#if anyone is interested to know more I’d be happy to share! but I literally just came up with this au yesterday lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

merakiui · 13 days ago

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HALLOWEENIE. [1]

skully j. graves x (female) reader cw: nsfw, retail au, smoking, modern au (no magic), cheesy workplace romance, may be ooc (some creative liberties were taken for various aspects of skully's character and may not align with characteristics shown in tnbc event), characters written as 18+ note - skully returns for another season of work at fellow honest's halloween store. is this the year he finally musters the courage to confess to his cherished coworker, or is it going to be another year spent with his nose buried in his poetry journal? // split into three parts due to size. read part two and part three.

“It is hotter than Satan’s asshole out there. Why are we open this early?” you grumble, toying with a skull squishy toy. Its villainous sneer is stretched out in your hands, liquid glitter sparkling from within polyurethane skin. “No one’s doing Halloween in August.”

Sighing, Rollo hides his disdain behind his handkerchief. “Many people prefer to be prepared well in advance for important events and holidays…unlike some.”

“I know that dig wasn’t meant for me. I’m as prepared as they come. I’ve always got my share of rent ironed out, don’t I?”

“If only that was all that required ironing…”

“Now, now!” Fellow taps his cane against the ground. It’s all for show, but you’ll admit it adds flair to his exuberant character. “Both of you, show some more enthusiasm! And, Miss (Name), treat the merchandise as you would a baby—with care! Halloween is upon us in this haven of hellish haunts.” He slinks over to you, leaning in to whisper covertly. “The white-haired one—”

“Rollo.”

“Right, just what I said! Mr. Rollo here speaks the truth. Profit made in a month will never surpass that stretched out across many months. The optimal time for Halloween shopping and foot traffic in general happens between August and all the way up to October, and when everything goes on sale in November… Hah! Imagine it! Holidays are about the commercial and the—ahem!—the…uh. Well, the collaborative efforts of a hard-working team, of course! Right. Yes. Very so!”

“Uh-huh. And how many broke college kids are just itching to flock here?” You drum your acrylics along the stress toy. They’re painted with pastels and decorative sunbeams. You’re still in summer mode, not Halloween mode. “Fellow, are you sure you couldn’t have pushed opening until—I dunno—the end of August? I’d like to enjoy what little summer I have left, thank you very much.”

He gasps, scandalized. “And deny the people their ghastly goodies? I think not!”

“Who’s our target audience? The dead? Literally no one’s interested in Halloween when—”

The doors swing open then and a lanky leg steps through. The rest of him follows next, every impossibly tall centimeter straightening out into an impressive, gangly height.

“Happy Halloween, lovely people!” he exclaims, arms spread wide.

Rollo smirks behind his handkerchief, quietly amused. “No one, you say?”

“So there’s someone,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Whatever. He doesn’t count.”

After all, if you’re Skully J. Graves, spooky season savant, every day is Halloween.

Fellow pushes off from the counter to greet him. “Ah, Skeleton, my boy! Welcome back! I see you’re raring to go as always.”

“Naturally! I’ve waited all year for this day—the annual opening of this spectacular store of spooks!” He turns a full 360° to view the scary stock and then bounds over to a wall lined with freaky frights—costumes and masks, candy and corpses, faux cobwebs and other yard props. Squealing in delight, he adds, “And what a terrifying array! How dreadful!”

Skully skips over to Fellow, and the two shake hands with an energy that would’ve been infectious if you and Rollo weren’t already immune.

“Those same sunglasses… Wearing them indoors as always. What a bold fashion statement,” you murmur, leaning into Rollo. He meets you halfway, and the two of you hide behind that infamous square cloth of his. “If it were anyone else, I’d see nothing but a pompous fool.”

“Admittedly, it is quite fitting for a man of his…tastes.”

“You should get yourself a pair.” You nudge him with your hip, snickering. That earns you a quirk of lip, the slightest hint of a smile.

“Even a circus of one requires a ringleader. Might you consider joining me?”

“We’ll walk around the flat in our silly glasses and wax poetry. ‘To be or not to be’—”

“That is the question, is it not!” Skully pops up between the both of you. He wraps his long arms around you and Rollo, much to your roommate’s dismay. “‘Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’—” he plucks the skull stress toy from your hand and holds it up to the fluorescent lights, dramatic like a Shakespearean actor— “‘Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.’ Oh, my dears, how delightful it is to meet under this roof!”

He drops the toy and embraces you both once more before pulling away to take hold of your hand. Gently, he places a chaste kiss upon the top of it.

“A kiss for this auspicious encounter! How radiant you are, my sweet, more so than the brightness in one’s eyes as expiration is thrust upon them through betrayal of a sharpened blade.”

“Hello to you, too, Skulls.”

He hums and reaches for Rollo’s hand next, but it’s yanked away in a blink.

“Good afternoon to you, Skully,” he mutters, a shred of contempt lodged in his brittle tone. He lifts his handkerchief to his mouth.

“A fine one at that.” He smooths nonexistent wrinkles from his black overcoat, seemingly unaffected by Rollo’s icy exterior. How he manages to wear such an outfit in the scorching heat, you’ve never understood. “I cannot contain my excitement, nor can I possibly express in words just how grand it is to see all of you again.”

“Been a minute, hasn’t it?”

“Far more than just one!”

“And with that our frightening fivesome—we mustn’t forget Gidel—is complete!” Fellow gestures for the lot of you to huddle up. “Let us give this season our best go, yes?”

“Yeah, whatever,” you say, your energy far from in it.

“Sure,” Rollo agrees.

“Yes, sir!” Skully salutes with an eagerness that puts you at ease. If anything, he hasn’t changed since you saw him last. You sort of missed his cheerful, happy-go-lucky attitude.

Faced with a variety of conflicting reactions, Fellow sighs and knocks his cane against the wall where a Halloween advertisement is posted. Scarily Good Deals reads the eerie, dripping font.

“Look alive, you three—er, uh, dead if you’re Skeleton.”

“Already on it!” he replies, beaming from pale cheek to pale cheek.

“Yes, just so. Ahem! This is an important time for this tiny town. We’ve got to give it our all! No unhappy customers on my watch. Unhappy customers lead to talks of refunds and questions of my validity and… Well, just overall crummy nonsense that will dampen this spooky experience, and we certainly don’t want that.”

“No, sir!”

“Yeah, yeah. I getcha. Sell lots of stuff, be nice to the customers, avoid issues.”

Rollo hums his acquiescence.

“Precisely that!”

You break formation just as a customer walks in, the little bell above the doors signaling their arrival. Fellow gestures for you and Skully to follow him. On your way out from behind the counter, you pat Rollo’s shoulder.

“Leaving it to you, Mr. Prepared.”

You can feel his ire burning into your back, and it prompts a giggle from you—one that’s quickly muffled into your hand.

“A new shipment arrived just yesterday,” Fellow explains while you and Skully trail after him. “Those boxes over there—I’d like the two of you to finish stocking their contents. If it gets busy, one of you assist the white-haired one.”

“Again, it’s Rollo,” your white-haired friend calls out from the front. “I’ve been here long enough for you to remember it.”

“Yes, just as I said! In any case, do that for me, if you would.”

“You can count on us, Mr. Honest!”

“Skulls and I are gonna stock this stuff so good you’ll have to give us a raise.”

Fellow grins like it’s funny, but he isn’t laughing. “Oh, the imagination of this generation’s youth is truly boundless! Simply wondrous,” he exaggerates, waving his arms about in a mesmerizing way. “A marvelous feat of the mind!”

“He isn’t granting us a raise, is he?” Skully asks, watching him depart.

“Did that sound like yes to you?”

“Far from it. Ah, but I don’t seek anything extra. I have everything I need here.” He gestures to the store. “Halloween! What more could you need?”

“Money, firstly.”

Skully waggles his finger in your face, clicking his tongue. “Money does not grow on trees, my dear, but pumpkins do—on the ground, at least! Therefore, Halloween is a necessity! A glorious, essential holiday worth more than money. The only holiday! It’s what Jack Skellington thought.”

“Before he discovered Christmas.”

“Righto! It’s wonderful, isn’t it? He took Christmas and made it so despicably dreadful. An absolute scream! Spiders in stockings, haunted dolls, terrifying toys for all! Abundant surprises of holly-jolly horror.”

You fold your arms over your chest and raise a curious eyebrow. “He got kinda tunnel-visioned, didn’t he? Wouldn’t listen to a word Sally had to say.”

“Well, of course he did! But who wouldn’t when struck with a bolt of inspiration? Aah, it’s an excellent film. I hope to be just like the great Pumpkin King—strong, exceptional, a master of fright!”

“I believe in you.”

He looks at you as if you’ve just met, blinking owlishly behind his sunglasses, but then he coughs awkwardly into his arm and turns away.

“W-Why, thank you. Your support is very valuable. I shall cherish it in my heart.”

You bend down to open the box, which is full of smaller, rectangular boxes. Ominous graphics, the alphabet, YES/NO, and GOOD BYE are printed on each one. Housed inside are spirit boards. You pull them from the larger box and hand them to Skully, who places them neatly on the empty shelf. He’s humming “This Is Halloween” as he works, perfectly at peace. You think, if given the chance and if it were allowed, he’d choose to live in this Halloween store in a heartbeat.

Has he grown taller since I last saw him? you wonder, observing the way he effortlessly stretches to touch the top of the shelf. Must be nice being tall… Those three have it so easy.

You’re aware that asking for help doesn’t make you weak or prove some outlandish point that you’re incapable. Even so, it’s always a humbling experience when you need to rely on one of them to reach something for you, especially if it’s for another customer who also can’t reach and is thus relying on you to do just that. Curse those tall shelves! You’ll get your revenge one day.

“Sooo. How was your summer?” You glance at Skully, who’s carefully arranging new stock from another box on the shelves. “Do anything fun?”

“It was fine,” he mumbles, noticeably lacking his usual echoing ebullience and theatrics.

“Yeah? Feels like it went by way too fast.” You join him at the shelf and hand him a small, coffin-shaped music box to place with the rest. “You excited for the school year?”

He shrugs and runs his fingers over the lid. You watch those unique skeletal gloves trace the swirls carved into the sides. “It’s school.”

“I guess we feel the same. But you must be looking forward to something. A club, maybe?”

