It paid to keep abreast of what the world was afraid of.
Tonight, they came with a purpose.
"Have you thought of any titles yet?" Jack asked. "I quite like the Farseeing Witch myself."
"Hmm." She stepped back and tapped her chin. "I was thinking of something such as the Queen of Needles."
Jack's hollow eyes widened along with his grin. "Sally-love, that sounds delicious. Visceral, regal, and open to interpretation. It's perfect!" He ran a hand along her arm, following the black threads. "Just like you."
She batted him away as she giggled. "No one's going to be afraid of me if you're swooning like Syren after an old fish."
"Oh, you're much better than an old fish, believe me." He winked again but stepped back. Clapping his hands, he said, "Alright, Sally-love, pick your target and leave the rest to me. Tonight we establish the legend of the Queen of Needles."
She walked forward until she was fully in the moonlight and peered around the street. Jack didn't bother to hide his adoring sigh. His Sally, the Seer, the Patchwork Prophetess, was an elegant and ethereal spectre. More than once, he thought of dipping into the world of St. Valentine's to see if he could express his love and devotion to her more than he already had. Of course, Sally often had to remind him not to always give in to his impulses.
Fascinated, he watched as she picked a late-blooming thistle and plucked the leaves one by one. He’d asked Dr. Finkelstein once why he had given Sally the gift of seering, but the cantankerous creature had only grumbled and said something about being made of so many people tied her to several futures. “And I won’t make that mistake again,” he said before being wheeled away by his new bride.
The thistle trembled, twisted, then grew to resemble an oak tree. Icicles grew over every branch. Sally smiled in satisfaction. “This way,” she said, pointing down the street.
They went along until they stood under a sign saying “Oak Street.” At the end of the block walked two teenagers with hockey bags.
“Ah, I see,” Jack said. “I’ll meet you under the tree.” He gave her a peck on the cheek and slipped into the shadows.
Sally twisted and disappeared into the moonlight. It was a neat trick to hide within light, one that few people could do. The longer she was Queen, the more powerful she would become. Jack could hardly wait.
He crawled like a spider across the rooftops closer to the targets. Two teenage boys, perhaps 14 or 15, were chatting about hockey practise. A wonderful age, the perfect mix of incredulous and gullible. They would try to brush off any frights as pranks or special effects, but the thought that it was real would linger and fester until they had to tell someone. Young boys like that, though, would hate to be seen as fearful things, so they would put themselves outside the story. It would have happened to their cousin, or their neighbour, or they heard their parent's friend talking about it. Pass the story around and around until it grew into something feral and dangerous.
That was how Jack's legend got started, after all.
The boys were coming up to a tall wooden fence, and Jack sprang the first trap. Pulling up the essence of the Werewolf, the shadows gathered around him as he dropped into the dark front yard. His teeth grew long and his body became heavy and hunched. Claws dug into the cold lawn.
As the two boys walked past, Jack sprang forward, barking and snapping his jaws. The fence shuddered as he threw his new weight against it and dug deep furrows into the wood with his claws. It was as if a hound of hell was trying to break through.
The two boys jumped back, swearing. "What the hell was that," said the redheaded one.
"It's just a dog, man," said the gangly one, trying to regain his sense of calm. "It's fine. Don't be so jumpy."
Jack dropped to the ground and paced along the fence, growling. He could see the boys eyeing him through the wooden slats.
"I've never seen a dog that big," said the redhead.
"Maybe it's one of those wolfdogs crazy people get to look cool. You know, the opposite of a labradoodle."
"Yeah, I guess." But the boy’s eyes didn't leave Jack.
"Simon, come on," his friend said. "I'm freezing. That dog isn't going anywhere."
Simon finally tore his gaze away. "Yeah, you're right. Let's go." They walked away, with Simon throwing glances over his shoulder.
Jack grinned as the canine form melted away. Panic spread easily, and having the one boy shaken up already would only help infect his friend. He rubbed his hands together. How he loved this time of year!
Now it was time for a light touch. The streetlights were further apart, and the boys quickened their pace as they walked through the darkness. A big fright to begin with made a person hyper aware of their surroundings, so the smallest sound seemed all the more terrifying. Jack rattled the dead leaves in the branches above, made old rusty gates creak, and chased the mice through dry grass. The boys had been talking, but their conversation slowed until they were in silence.
