After a long journey full of tricks and treats the Pumpkin King went to its cave to sleep through the long months until the next Trick or Treating season. It slept through Yuletide and other assorted exchanges. It missed wank after wank and still it slept.
And it slept.
Then one voice, ringing clear over the dreams of mass murderers and family time fluff called out, “I wish Trick or Treat would run in the spring too.”
The Pumpkin King woke from its slumber.
Aha, the Pumpkin King thought, why sleep until September when I can have fun now.
And so the Pumpkin King emerged from its cave and knocked upon the doors of participant after participant. The Pumpkin King cooed and cried. It made all kinds of noise.
“Come out and play,” it said through the windows, “why wait for then when we can go now?”
Some were lured out by the Pumpkin King’s sweet promise of fic and art. Others stayed in bed, satisfied with the playmates they already had.
Across the fields and dales did the Pumpkin King lead its friends and companions. Through Nomination Valley and over Sign-Up Hill they trekked. The Writing Period was treacherous and some were lost to its cruel fangs.
At last they arrived in the Land of Revelations. The sun would soon rise and everyone, with their masks on, would have to grandest of times.
“Pumpkin King, it’s time to pass out the Masks of Anonymity,” said the one closest to the Pumpkin King.
“Oops, I left them at the last exchange.”
The sun rose at that precise second. It glowed brightly on the naked bodies of the participants. Some tried to cover their genitals with the nearest fanart at hand. Others stood proudly with their hands on their hips, letting everything be buffered only by the gentle breeze of kudos.
“Hoho, oh well, trick or treat, everyone!”