He opens his mouth and then shuts it, humming thoughtfully instead.

“Any friends? Special events? Maybe a specific course you can’t wait to get into?”

“You could say that.” Before you can dig into that lukewarm reply, he’s changing the subject. “What about you? Are you still seeing that one guy?”

“Who?”

“Fingers, was it? The one who had a fascination with your hands.”

“Oh! Salad Fingers!” You laugh at the silly nickname—one you and Skully came up with together based on the name of a show he’d introduced you to—and then punch him playfully. “I can’t believe you remembered that. That was all the way from last year.”

Skully’s lips pull apart in a toothy smile. “With a name as memorable as Salad Fingers, why, of course I’d remember him!”

“He was strange—and not charming-strange. Felt like he was more obsessed with my hands and spoons and all kinds of odd stuff. I thought for sure he’d chop them off and keep them for himself, and then I’d have to steal all of the spoons in his house to fashion the framework for all my missing fingers.”

“It’s not very polite to cage one’s hands and keep them as pets. How else are they to come crawling back to their owner if they’re confined?”

“Exactly! You get it. I’d have to go digging in graves for a new pair, and I don’t think anyone could ever have nails as nice as mine.”

“No, no, you mustn’t disturb the dead where they rest. Rather, allow me to lend you mine in times of trouble. They may not be decorated as brilliantly as yours, but they are reliable nonetheless.” To cement this point, he taps his palm as if in scolding and says, “Treat my darling with the same respect you show me, all right?” And then he balls his hand into a fist to make it talk in a wacky, high-pitched voice: “I’m in your care, (Name)!”

You giggle at the absurdity of it all, which then snowballs into a fit of raucous laughter. Skully stares at the tears gathering on your lash line, his eyes wide behind his circular lenses.

Recovering from that, minding your makeup, you wipe the wetness away and take hold of his gloved hands. “I’m grateful for your assistance,” you say, speaking mostly to his hands.

“Well!” He clears his throat loudly and rips his arms free. “You…can always rely on them. Troublemakers they may be, they shall listen to you because I said so.”

His lips purse in a tight line and he returns to stocking the shelves. He looks stiff and mechanical, more wire doll than person, and it gives you reason to smile.

“Thanks, Skulls.”

“S-So…” He chances a hopeful glance at you. “Salad Fingers is no more?”

You drag a box cutter through the thick tape on the cardboard to break it down. “Dead and gone. Not literally, but you get the point. Here’s to hoping he doesn’t resurrect to bother me on Halloween.”

“Restless as a vengeful spirit.”

“Let’s take the vengeful out of spirit, yeah? I can handle restless, but vengeful’s pushing it.”

He chuckles. “Nothing a simple grave serenade can’t save!”

“Very true.” You fold the box up before moving on to the next one. “That, or a restraining order.”

When you aren’t looking, Skully turns away to celebrate quietly. He pumps his fist in the air, his pale features awash in sanguine delight.

For the rest of the shift, he’s flitting around you like a friendly, gothic butterfly. You think he might’ve missed you (if only you knew!). Absence is known to pack a weary heart full of fondness, after all. When you aren’t stocking merchandise, breaking boxes down, or assisting Rollo at the register, you’re watching Skully interact with the customers. He’s a bundle of energy, eagerly selling all kinds of stories with his propensity for showmanship.

“Someone couldn’t wait,” Rollo remarks, watching Skully talk a customer’s ears off about his top ten favorite horror films. You notice they’re not very engaged, only nodding to placate, but that doesn’t deter your Halloween-loving coworker. You’re sure if it was possible that customer would have torn their ears off by now.

“If not us, who else is going to bear the brunt of his obsession?” You rest your elbows on the counter while Rollo rings a woman up. “I feel bad. They don’t really pay attention to what he’s saying.”

With each scan, items pile up in front of you. Muscle memory activated, you work swiftly to bag all of them. Your gaze remains glued on Skully the entire time.

“Customers come here to browse and buy, not receive lectures. Many prefer to get through their shopping without unnecessary conversation.”

“Okay, not everyone’s allergic to friendship like you. Personally, I enjoy listening to other people talk about the things they like. It’s fun.”

“Then perhaps it would benefit you to indulge,” he says, tucking the receipt into the register and shutting the drawer.

You roll your eyes and pass the woman her bags. “Maybe I will.”

Come closing, Fellow’s gathered everyone for another meeting. This one is different from his earlier pep talk. It’s a congratulatory chat for a successful shift.

“Excellent work, you three! You’ve done well today and it’s only the beginning! Keep this up. I like what I’m seeing.”

“Thank you, Mr. Honest! We’ll do our best,” Skully promises. The light reflects off his sunglasses, making them appear more beady and insect-like than the hollowed-sockets-in-a-skull vibe he normally goes for.

“Your schedules are posted in the back. Don’t be late tomorrow,” he advises before disappearing behind the counter to tally today’s sales.

“What about fashionably?” you try, leaning against it like a suave, beyond-sexy Casanova. Your efforts are wholly ineffective.

Bright, amber hues flick up to view you briefly. “Timeliness is what makes money. Every second counts, Miss (Name).”

“Ugh. Lame.”

“If it makes you feel any better, we get to work together tomorrow!” Skully turns his phone so that you can see the picture he’s taken of the schedule. “Behold—a devilish duo renowned for their enchanting expertise, paired together just as the stars have divined!”

“Expertise in what? Minimum wage?” But then you snatch Skully’s phone for closer inspection. “Fellow, what the fuck? You gave Rollo off? Tomorrow’s Saturday! You know I always take those days off.”

“Not tomorrow you’re not.”

“Rollo, switch with me.” You round on your roommate. “Please? I can’t spend my Saturday cooped up in here. I need to be out on the town, pretty and perfect, going on dates, living out the rest of my summer free as a bird! Hot girls don’t spend their weekends at work.”

“Your priorities are so abstract,” he criticizes, scowling from behind his handkerchief. “But, yes, hot girls do spend their weekends at work if they care about productivity and paying rent.”

You exaggerate a gasp, your shock resembling that of Edvard Munch’s The Scream. “You think I’m hot?”

Rollo’s pale face explodes with color. You can’t tell if it’s just the product of his anger or authentic embarrassment. “You operate with a surprising amount of self-confidence…”

But you’re not paying attention. You take hold of Skully’s arms and drag him into a giddy twirl. “Rollo thinks I’m hot! Rollo thinks I’m hot!”

He chuckles, welcoming the impromptu dance. “Is that not already a well-established truth? You’re dazzling, my dear. An exemplary enchantress!”

It’s Fellow’s cane knocking against the walls that shatters this comedic scene. All at once, you turn to look at your boss, who doesn’t seem very pleased that you’ve thrown off his count.

“With that, I’ll be taking my leave.” Rollo huffs and stalks towards the front doors. “And I won’t be swapping shifts with you, (Name). I quite like my Saturdays, too.”

“Ugh, fine. Guess that’s the curtain call.”

“I made sure to sign everyone out,” Skully says, trailing after you with long, spidery limbs.

“Thanks, Skulls.”

“But of course!”

“See ya tomorrow, Fellow. Perfectly on time, as always.”

He barks out a chuckle. “Yes, yes. We shall see. Good night, you three.”

“He doubts me now, but wait until he sees me walk in ten minutes early,” you whisper to Skully, elbowing him playfully.

He grins. “I dare say the dead might rise from their graves next, and slashers will let their final girls flee.”

“It’s not that hard to believe! I can be punctual…when I feel like it.”

“When she feels like it,” Rollo echoes, pulling the car keys from his pocket.

“He’s my number one hater. Don’t listen to him, Skulls.”

“My ears are filled with worms.”

“That’s it!” You flash him an approving thumbs-up and skip over to the car. “See ya later.”

“Yes! Farewell—until we meet again! May you sleep peacefully, enveloped in the warmest dreams.”

Rollo buckles into the driver’s seat and turns the key in the ignition. The old car coughs to life, lurching forwards when he takes it out of park and pulls out of his parking spot. You stick your head out the window to wave until Skully’s out of sight.

“Not so bad once it cools off at night, huh?”

“Mm. Indeed.”

“Let’s leave the windows open tonight. This breeze is great.”

“A sensible suggestion.”

You watch the open road as it’s devoured by the moving car. It’s quiet for all of four minutes before you speak. “You think Skully’s doing good?”

“What makes you ask that? Was he not perpetually sunny today?”

“Yeah, I guess. But… I dunno. I asked him about school and he sorta…shrugged it off.”

“Perhaps it’s a sensitive subject.”

“What? School? Come on, Rollo. He’s like an open book.”

“Is he?”

“Well, yeah! We know all about his favorite Halloween franchises. We know the lore for The Nightmare Before Christmas. Hell, I’ve even memorized the songs.”

“Everyone is privy to that knowledge.”

“So what?”

“So it’s impolite to poke around in someone’s private affairs. Would you be partial to a conversation about school?”

“Ew. Gross.”

“Case in point.”

You slump into the seat’s stained upholstery. An accident from a night out that Rollo wasn’t too pleased to see. He is very neat and tidy. You are very not. It’s just one of the many caverns you cross when you share things—the car, your living space, the kitchen… At the end of the day, Rollo appreciates you. He may not always express it, but you know he cares. As much as the both of you get on each other’s nerves, you’re something close to family. Dysfunctional polar opposites, but family nonetheless. You’d do anything for Rollo. Maybe he’d do anything for you, too. At least, you hope that’s his mindset.

“It’s probably nothing,” you mumble, watching the moon as it lights the way home.

But you can’t shake Rollo’s earlier words from your brain: Is he?

Of course he’s an open book! You know Skully. You’ve worked with him for so many Halloweens already. You know he likes everything spooky season, The Nightmare Before Christmas, obscure horror media, and gothic literature. He’s an eccentric guy with an expressive, exaggerated personality. He speaks in convoluted compliments, a young, old-fashioned gentleman.

What more could there be to a book that’s already been pried open for everyone to read?

You are not ten minutes early. You’re not even ten minutes late.

“Good afternoon, Miss Thirty Minutes,” Fellow greets the moment you step through the doors. He’s flipping through a Halloween-themed interior design magazine—no doubt Skully’s doing—and doesn’t bother to bless you with eye contact.