What a beautiful sight. Humans had never really shaken off the fears of prey, and Jack could almost see the moment the lizard brain took over. Both boys scanned the darkness with wide eyes and gripped their hockey bags closer.
They were getting close to the park now. Jack dashed ahead, ready to play his final move. He had rightfully earned the title of Pumpkin King because he learned that light, stillness, and silence could scare just as effectively as darkness, pouncing, and screaming.
He stepped into the pool of light from the streetlight about half a block ahead of the boys and simply stood there. The light reached up to his bowtie, leaving his face in shadow and slicing in hard lines across his angular body. No sound, no movement, just a strange thing appearing from the night.
Simon saw him first. "Jason," he said, slapping the friend in his chest, "look."
Jason squinted. "Who's that? Your neighbour?"
Simon shook his head. "I don't know."
"Some perv out hunting kids, then?" Jason joked.
Simon looked up and down the street. "I don't like this. We should go."
"Go where? Your house is right there." Jason pointed in Jack's direction. When Simon didn't move, Jason turned to Jack and shouted, "Hey weirdo! Get out of the street. I don't want to kick your ass!"
Simon punched Jason's arm. "Shut up, you don't know what he wants."
Jason shook his head. "Whatever, man. Fine, will you be okay if we cross the street and walk past him?"
"Sure, yeah." Simon hefted his bag higher and watched Jack as they crossed the road, putting them right next to the park.
Jack waited to disappear until Simon glanced away. It was all up to Sally now.
The boys glanced behind them as they walked, but Jack remained out of sight. They were wary and on edge now, jumping at every little sound.
As they walked past the park, a haunting sound drifted out of the dark. Jack recognized Sally's voice as she sang a song of wind and loss.
"What is that?" Simon whispered.
"I don't know." Jason stared into the park. The light from the streetlights reached to the first neat row of trees, but made the shapes beyond look eerie.
Sally sang louder. Her voice swept across them like wind down a mountain, telling of lost loves and wandering brides.
"Who's there?" Jason called.
Sally stopped singing and said, "Will you help me?"
The boys couldn't have said no even if they wanted to. Sally had a hypnotic edge to her song, a sign of her growing power. The boys stepped forward until they were beyond the streetlights and spotted Sally sitting under the oldest tree.
She was lit by witchlight, the soft green glow giving her an ethereal air. She knelt on the ground sewing a wedding dress. As the boys approached, she started her song again. She had been cursed, her song said, to keep sewing to protect her love on his journeys, whom she hadn’t seen in years and years.
Her long hair hid her face as she bent over the fabric, but the black stitches on her wrist were clearly visible.
Simon let out a shaky breath. "Are you okay?"
"I have to keep sewing," Sally said. "I sew and sew, and when I run out of fabric, I have to sew myself. I've made so many stitches." Lifting her head, she smiled and pulled out the stitches at her mouth, letting it open wide.
Jack watched from the branches as all of Sally's stitches across her arms and legs came loose, and she rose up on elongated limbs to tower above the boys. "Will you let me stitch you up, too?" She reached one long arm towards them, stretching past its natural length and letting leaves and debris fall between the threads.
Simon and Jason stood frozen under Sally’s spell, shaking and whimpering. As one finger brushed Simon's cheek, she released her hold on them. They both dropped their bags and ran to the street crying out, not stopping until they were out of sight.
Jack scurried down the tree and held Sally steady as she retightened her stitches. "That was marvelous, Sally-love! I almost turned tail and ran myself."
"Thank you, Jack, but I'm not quite done." Reaching down to one of the hockey bags, she stitched two neat lines into the nylon: Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.
Jack clapped his hands. "A perfect finishing touch."
“Jack, I think I could have simply popped out and said 'boo' and you would think it was perfect,” she teased.
"Coming from you, it would." Jack gazed down at her. "My Queen of Needles. Word will soon spread about you. I'll have everyone whispering when they come up on Halloween. Next year, you'll be the most feared entity since, since—” Jack paused. "Well, since me."
Sally laughed. "Always modest, aren't you? Shall we return home and tell the Mayor of our success? I know he'll want to put it in his plans."
Jack bowed over her hand, kissed her fingers. "Your wish is my command, Sally-love."
She kissed the top of his skull. "I wish only for you, my old skellington king."