It’s scalding out there. I could cook an egg on the pavement. Nothing ‘good’ about that!

You throw your arms up in surrender. “Fellow, come on! Cut me some slack. I had to take the bus. Rollo’s using the car. He’s got some student council stuff to take care of for the upcoming semester. Had to be up extra early for their stupid meeting or whatever.”

“It pains me to think a brilliant scholar like yourself could get so held up…”

It pains me I can’t kick you in your rickety knees.

“It’s too hot for this,” you say instead, brushing all thoughts of violence under the rug.

Skully pokes his head out from behind the curtain to the back rooms, which also functions as a makeshift break room. He’s clutching a small, leather-bound book. The cover is plastered with Jack Skellington’s face. Stickers, mostly.

“Welcome, welcome, my dear! You look darling as always!”

I feel like a sweaty loser. How is that anything close to darling?

But then his expression shifts into something serious, and the book is tucked out of sight. “You came alone?”

“Do you see Snow Fright torching me with his fiery glare?”

He giggles at the nickname. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve accompanied you as your escort. It’s in poor taste to leave a lady waiting. Why, my heart aches to imagine you there all by your lonesome at the bus stop! If only I was there…”

“Nah, it’s not a big deal. I made it. Might not be on time, but it’s something.”

You trot towards the back to drop your purse and clock in, scribbling lazily on your time card. You notice Skully’s drawn a tiny gravestone and Jack Skellington’s face in the corner by your name.

And literally no one’s here. These next few hours are going to suck majorly.

“I suppose it’s worth overlooking just this once,” Fellow says once you emerge from the thick, velvety curtains. “It has been rather uneventful today.”

“So you do have kindness in your heart.”

“It shrinks every time my precious employee chooses to neglect the time,” he replies in a playful singsong.

“There’s no need to fret, my darling. Mr. Honest’s heart is as pure as crystal waters!” Skully forms a heart with his fingers and holds it up to encapsulate Fellow and then you. “And a pure heart is one full of soft spiders and fluffy fiends!”

What a wild characterization of the boss…

Rolling your eyes, you smooth the wrinkles in your cherry-print sundress. You’d sooner die than wear those ugly, branded shirts Fellow’s calling a uniform. He would nag at you for that all last year until you reached a compromise: You can wear your own clothes (work-appropriate, that is) so long as you pin your employee name tag on. But there’s just no way you’re going to don dark colors and slacks when the sun is piercing through the clouds with enough heat to singe the hair off your body. Again, you’re impressed with Skully’s dedication to the brand. He’s fashionable every shift regardless of the weather, dressed for a Victorian funeral service. You hope to reach his level of commitment one day.

“So,” you say, peering at the suspiciously empty center, roped off for staff, “what’s going there?”

It’s then when you notice Skully seems to be at his limit, his lips twitching in anticipation. He’s a volcano on the verge of eruption.

“Go on then, my boy,” Fellow says, chuckling at his poorly concealed excitement.

He opens his mouth to take in a big breath and the words come tumbling out all at once. “You’ll never believe it, my dear (Name)! We were blessed with the most fantastic, frightening thing! Or… Well, not a thing. Certainly not! The Pumpkin King is not just any old thing! Why, I would never besmirch his glorious name! Ah, but that’s besides the point! (Name), my dear, today we get the honor of setting uuuup—” he pauses for dramatic effect, dragging the word out— “the life-size Jack Skellington figure! He’s to be the centerpiece for this year’s display. Isn’t that just grand?”

His hands on his cheeks, he squeals like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

“But wasn’t Jack, like, the star the last three years?”

Fellow nods, but Skully steps directly into your path. “And rightfully so! He should always be the star.”

“Yeah, I guess… But what about the other characters? We could switch it up, you know. Maybe Sally and Jack. Ooh, or Oogie Boogie. What about all of them?”

“Oh, that would be divine!”

“Right?!”

You and Skully high-five, mirroring each other’s joy.

“You, my dear, possess a delightfully creative mind. A visionary, one might say!”

“You know it!” You cast your gaze on Fellow. “You’ve got the other figures in the back, right? Can we make use of ’em?”

“That rag doll should be there. Can’t say where the others got off to.”

“And we’ve left her in the dark all this time? Shame on you, Fellow, keeping the Queen locked away in solitary confinement like this. You’re no better than Dr. Finkelstein.”

“And she isn’t just ‘that rag doll’!” Skully gasps, offended. “Her name is Sally!”

“Yeah! Show some more respect for my girl!”

Tutting, you beeline for the back. Skully skips after you, and together you disappear behind the curtains.

“A scavenger hunt mission with my lady! Aah, how exciting! This is just like when Sally was held captive by Oogie Boogie and Lord Jack went to rescue her and Santa!”

“Ah, yeah, that did happen, didn’t it?”

“Twice, actually. In the game—”

“There’s a game?”

“Indeed! The Nightmare Before Christmas: The Pumpkin King. The plot is all about Lord Jack trying to save Halloween Town from being taken over by Oogie Boogie. He wants to turn it into Bug Town!” Skully explains, gesticulating wildly. “He’s not very happy when his Bug Day is ruined, and so he sends Lock, Shock, and Barrel to kidnap Lord Jack—he was his main target, you see—but it’s actually Sally who’s taken instead.”

“So now Jack has to save her?”

“Precisely! And he befriends Sally and defeats Oogie Boogie—and he keeps his throne as Pumpkin King.”

“Can’t dethrone the king.”

“Absolutely not! It’s a masterpiece, really. An astounding timeline woven just a year before the events of the film. Isn’t that spectacular?!”

You hum and open the storage closet, rummaging through the boxes in hopes of finding the right one. Skully’s going on and on about the game and its extensive lore, but you’re too focused on locating Sally to tune in to Info-Dump Radio. You think you see her box, pushed all the way in the back and blocked off by bigger boxes and plastic bins.

Seriously, Fellow… Organize your shit, you think, reaching over a container packed full of decorations from last year. Your dress catches on the edge of it, and when you stretch it hikes up ever so slightly. Frustrated, you smooth it down to no avail. I don’t get paid enough to struggle like this.

“At the end of the game, Oogie warns Lord Jack that he’ll return and it’ll be a nightmare of a thing! Isn’t that ominous? It foreshadows his role in the movie, which probably would’ve been more interesting if the game came out before the movie. But then that might’ve been awkward timing. Usually, film-inspired games come out after the fact. Not the other way around. Oh, but even if it were the other way around it would still be so—ah?!”

You crane your neck to look at him. His hands are covering his bright-red face, and he’s stammering over incoherent syllables.

“What?”

“Ah. Um. Aah… N-Nothing! Just… W-Well…” His fingers part so that he can peek through them, and he swallows thickly. His voice is squeaky when he speaks next. “P-Panties… Your…panties… Um.”

It’s then when you realize your dress is bunched up, riding up your rear and giving Skully a full view of your underwear. Which are, thankfully, hugging your hips quite flatteringly. The panties themselves? Not so much. They’re what you’d call a lazy pair or a period pair. A pair you aren’t particularly attached to. A pair you wear on days like this so you can shamelessly sweat in them and not have to worry about ruining the fabric. They’re decrepit. The exact opposite of cute.

Part of you wants to snap at him to grow up, but the other part—the part that cares more about your image and how others perceive you—is mortified.

“D-Don’t look!” you shriek, standing up straight and hastily pulling your dress down.

“I’m not! I’m not!” he promises, still shielding his face. He turns around so fast he smacks into the doorframe. His sunglasses are knocked from his face. “Ack?!”

Shit! Shit! Shit! What the hell is wrong with this day?! I’m cursed!

Sighing, you scrub at the horror prickling your cheeks. Your molten embarrassment is brought to a calm simmer. “Let’s…forget that happened.” Conscious of your dress and its length, you take care when bending down to retrieve his glasses. “Skulls?”

“I’m sorry—terribly sorry! I didn’t see anything, and if I did I’ll will it away—quick as a blink, I assure you. I’ll wipe it from the folds of my brain! I’ll pluck these shameful eyes out and condemn them to a box and I’ll bury that box and I’ll never look at anything ever again!” With his eyes still squeezed shut, he massages his scalp and murmurs in a hiss: “Wiping the memory… Wiping the memory. Forgetting it right now… Don’t remember it… Come on, Skully!”

You watch this melodramatic display with mounting amusement. It’s almost adorable, and it saps the awkward tension from the air, replacing it with something lighthearted.

“Hey… Skulls, it’s fine.”

“It truly isn’t! I’m a fiend! Aaah! To have looked at you while you were in such a vulnerable, revealing position… Oh, I implore your forgiveness!”

Rolling your eyes, you cover the distance between the both of you and poke his arm. “Hey, it’s okay. No harm done. You can open your eyes.”

“E-Even so…” He fidgets from foot to foot.

“You’re more embarrassed than I am!”

“Of course I am! It’s—your—you…” Orange eyes crack open, and he inhales deeply to settle himself. “I promise you I would never dare look at you in such a lecherous manner.”

“I believe you.” You motion for him to bend to your height and he does. Gingerly, you fit his sunglasses back on his face. “Is your head okay?”

He gives you a bewildered look, which then morphs into one of alarm when you push his fringe up to feel his forehead. “My dear, if I may… W-What are you doing, exactly…?”

“Checking for a bruise or a bump. It sounded like you hit it pretty hard.”

“Oh, that! That was nothing. It’s all well and good.” He forces a nervous laugh and waves his arms about aimlessly. Your arm is pushed away in his anxious scramble. “I’d be wounded if you were hurt in any way, so you needn’t concern yourself with me. Everything is intact up here.” To demonstrate that point, he knocks on his head. “See? My cranium remains undamaged. No cracks here. Full of brains. Not hollow or halved!”

You scrutinize him a moment longer before shrugging. “If you say so… Don’t worry too much. It was an accident anyway. No one’s at fault here, but if we’re gonna blame someone let’s make Fellow our scapegoat. This is his storage closet, after all.”

Skully breathes a relieved laugh, adjusts his glasses, and pats his hair down. “One might resolve to call this mess a means of creatively conserving space.”

“A distinctly Fellow mess. Honestly… Didn’t Gidel organize this last year? What happened?”

Perhaps you haven’t learned from your previous blunder, but you’re already bending over the storage bin once again in an attempt to reach the box at the back. Your fingertips brush the very edge, and you grunt with the effort as you stretch yourself.

“Fuck! Why is it so faaar?” you lament, falling limp against the bin. “Skully, help meee. You’ve got long arms. You could totally reach it.”

“Oh, right! I… I should probably be the one to do that. J-Just to avoid any future mishaps.”

“That might be for the best.”

You step off to the side to allow Skully passage, watching as he very skillfully climbs over the bins with minimal trouble.

Note to self: Wear cute panties even when it’s burning up outside. You never know when you might accidentally give someone a show. And then you groan quietly. This is so lame. I hope this shift speeds by.

When you and Skully emerge from the back, hauling the large box up front, Fellow lowers his reading glasses at you in confusion.

“You took your time.”

“We can go slower.” You grab hold of Skully’s sleeve. “Let’s go, Skulls. Back to the closet for round two.”

“Very well!” And then he stops, mouth agape once the innuendo seeps in.

You release him and turn towards your semi-benevolent, always-sly boss. “Fellow, you’re great…ish.”

“Oh, you flatter me, dearie.”

“But—heavy emphasis on but—your storage is a wreck. The whole point of storage is to keep things organized!”

“It is organized! Very much so!”

“Very much not so. We fought for our lives trying to rescue poor Sally. Isn’t that right, Skulls?”

“Indeed! ’Twas a battle most fierce!”

Fiercely embarrassing.

“But there’s no foe who could possibly best us! We’re an unstoppable force!”

“Wonderful! I love to hear that!” Fellow claps encouragingly. “Then I assume my favorite unstoppable duo will have no trouble assembling our centerpiece?”

“No trouble whatsoever!” Skully confirms enthusiastically.

“We’ll do it, but I don’t trust that sleazy smile,” you mutter.

“What sleazy smile? Why, this is all genuine!”

Skully takes hold of your hands and squeezes them. “There’s no need to fret, my lovely. Mr. Honest has entrusted this task of utmost importance to us! We shan’t let him down.”

“Maybe important to you, but I’d rather be doing anything else.”

“I would like to remind you that you’re being paid to work, not grouse fruitlessly, Miss (Name).”

“You can help, too, you know.” You cast an ineffective pout towards Fellow. “Aren’t you number five in our so-called frightening fivesome?”

“Oh, but I have! I went through the painstaking trouble to retrieve Mr. Jack Skellington.”

“Gee, thanks for doing the easiest thing. What would we do without you?”

Fellow holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Now, now. You needn’t jump up and thank me so readily.”

“No one’s doing that—”

“Your assistance is invaluable, sir!” Skully beams. “I cannot thank you enough.”

You bring your hand to your face and sigh. Way to be a brainwashed yes-man, Skulls.

“You flatter me. It really was nothing. I’m always pleased to help out where I can. Think nothing of it,” Fellow goes on, basking in Skully’s positive attention.

“Aah, you’re too kind! Is it fate that we would find ourselves here?”

“Destiny, my boy. Destiny! D-E-S-T… Err, probably another ‘e’ or two in there somewhere…”

“Oh, how my heart soars! No longer stiff as a corpse, it flutters freely in the breeze. Truly, your kindness is much appreciated.”

Why is he encouraging him? Honestly… All of you are terrible.

As if having heard your thought, Fellow chuckles and gestures to the empty center. “Now don’t let me keep you from the task at hand. I admire your efforts most sincerely.”

You bite back the rest of your disgruntlement and turn towards the blank, boring space. Fellow returns to his magazine-browsing.

“So what’s the plan?” you ask, resting your hands on your hips. “Obviously Jack’s going to be there. Now that we have Sally, maybe we could put them side by side and have something resting at their feet. Like one of the plastic pumpkins.”

“And cobwebs! Spiders! A snake here. Perhaps a ghoul or two there… Plenty of pumpkins. Oh, yes, a perfectly spooky ensemble for the Pumpkin King and his dearest Sally.” With a Mephistophelian grin, he crosses his arms over his chest and strikes his infamous pose.

“Yeah! That’s it! You’re seeing the vision.”

With Skully’s assistance, you’re able to pull parts of Sally from her cardboard confines and assemble her so that she can stand proudly with Jack.

“Look at us! Teamwork!”

“Us…” A dreamy sigh tumbles from his dry lips. And then he snaps back to himself. “Uuuh… Us! Right, yes! We’re a very productive pair. The two of us.” Brittle laughter bubbles up from his chest.

Behind the counter, Fellow slaps his hand against his face and groans.

It takes an hour for the display to come together, but once it does you and Skully marvel at your handiwork. Jack and Sally stand together, their arms spread in greeting, and plastic jack-o’-lanterns are arranged around their feet. Zero pokes his head out from behind Jack, looking just as friendly as he appears in the film. The finishing touch, as Skully dubbed it, are the fake leaves and flowers scattered about—all in colors of autumn.

“What do you think, Fellow? Raise-worthy, isn’t it?”

To further sell it, you do jazz hands. Skully joins you with another dramatic pose. Your stone-hearted boss remains unfazed.

“The only thing raising is my blood pressure watching you ninnies conspire so openly…”

“He loves it,” you whisper to Skully.

“’Twas a spooky success!”

To commemorate it, you lift your phone to capture the both of you in front of the display. You wrap your arm around Skully’s waist to pull him in close. In the photo, a stiff, rosy-cheeked Skully bends down to fit in the frame. He smiles shyly.

“Allow me,” he pipes up, taking your phone in his hands. “For a better angle.”

“Ooh, good call!”

Together, you pose with your fingers curled into claws and devious, preternatural smirks etched on your faces.

“Now it’s a spooky success!”

August trickles by without incident, and with the shift in seasons comes new nails. Short and almond-shaped, they’re patterned in brown and white check; both of your middle fingers are adorned with pumpkin-orange leaves. When Rollo asked why those fingers specifically, you flipped both of them and replied with: “So when someone gets on my nerves it’s extra festive.”

Between the start of the semester and your part-time hours at Fellow’s shop, you’ve been swept up in the swamp of busy schedules, lengthy syllabi, and upcoming deadlines. A rush that, while turbulent at times, is much too monotonous for your preferences.

So the sleek car that’s parked right outside the shop is a welcome diversion from what is yet another boring workday.

“Mr. Honest?” Skully calls out, peeking through the glass. “What’s the protocol for big, fancy, out-of-town cars that look like they’re made of money?”

“Big, fancy what?” Fellow rushes to the front from seemingly nowhere, his hands plastered to the window. The car’s doors open to reveal two gentlemen, one in very bright, breezy attire and the other in a simple hooded sweatshirt and jeans. A spark of recognition flashes in your boss’s eyes, only to soon die out and be replaced with a groan of disgruntlement. “Ugh. Not this guy again.”

You join Fellow in hopes of satiating your curiosity with this sudden commotion. “Ooh, it’s the guy! Wait. Who is he again?”

Clearing his throat, Fellow pivots on his heel. “All right, you two, let’s review once more. What don’t we accept from strangers under any circumstance��especially when it’s wealthy strangers?”

“Halloween candy that’s been tampered with?” Skully offers.

“Drugs?”

“Donations!” he hisses, frowning at both of you. “Gracious. And to think schools are meant to nurture those brains of yours…”

“So what’re we gonna do? Turn him down?”

“Of course we are! I refuse to take handouts from someone who has no sense of reality.” He scoffs. “And on the day when my finest, most reliable puppet—ahem, employee, ahem—is out… The skeleton would sooner convert him to his film cult and you…”

“Me…?” you trail off with a sharp smile. “Choose your words wisely, Fellow.”

“I always do. Why, it smarts that you’d think I wouldn’t. I would appreciate it if you could perish whatever thoughts you’re having.”

“Uh-huh. Good save.”

Fellow glances out the window and cringes. “Let’s not dilly-dally over semantics. We need to be in tip-top shape for when—”

The doors open and in walks Kalim Al-Asim, a friendly bell announcing his arrival.

“Ernesto, hi!” He skips over, beaming like the sun. “I’m so happy to see you again! It’s so amazing you’re still doing business here. Actually, I was just saying to Jamil on the way over that you’d do great business back in the Scalding Sands. I could even get my family to endorse you! What do you think?”

“And you flew in…just to tell me that?”

“Not just that! I wanted to help out. This place is so drab—oh, no offense!”

“None taken! It has a certain charm, don’t you think? The dilapidation and the cracks in the brick,” Skully muses, holding his hands over his heart. “There is romance in a haven worn by time.”

“But it could totally benefit from a makeover. That’s why I wanted to give you a small sum for repairs. I was gonna hire a team for you, but Jamil thought it’d be better to leave the creative freedom up to you.”

Fellow puts his whole chest into his laughter, but you’ve worked with him long enough to know it’s an exaggeration. It must sound real to Kalim, though.

“Oh, you’re much too kind, Kalim! I don’t know what to do with you,” he says through clenched teeth.

“No need. I’m just happy to help out.”

“Yes… ‘Help’. That’s certainly a polite way of putting it.”

“Kalim!”

He cranes his neck to view the other man who’s just stepped through the doors. From the look on his face, it’s apparent he’s not too invested in this visit.

“Jamil, there you are! Meet my friends! That’s Ernesto and that’s—I believe Ernesto talked about you before, (Name). Over there’s Skully! We met last time I was here!”

“Greetings!” Skully waves.

“Hellooo there.” You paste a sweet smile onto your face. “It’s an honor to finally meet you. We didn’t get to last year, but I’ve heard lots about you. Any friend of our boss’s is a friend of mine. Speaking of which, Kalim, I sure could use a donation myself…”

“Really?”

“Mhm. It’s been hard to fish up enough for rent, and with this place being a wreck my poor boss has to cut a few corners with my pay. A shame, isn’t it?”

He gasps. “That’s terrible! Everyone deserves a stable income. Oh, but I understand having to struggle when you can’t afford repairs… Both are equally difficult situations. How much do you need? No amount is too little or too large for me! I want to help everyone here, actually. I’ll fund everyone’s Halloween purchases!” With a joyous laugh, he rifles through his wallet for his card.

“Aaand that’s enough of that!” Fellow gracefully steps in front of you, shielding Kalim from your wicked grin. “I assure you everyone’s pay is completely livable. There’s no need to fret. It stings my pride as a salesman to have my business practices scrutinized so unfairly!”

Jamil appears to be of the same mindset. “Kalim, think about this. You do this every year and Mr. Foulworth tells you the same thing. What makes you think this’ll be any different?”

“But friends help each other out! I want Ernesto to know I’m always here to lend a hand. Gino, too. Is he around?”

“I do believe he’s gone out and about.” Fellow slinks between Kalim and Jamil, his hands on their shoulders. “You’ve only just got here. What’s the rush? How’s about you tour the town? Lots of exciting things to see! Plenty of opportunities to peruse. And souvenirs! You mustn’t leave without them. A sleepy town is only sleepy if its tourists aren’t awake and seizing the day!”

“Well, when you put it like… I guess it wouldn’t hurt to look around.”

“So come along now. Follow my lead. Hi-diddle-dee-dee!”

You and Skully watch your boss, who’s singing a very catchy tune, as he guides them through the doors with a pep in his step. The last thing you hear is Jamil’s mournful groan and then the trio are gone.

“He seems nice,” you muse, joining Skully behind the counter just as a customer walks up.

Skully chuckles. “The shop’s personal patron saint!”

You hum your agreement and set to work totaling the customer’s items, punching buttons on the register. Skully works to bag them as they’re handed to him.

“Ooh, an excellent choice!” he notes, holding up a strand of Halloween garland. “Very terrifying. You’ve scary taste.”

She gazes up at him like he’s a shooting star arcing across her sky. “O-Oh. Um. Thanks!”

Skully smiles and places it in the bag with the rest of her items.

“I remember you from last year, a-actually. It’s good to see you again.” With timid motions, she stuffs a few crumpled bills into your outstretched hand. It’s when she looks up to receive her change that she notices the tag pinned to his winged lapel. “Oh, your name is Skully.”

“Indeed. Skully J. Graves, at your service, dearest customer.” Plucking the receipt from you, he offers it to her with a cordial bow. “Might I know your name, lovely miss?”

She mumbles something incomprehensible, flounders like a fish out of water, gathers her bags under her arm, and ducks out in a hurry. Skully frowns at the sad slip of paper left unclaimed.

“A pity. She neglected to take her receipt.”

Slack-jawed and wide-eyed, you stare at him. He isn’t oblivious, right?

Right?

“Skulls, there’s no way.”

“Come again?”

“Holy shit. You actually don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” He stares at you, puzzled.

“That girl was totally into you!” You nudge him with your hip, a suggestive smirk twisting on your lips. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“When you say ‘into me,’ do you mean…”

“She likes you.”

“Ah. Um… Well, I’m flattered, but I’m certain there are far more eligible suitors for her. B-Besides…”

“Don’t knock yourself down, man! You’re a good-looking guy with a charming personality and cool fashion. No surprises you’ve earned yourself an admirer.”

You flinch at the sound of a harsh slap. Skully’s gloved hands cover his cheeks and his mouth twists into a flabbergasted ‘O’.

“You… Y-You think I’m pleasing to look at?”

“Sure. You’re, like, super tall, too.” You lift your hand to approximate his height. Definitely-taller-than-you is your deduction—whether in centimeters or feet, it doesn’t matter. “And those sunglasses—the crown! Kinda hard to forget all that swag.”

Laughter whistles through the gaps in his teeth. You cut the conversation short to attend to another customer—a father with two kids, both of whom appear to be in fierce debate about the best Halloween movie. When he thinks you aren’t listening, he mumbles the same few lines to himself: “She thinks I’m pleasing to look at… Me. Pleasing.”

“Find everything okay, sir?”

“Not everything. An answer to their never-ending debate would be appreciated.” He gives you a look that suggests you hold the key to this subjective question—or a lie that’ll satisfy both of them enough to refrain from bickering on the car ride home.

Gesturing to your Halloween-adoring coworker, you smile at the children. “You should speak to an expert about that.”

“Yeah?” One of them peers up at Skully with intense, take-no-prisoners scrutiny. “And what do you think’s the best Halloween movie?”

“The Nightmare Before Christmas, naturally!”

“Whaaat? No way. That’s a Christmas movie.”

“Nuh-uh,” his sister interjects. “It’s a Halloween movie.”

“No! A Christmas movie.”

“Halloween!”

“Christmas!”

This new argument seems to age their father, who wilts before you like an abandoned, rotting house. “Come on, you two. No fighting.”

“Why can’t it be both? For all of their differences, holidays do one very important thing. Would you like to guess what that is?”

“We get candy and gifts!” they answer in unison.

“That’s a beautiful benefit, of course, but holidays bring friends and family together. You should always be grateful for those you hold close. Your loved ones are irreplaceable.”

Somewhere in the middle of his lecture the children decide it isn’t worth it to prattle on about their Christmas-Halloween discourse. Their father strings the bags along his arms and beckons them towards the doors with a whistle. They stick their tongues out at you and Skully before waddling after him.

“That was…not as effective as I had hoped.”

“Don’t sweat it. Kids’ll be kids. They’ll learn that lesson at some point.”

It’s then when Fellow finally drags himself through the doors. The exhaustion that blankets his body makes him seem older than he is. He’s muttering something to himself, bushy brows creased in exasperation.

“Ernesto, huh?” you tease once he’s within earshot.

Fellow rolls his eyes. “Please. I never thought I’d shake that ball of energy… Don’t you start using that name. That era of mine’s done and dusted.”

“What’s this? Sounds like incoming Fellow lore.”

“Hardly.”

“Ooh, do go on!” Skully rests his elbows on the counter.

“You scholars sure do take interest in the most arbitrary details.”

“Can’t call it arbitrary if the story behind it sounds extraordinary.”

“Preach it, Skulls! Come on, Fellow. Fess up. Sharing is caring, as they say.”

He stalls around a noise that swiftly smooths out into a syllable of delight when he spots Gidel, who seems to be struggling to reach a shelf. “Would you look at that? I’m needed elsewhere, and you’ve got customers. Toodle-oo!”

“How quickly he flees…”

“More mouse than fox, no?”

That elicits a chuckle from you. Your boss has all the makings of a sly fox, but when it’s necessary he excels at playing prey.

The humor dissipates as soon as a familiar face approaches the counter and, rather than carrying merchandise for check-out, he brings a bad attitude and resentment aged by separation.

“Looks like you’ve gotten uglier since I last saw ya.”

You look into the face of Salad Fingers, an ex-boyfriend who was never really a boyfriend to begin with. He was more akin to an accessory or an extra pillow you would hug in bed, additional warmth for a restful slumber. More of a convenient dick appointment than anything else.

“I think you meant to say prettier.”

“I didn’t stutter, did I?”

You can’t help laughing at the absurdity of his logic, or lack thereof. His confidence in such an insignificant insult, which could never cause you any true damage, is astounding and almost inspiring.

“I’m guessing you’re not shopping for a second chance, so have fun looking around. Maybe one of those monster masks will cover up all of your…ick. Oh, wait, I forgot. You once said, ‘if it’s broken why bother fixing it,’ right? Silly me. That was—what?—your ingenious catchphrase?”

“And it still applies to you. Stuck at this dead-end job every year. You’re never gettin’ outta this town, (Name).”

“At least I have a job. You’re still bumming off your folks like a baby. If I were you, I’d focus on graduating from diapers if you ever wanna feel like an adult.”

His jaw clenches, and frustration flashes on his face. “That all you got? Petty bullshit?”

“It’s all you came in here with. I’m just returning the favor. Oh, wait. Maybe all of this is too complex for your baby brain to comprehend. Want me to dumb it down for you? Will that help?”

“That’s it. Get over here, you bitch!” It looks like he might lunge for you, and you can only brace yourself for the fight or the flight—whichever your body responds to first.

Nothing happens. You remain rooted in place.

Skully slides between you and the counter, his arm outstretched, to intercept Salad Fingers. You don’t intend to cower behind him—rather, you’d much prefer throwing yourself into the ring and defending your honor with your fists—but with his skyscraper height it might as well seem like surrender on your part.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” he spits venomously, all the whimsy drained from his tone. His orange eyes are narrowed sharply behind his sunglasses. “You’re being disruptive, so I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Sooo sorry, Prince of Darkness. I’d better be careful, or else you’re gonna cast a spell and sacrifice me to the woods. I’m sooo scared.” He rolls his eyes. “This doesn’t involve you. This is between me and her. Move aside.”

“So you can continue to disrespect her? I think not. Once more, I’m asking you to leave.”

“You’re all bark, no bite. You might be tall, but you’re skinny enough for me to snap ya in half. If you don’t wanna crawl outta here with broken bones, move. Last chance.”

Skully straightens his shoulders, a knight standing for his cause. “Don’t burden my lady with your foul mood.”

Salad Fingers pulls a face at that. “Your lady? I dunno why you’re defending her like you’re her boyfriend. Wait, is that it? Do you like her? Well, tough fuckin’ luck, dude. She’ll eat your heart if you aren’t careful. Leave it in complete shambles. Save yourself while you can.”

“That’s enough!” You step out from behind Skully to frown at Salad Fingers. “You couldn’t have put this mess in a text? Coming into my workplace to harass me about it is so limp-dick-lame. It’s been a year. Let it go.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t ghost me. That’s all you’re good at. Running away like a weak, pathetic—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, asshole!”

Your anger now at a raging boil, you wind your arm back in preparation to knock the teeth out of his mouth. But then a toy hammer comes down upon your head, a painless shock that throws off your aim and leaves you sputtering in confusion. You whirl around in search of your attacker. Held up in Skully’s arms to meet your height, glaring so fiercely you think he wants to set you on fire, is a very unhappy Gidel.

Skully sets him down then. He grabs the hem of your shirt and drags you away from the counter, just in time for Fellow to waltz over and play his part as pacifist.

“What do we have here?” your boss muses, feigning a jovial disposition in an effort to diffuse the situation. “You, my good sir, seem to be in quite the pickle.”

“What? No. Get lost, old man. I’m just here for—”

“It’s your first time shopping here, is it not? I’d recognize a memorable face like yours—yes, I would! Come along. Allow me to show you around. There’s lots to see!”

Turning Salad Fingers towards a display, Fellow sends a furtive glance towards Gidel. The two seem to understand this silent communication. It’s lost on you and Skully.

“Hey! Let go, Gidel. I’m not gonna hurt him.”

Gidel gives you a disbelieving look.

“Okay, so maybe I was gonna kick him. Just once.” He still isn’t buying it. “Okay, twice. I was gonna kick him twice. Three times, actually. He deserves it, Gidel! I know you wanted to hit him with your hammer, too. Do me a solid and lemme get one punch in. Just one!”

He shakes his head. You sense you won’t get very far no matter how much you beg, so you swallow your dignity and allow him to lead you into the back room. Gidel tugs at your shirt and you obey his wordless command, seating yourself on the floor like a good, obedient prisoner.

“How long am I in jail for, warden?”

He smiles and holds his hands up.

“Ten minutes?”

But he doesn’t reply, parting the curtains and disappearing from your sight. Moments later, he’s pulling a very willing Skully through the doorway.

Once Skully’s folded himself on the floor, Gidel points to a group of boxes with his hammer. You flash him a confident thumbs-up, to which he nods his satisfaction, and then he’s gone. Now it’s just you and Skully, and you attempt to lighten the mood in the only way you know how.

“Welcome to jail, accomplice. What’re you in for?”

Skully laughs, but it comes out short and hollow—like it was ripped from his lungs. He retrieves a box cutter from the table and runs it through the tape on a nearby box. You watch him fish around in the contents, his gloved hands brushing along strands of Halloween tinsel.

“Skulls?”

“Are you okay?” he blurts, looking you square in the face.

“Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“But that awful guy—”

“Standard behavior from Salad Fingers. Nothing new. Don’t let what he said get to you. It’s all nonsense anyway. Seriously, though. We shouldn’t have jinxed it that time. Talk about bad luck…” With a huff, you use your nail to peel the tape off an unopened box. “I can only hope Fellow sells him a bunch of stuff at exorbitant prices. I’m telepathically channeling my revenge through that silver tongue of his.”

Despite the humor threaded through your words, Skully isn’t amused.

“I don’t understand,” he says, drumming his fingers against the cardboard flaps. He sits with his legs criss-crossed. Despite his height, he looks and sounds small and fragile when his barely audible mumble reaches your ears. “If you love someone, why would you ever want to hurt them?”

“Some people are just assholes,” you reply, sifting through the cheap Halloween trinkets. “And he doesn’t love me. He’s just salty he’ll never get attention from my perfect, beautiful hands.” You flash your palm at Skully and waggle your fingers.

“But you don’t deserve to be treated that way. No one does. That’s not the kind of fright you’re supposed to give someone on Halloween. It’s about contemplations of mortality and monstrosity! Nightmares and fear galore! And yet that was…”

“It’s whatever.”

“It’s not just…whatever.” His bottom lip juts out in a petulant pout. “Not to me.”

You pull a foam sword from the depths of the box and point it at him. “Thanks for standing up for me back there.”

“Oh, but of course!”

As if knighting him, you move the sword from shoulder to shoulder. “My hero, the ever-so-gallant Pumpkin King.”

Skully blinks at you, color quickly seeping through his pale face. And then he slaps his hands over his cheeks. “Whoa. Whoa! Waaah?! That’s an honor—n-no, not just an honor! The highest honor. The honor of all honors! To be called that… Oh, it’s just like Lord Jack! How flattering!”

“Dreadfully flattering?”

His lips purse together in a silent squeal. He pumps his fist into the air in celebration.

You laugh and bump his head with the sword. “Never change, Skulls.”

A bashful smile slants across his lips. “Um… If I may… That comment Salad Fingers made—about you being stuck here in town… Do you truly dislike it here? Are you going to leave?”

“Who said anything about that? That loser doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” You scoff. “The whole reason I came to this crummy town was to escape. As far as I’m concerned, I’m here to stay.”

“Escape? I’m not sure I follow.”

“I ran away from home when I was seventeen. Actually, the more accurate version is that my dad kicked me out and I was homeless for a time. It’s just easier to say I ran away instead of having to admit he didn’t want me around anymore.” With a sheepish chuckle, you lift a Jack Skellington snow globe to capture Skully in the wintry scene. Through the glass, he sends you a sympathetic frown. “Along the way I met Rollo and we both came from difficult situations, so it made sense to stick together. We hardly knew anyone back then. Same with Fellow and Gidel. All of us were fresh out of whatever mess we’d just survived and looking to start over. Fellow needed workers for his business and we needed money to pay rent. The rest is history.”

Skully runs his finger through the grout between the tiles. “I never would’ve imagined. You seem so comfortable here.”

“You think? I guess I’ve settled in. I mean, things are definitely stable now.” You set the snow globe down and pull a shield from the depths of the box. It’s placed beside the sword at your feet. “I wouldn’t trade this misty town for anything. It’s weird and there’s probably a cult hiding in the woods, but that’s what makes it fun. As eccentric as it is, it’s home.”

“So… You’re not leaving?”

“Nope! You’re stuck with me forever.”

Skully gasps, a giddy smile widening on his lips. “Oh, what splendiferous joy!”

“Yes. Splendiferous indeed,” Fellow parrots, looming in the doorway with a reproachful grimace. “What a relief he’s nothing more than a brainless brat with a foggy future—if scum like him are even worth a future.”

“Fellow, my favorite boss, who is so full of love and appreciation for his employees—”

“Miss (Name), I cannot believe you would resort to violence. Use that brain of yours next time! It’s one of your biggest assets as a scholar.”

“What was I supposed to do? Make him answer a riddle? Solve for x? Be real.”

Fellow folds his arms over his chest.

“Mr. Honest, if it’s worth anything, might I be permitted to come to (Name)’s defense? That barbaric brute started it.”

“Yeah! Skulls is telling the truth. He was barbaric. Super mean. He called me ugly! Are you really going to let a criminal like that get away without a beating or some sort of public humiliation? I say we shame him to the grave.”

Fellow massages the bridge of his nose, exaggerating a weary sigh. “Is today destined for doom? Goodness gracious… I swear, if one more hellion makes their way into my store—”

At the very front, the doors burst open and a loud voice reaches the three of you.

“Ernesto? Where did you—oh, hey, Gino! It’s nice to see you again. How’ve you been? Have any idea where Ernesto might be?”

You jump to your feet and pat your despairing boss on the shoulder. “One more hellion, huh?”

“At least he’s a kind hellion,” Skully consoles.

“That’s the worst kind! Ugh. This happens every year. You’d think he’d take the hint by now. Must I carve it onto the walls? Never mind that. One of you chase him away. Get the broom if you must. I want him out.”

“I’m on it.” You skip through the curtains. “Ohhh, Kaliiim!”

“Ah! Wait for me, my dearest!” Skully scrambles after you.

“And no donations, you two!” he shouts, but the reminder doesn’t reach your ears.

Defeated for the day, Fellow collapses into a chair.

Somehow you and Skully manage to convince Kalim—that is, signal to Jamil—that a certain Ernesto Foulworth, while grateful for the offer, is going to have to turn it down. In your brilliant wisdom: “Double it and give it to the next person.”

And now you wave after them as they depart. Kalim tries to turn back twice, but Jamil stops him and says something you can’t parse through the windows. If you had to guess, it’s likely something along the lines of, “You heard what they said. Mr. Foulworth isn’t interested.”

“’Twas a shame you couldn’t get any donations for yourself.”

“Nah. Don’t sweat it. I got something even better.” Grinning, you lift your phone to show off Kalim’s contact. “Nothing wrong with long-distance friendship. And if he wants to send me some money… Well, who am I to turn down our patron saint?”

Fellow’s cane knocks you upside the head then. “And good riddance.”

Hissing through your teeth, your hand cradling the back of your skull, you turn to look at him. He’s joined by Gidel, who watches with a dopey smile. “If it isn’t Ernesto, back from hiding. Good to see you again, Gino.”

Fellow flashes his canines at you. “Ha-ha-ha. It seems you won’t need me to sign your next check, nor will you need Gidel’s assistance the next time a rowdy brat disturbs the peace.”

“Now wait a minute. No, don’t do that. I’m a scholar, sure, but not when it comes to forgery!”

“Just as I thought.” He smirks and twirls his cane. “Now back to work. We’ve a few more hours to go.”

“We’ll do our best!”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s just get this day over with.”

Stuffing your phone in your pocket, you return to your place behind the counter.

Rollo is sitting at his desk when you enter the student council room, absorbed in his work. A shiny placard with his name engraved on it winks back at you. President Rollo Flamme. Very official. He messaged you shortly after classes ended for the day, citing that it was important you meet him, and now you find yourself here in this empty classroom. The lack of student body makes it feel bigger than it actually is.

“I got your text. What’s up?”

He looks up from a stack of half-read documents and ducks down to rummage through a drawer. A familiar journal is placed on the desk. One look at the many Jack Skellington stickers pasted to the cover clues you in to the owner’s identity.

“You’re scheduled with Skully today, so I’d like you to return this to him.”

“Sure, but why do you have it?”

“He left it at the shop yesterday.”

“And you just took it?”

“Would you rather I have left it with that shady Fellow?”

You roll your eyes at the implication he’s making. “Fellow doesn’t give a shit about what we do outside of work. Besides, I doubt there’s anything written in there that he’d wanna read.”

“Even so, it never hurts to be careful.”

“Ooh, what’s this? The Rollo Flamme looking out for a friend?”

“Not a friend. A colleague.”

Falling into a nearby chair, you prop your feet on his desk. He clicks his tongue at you, brows creasing in disgust. It’s an expression he doesn’t bother to hide behind his handkerchief. He doesn’t have to when it’s just you.

“Let’s see what Skully writes during his breaks.”

“I don’t think it’s very wise, much less respectful, to pry in his personal affairs.”

“So you care.”

Rollo bristles. “From one diary owner to another—”

“Just a tiny peek. He’ll never know. And if it’s bad we’ll just pretend we never saw anything.”

“I want no part of this mischief.”

“Too late! Into the mind of Skulls we go!”

You crack the book open to a random page. A few lines of poetry are scrawled within. The rest has been scribbled over until it’s illegible. You clear your throat in preparation for the dramatic reading.

“‘I once thought Halloween was a time defined by repentance and fear. I thought there was no better music than that of gales howling through trembling trees. That there should be no celebratory cheer. But there was someone who changed my view. Someone I now hold very dear. Lovely, wonderful you.’ Ooh, this is cute. What else is there?”

You turn back a few pages and select a new poem. Rollo frowns, but he doesn’t make any movement to stop you. Not yet.

“This one looks neat. ‘Her Majesty is popular with the guests strung up in her silk. Every side character written in for temporary trysts, soon to be discarded, a faux fairytale sealed with a kiss. I can’t help pondering, perhaps there is more to her story that I’ve yet to witness. Perhaps she, sitting solitary on her throne, is lonely just like me.’”

“Are you finished?” Rollo plucks the journal out of your hands before you can read more about a figure called the Spider Queen. “And please remove your feet from my desk. It’s unsanitary and uncivil.”

“Fine, fine.” Pouting, you pull your legs from the desk and plant them firmly on the floor. “Happy?”

“Quite.”

“You know, Skulls isn’t half bad at poetry. I was expecting worse.”

“Hmm. There’s certainly potential.”

“How come he’s never shared any of this with us?”

“Would you be willing to spill the contents of your heart at work?”

“Fair point.”

“It’s very him. Genuine. Ebullient. A caricature of gothic brilliance.”

You’re inclined to agree. His prose matches his fashion style and personality so well it’s almost as if they’re meant to be a singular package. Pieces that fit together to form the portrait of Skully J. Graves. You can even hear his voice in every stanza, and for a moment you picture him reciting these lines center stage beneath a flaxen spotlight.

I always knew he liked poetry, but I didn’t know he wrote it. What else does he like?

You know of his obsession with Halloween and Jack Skellington, his fascination with the macabre and morbid, and his love of horror media. But those are facts everyone learns when they meet Skully.

Have I never asked him about his hobbies?

“He’s going to fall for you if he hasn’t already,” Rollo warns like it’s inevitable, casually flipping through the pages to peruse the rest of Skully’s poetry.

“Shut up. Anyone could be the Spider Queen he’s writing about. And where is this coming from anyway?”

“Hmm.”

“It’s not me, Rollo. You know how he is. It’s probably a character from a horror series or something.”

“‘But if I could just explore part of her, lavish her soft, slick epigyne with kisses, I might come away with sweet, sticky gossamer. A secret to dye my lips, stamped proudly on her hips.’” He glances at you, brows raised. “Well?”

“So what? There are people out there who fuck fictional characters. My point still stands. It’s not me.”

“It could be you. You’re not exempt from that possibility.”

“Gimme that! I thought you said it was wrong to snoop.”

Snatching the journal from him, you skim the remaining lines. Beautiful, waltzing cursive, a script that could only belong to Skully.

The Spider Queen, who I admire most ardently, is an unsolved mystery.

Her sharp spinnerets are skilled and sturdy.

She can hypnotize with honey-coated song,

All while wrapping me, hopeless fly, in her web of guise.

Perhaps my affections are misplaced and wrong.

But if I could just explore part of her,

Lavish her soft, slick epigyne with kisses,

I might come away with sweet, sticky gossamer.

A secret to dye my lips,

Stamped boldly on her hips.

“You started it,” he argues.

“And I’m going to finish it. He’s not into me. Not like that.”

You hope to dispel that same theory with more of his poetry. It does the exact opposite, much to your dismay, bolstering a notion you’re beginning to suspect is true.

Won’t you let me know just a little death,

Under pretty, pointed fingertips, my darling Spider Queen?

Your voracious appetite never before seen.

Starved is the connection of our chelicerae as we exchange breath,

Affections of the heart left unsaid,

Her Majesty, my darling Spider Queen, is unhinging her jaw to devour my head.

And then another poem. This one is filled with even more lyrical longing.

To lay you down on silken sheets,

Melt slowly like candle wax with me,

Flickering flame, smoldering heats,

Soft sighs, bare vulnerability, the likes of which angels have yet to see.

I wish to remain here in the clouds evermore with you.

It doesn’t have to be romance,

Even if I yearn desperately for your heart to be true.

All I ask, if you’ll indulge me, is a simple moonlit dance.

You slam the book shut. “That’s enough of that.”

“I’ve told you before,” he says, and the corners of his lips curl into a satisfied smile. “If you’re going to follow the whims of illicit curiosity, you ought to be ready to face the consequences when they come knocking.”

“None of this is about me.”

This time, much more hesitantly, you peel the pages open and land on a journal entry. It’s dated during the year he first started working at Fellow’s shop.

I’m not quite sure I like (Name). Our ideas of what makes a true Halloween are staggeringly different, and she’s much too obnoxious. Who in their right mind would dare besmirch the ghoulish goodness of Lord Jack Skellington?! There is no such thing as ‘sexy Jack Skellington.’ There is only scary!

You cringe at the surfacing memory. That’s what you dressed up as for Halloween that year. Sexy Jack Skellington. It was also Skully’s first impression of you when you met and you dragged him and Rollo to a Halloween party in the woods. Judging by what he’s written, you weren’t held in high esteem after that introduction.

We definitely won’t get along. It’s impossible! We’re much too different. I refuse to act chummy with someone who will never understand the true meaning of Halloween. There should be no decorations or noisy displays. It’s quiet and solemn!

“Ha! So he doesn’t like me after all.”

You point at the passage so Rollo can read it. He glances up from the page.

“That’s an old opinion. I highly doubt he feels that way now.”

“He might. He sounds super pissed in this entry.”

“I still think you shouldn’t make a conclusion yet. That’s like solving a crime based on mere assumptions. You need evidence—lots of it.” Rollo sighs. “My entries have certainly evolved over time. It’s likely the same for Skully.”

“So I’ll prove it.”

“You’ll prove his dislike for you?”

“Exactly! Wait, that phrasing kinda hurts…” You shut the journal and stow it within the depths of your messenger bag. “I’ll prove he only sees me as a friend. There.”

“And how do you plan to go about that?”

“Simple. I’ll ask him out and spend the day observing him. It’s Skulls. How bad can it go?”

Before Rollo can criticize your intentions, you’re skipping out the door.

“See you later, Prez! Don’t forget to pick me up after my shift!”

You and Skully make it to the shop together and you’re both surprised to see the other. You’re so used to Skully’s timely arrivals and he’s accustomed to your I’ll-get-there-when-I-get-there schedule.

In other words, he’s always early and you’re always late. Predictably so.

“Good afternoon to you, my dear! It must be fate that we find ourselves here at the same time.” As if celebrating it, he takes hold of your hand and kisses your knuckles. “What wonderful fortune.”

Rollo’s got it all wrong. This is normal behavior for Skulls.

“If Fellow asks, that was definitely planned. And before I forget—I’ve got something for you.” At that, he perks up like a dog awaiting a treat. You rifle through your bag and withdraw his journal. “I think this belongs to you.”

Skully gapes at the book in his hands. And then, with an ecstatic gasp, he hugs it close to his heart. “I thought I lost this! Aah, I’m so relieved. You have my gratitude.”

“Rollo’s the guy to thank. He said you left it lying around after yesterday’s shift.”

“That’s very possible. It was much too busy yesterday. I missed—we missed you—could’ve used the extra help, yes! That.” He chuckles awkwardly and holds the door open for you.

“Man, that’s rough. I’m not sure what’s worse—the rush or no customers at all. Business or boredom. Either way, glad you survived.”

He smiles and trots in after you.

Gidel welcomes you both with a cheery wave from where he sits on a stool at the register. Fellow’s right at his side, poring over an upside-down newspaper.

“Greetings, dearest Gidel! Mr. Honest!”

“Heyyy, how’s it going, you two? Guess who’s finally on time? Me, that’s who! That’s gotta be worth employee of the day, at least.”

“The crown is yours,” Fellow replies, holding his hand out to offer you the invisible trophy. “No one was seriously vying for it anyways.”

“Has it been busy today?”

You round on Skully. “Shush! Never say those forbidden words.”

“Ack! My deepest apologies!”

“No, no! Please continue. If anything, those are the right words,” Fellow says, folding the newspaper away. “We need as much business as we can get. October is fast approaching. Manifest it or whatever you kids say.”

“Don’t worry so much. I’m sure we’ll get even more customers come October. I don’t need to charge my crystals for that.”

You vanish behind the curtains to drop your bag in the chair. You make quick work of your time card and then pass the pen to Skully, who scrawls the time in for today’s date. He seems normal enough, but then why wouldn’t he be? He’s always joyful and affectionate. You’ve explained this to Rollo on multiple occasions. Why he would even theorize something as asinine as Skully having a crush on you, you can’t say. But no matter what you’re going to prove him wrong. Because he is. Very wrong.

Skully doesn’t have feelings for you. Even thinking it sends a shiver right through your heart.

“We should hang out,” you declare, turning to face him.

“Hang out? As in, outside of the shop?”

“Yeah. Get lunch. Go shopping. Whatever you wanna do.”

Skully’s mouth drops open. “Truly? You want to do all of that with me?”

“Why not? I think it’ll be fun.”

“Indubitably!” Having recovered from his previous astonishment, he flashes his pearly whites at you in a dazzling, gap-toothed smile. “Where shall we meet? There’s a bookstore on the other end of town, and I know of a cozy café that’s sure to be a delightful time. Ooh, this is so exciting!”

“How about a day when we’re both off and available?”

“Next weekend, perhaps?”

“Sure! Sounds like a date.”

“A… A date,” he repeats, pronouncing the word carefully. “A date… What a magical word.”

His swooning prompts a giggle from you. “I look forward to it.”

Skully grabs your hands. “I promise you, my lady, it will be a most pleasant day! I won’t disappoint you.”

“You never do.”

Skully’s cheeks are set aflame. “T-Thank you sincerely for saying so. I’m flattered.”

Just then, Gidel parts the curtains and pokes his head inside. A knowing smirk darkens his face with mute mischief.

You read his expression wrong and separate from Skully at once. “I get it. The boss wants us up front. Would hate to keep him waiting.”

With that, you slink off to meet Fellow at the counter, leaving Skully to chat with a curious Gidel.

“Somehow I get the feeling it’s going to be Valentine’s Day whenever you ninnies are scheduled.”

“Why? Because you love us so much and we’re your favorite employees?”

“Because the way you look at each other is sickeningly fond.”

You narrow your eyes. “Ew. Gimme a break. You sound like Rollo.”

“He isn’t wrong.”

“He literally is. I don’t know why everyone seems to think that.”

“Seems to think what, exactly?” Fellow asks, wearing his best smug smile. He produces a pair of circular frames from within the satin folds of his rich, royal blue coat and balances them on his nose. “Step into my office for a most astute consultation. I’m sure we’ll find the direct cause of your ailment. Gidel!”

Like clockwork, Gidel comes rushing out. He’s stuffing a piece of paper in his patchwork pockets, and you catch the hints of a heart drawn and partially colored in with crayon. The rest is crumpled.

“Let’s assess the patient! My trusty assistant, your notepad, if you will.”

He holds it up proudly.

“Uh, let’s not? I’m perfectly fine. No armchair doctor needed.”

“Now, now! That simply won’t do. Denial is just the beginning—a symptom of what’s to come!”

Those words sound more ominous than they’re meant to be, but a quick peek at the scribbles acting as Gidel’s notes relaxes you.

“You, my dear, are suffering from quite the malady. Isn’t she just, Gidel? Why, it’s as obvious as the sun in the sky, isn’t it?”

He nods hastily in response. Fellow takes hold of your arm and scrutinizes it like it’s a precious artifact. Humming his consideration, he presses down on your pulse and then yanks it up to his ear as if attempting to listen to your heart through your wrist.

“Hmm. Very interesting… Ooh, quite the rhythm you’ve got going! A steady thrum-bum-bum-thrum! What do you make of this, Gidel?”

He plucks the notepad from his hands. Despite the fact that nothing of substance has been recorded, Fellow manages to glean a diagnosis.

“Yes, just what I assumed! You are on the precipice of love.”

“The precipice of what now?” Skully blurts, having just emerged from the back.

“Ah, what a timely arrival for our Prince Charming. He’ll administer the cure.”

“Okay, relax. No one’s on the precipice of anything. Pack it up, drama club.”

You rip your arm out of Fellow’s grasp and storm off towards a shelf. Maybe arranging the stock will give you some peace of mind. There’s no love or feelings or any of that mushy-gushy Valentine’s Day stuff here. You and Skully are just friends. He isn’t interested in you like that and vice-versa. It’s mutual.

Right?

For most of the day, when you aren’t dealing with customers, you’re turning that one-word question over in your head. It becomes so suffocating that you can’t endure another second indoors, so you retreat outside for a smoke.

“Hurry back, dearie,” Fellow calls out, and you have a suspicion that if he wasn’t working he’d join you.

It smells of wet earth when you open the door and step out into the crisp, late-September afternoon. The overcast sky opens up to fall in dreary drizzles. You shut your eyes briefly to appreciate the musical pitter-patter against the roof while you fish a cigarette out from its coffin. Your thumb flicks against the spark wheel until a flame flashes to life. It takes a few attempts, but you manage to successfully light the tip.

I guess he’s not the worst guy to be paired with, you muse, inhaling deeply and holding the breath for three. You rest your head against a wooden support pole and exhale a curl of smoke.

It shouldn’t matter when it’s just a harmless joke, and yet you can’t stop dissecting it. Under any other circumstance, you’d have no issue turning down a lovestruck boy. But Skully isn’t just any (allegedly) lovestruck boy. Maybe it’s because you’ve worked together for so long that the idea of Skully with a crush isn’t so far-fetched.

I’m not stupid. I know opinions change over time. If he didn’t like me, I’m sure he’d make it obvious. He doesn’t seem like the type to fake his feelings. Open book.

But is he truly? You only know Skully through work. You’ve never gone out of your way to get to know him. Everything you know comes from tidbits you’ve picked up over the years. Basic facts like age and hobbies have come up in conversation, but you never thought to ask anything deeper. Like what he does in his spare time when he isn’t obsessing over horror and Jack Skellington. Or where he shops for his gothic wardrobe. Or what he’s studying in school.

You don’t even know if he has any other friends outside of the shop.

Suddenly, you’re not so sure he’s an open book.

This fucking suuucks. Why am I even bothering with this gloomy shit? He’s not the first guy to fall for me, and he won’t be the last.

Would it be so bad if he was the last, though?

Skully has potential, far more than most people you’ve toyed with in the past, but something tells you he’s not the casual type.

Don’t think about it. It’s not worth it.

Thankfully, a familiar voice breaks your concentration—how long were you laser-focused on the worms wriggling out of the soil?—and you don’t need to dwell on it any longer.

“What’s this?” Skully peers down at you from his place in the door. A metal awning protects him from the chilly curtain of rain falling just inches in front of you, allowing you to smoke mostly dry.

You almost quote the song out of habit—the entire soundtrack is carved into your cortex, courtesy of Skully. Instead, you take a drag from the cigarette poised at your mouth. Skully watches, entirely ensorcelled, as smoke curls from your pitch-black lips. Cheap lipstick you often swipe from the SFX and cosmetics section in Fellow’s store. He can’t fire you for stealing because that would mean he’d have to find another employee willing to overlook his dubious business practices. Hard to score someone who fits that criteria in a town as small as this one.

“What’s up, Skulls?” You pat the space at your side.

“I noticed your absence and thought I might search for you.”

“You found me.”

“That I have.” He lowers to sit next to you. “Have you come to admire the rain, too?”

“You could say that.” You offer your cigarette. “Wanna share?”

He blinks at it, confused. “How does one go about…that?”

“Like this.”

Cigarette at your lips, you inhale another drag, hold it briefly, and then exhale. Thin trails of smoke float skywards, perfuming the air with all kinds of pungent notes: warm and comforting, earthy and stale… Skully tilts his head and watches the cloudy haze blanket the space between the both of you.

You try to hand it off to him next. “You try.”

He jerks back, startled out of a daydream. “I… I’m meant to…to put my lips on the same place…as you?”

“Where else?”

Skully’s Adam’s apple bobs with the motion of his swallow. “R-Righto. Of course. That makes perfect sense.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, but I must!” he insists. He places his hands against his cheeks and swoons. “Aah, how romantic it must be to indulge in the rain like this! It makes me want to recite a few lines of poetry or perhaps reminisce about rain storms past!”

You laugh. “Hey, that reminds me! I got a new case a while back. I think you’ll dig it.”

Passing the smoldering cigarette to Skully, who receives it with a grateful hum, you dig through your pocket for the aforementioned case. He’s enamored with the lipstick stain curled around the end of it, so much so that he doesn’t seem to register the sharp sound of your snapping fingers.

“Skulls?”

He meets your stare, cheeks tinged pink. “Eh? Ah… Um. Y-Yes? You were saying…?”

“Check it.” Quite proudly, you hold the little purple casket in your palm. “A coffin to keep all of my cigarettes. Fits the Halloween vibe and it has morbid irony.”

He nearly chokes on his drag, shocked and amazed in equal measures. “That’s positively dreadful!”

“Isn’t it just?”

“The detail on the lid is most exquisite. True craftsmanship.”

“I thought so, too. It’s perfect for spooky season.”

He smiles and breathes out a wheeze of smoke. The rest sticks in his throat and it brings on a coughing fit he struggles to stifle. Sympathetic, you rub his back.

The droplets hit the gravelly ground in splashes, and the rest play a musical, metallic plink-plonk along the warped awning. Defeated, having relinquished the cigarette, Skully pulls his legs into his chest and rests his chin on his knees.

It’s a scene full of tranquility. You wonder if you should break it. You’ll need to eventually. Too much silence and you’ll spiral into your previous worries.

Should I? There’s never going to be an optimal time for this.

“I read your journal.” Like ripping off a bandage.

I have to. He needs to know the truth. I feel bad. He’s so transparent and honest. It’d be wrong to lie.

“Just the poetry,” you add, as if rubbing cream into the sting of truth.

Okay, he doesn’t need to know the whole of it.

His entire body goes rigid. The air thins out, charged with anxiety.

“What did you think?” Skully asks after minutes of unbearable silence. He traces a wobbling path along the crooked stitching in his suit.

“It’s very impressive. You’ve got a way with words.” You nudge his tense shoulder. “I never knew you were a poet.”

“Um. I… I’m not exactly… I merely dabble,” he mumbles.

“But you’re so good! Way too good to ‘merely dabble’. Don’t be so modest, man!”

Skully hides behind his hand, turning away so that you won’t see his flustered face. You wonder if anyone’s ever praised him as openly as he praises everyone else.

“If it’s okay, can I ask about the Spider Queen? She sounds so cool.”

“She is.” You can’t tell where his eyes are fixed behind his sunglasses, but if you could see them you’re certain they’d be brimming with stars. “The coolest.”

“Is she a character from a book? A film? Something related to The Nightmare Before Christmas?”

“She is. Sort of. Not really. Or… Um.”

Skully turns to face you, only to reel back when you’re right there, so close it’s reminiscent of a spider looming over the unlucky insect stuck in its web.

“Really? Which one?”

“Your illimitable curiosity flatters me. I wasn’t aware of your avid appreciation for poetic expression.”

So it’s not me. Ha! You were wrong, Rollo. Suck my dick!

You shrug. “I slept with a guy who was all about it. Practically lived and breathed sonnets.”

“Is that…an undesirable trait?”

“Nah. It was fun. He was great in bed—amazing with his mouth. Maybe the open mic nights did that.”

You bump shoulders with him, to which he chuckles woodenly. “Perchance.”

A rap at the wall causes you and Skully to jump out of your skins. Like puppets on strings, you turn at once to view Fellow in the doorway. By the unsmiling expression on his face, he doesn’t look very happy to have caught the two of you shirking your duties.

“Snogging’s over, lovebirds. Wipe your mouths and get back to work.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry for having fun without you, boss.” You snuff your cigarette in the muddy gravel. “If you want in, just say so next time. You’re missing out on prime participation points.”

“The capacity in my lungs is so small I can’t seem to find my laughter.”

Skully, who has jumped to his feet, extends his hand like a Victorian gentleman from olde. “What say you, my darling? Shall we rendezvous at a later date for amorous osculation?”

A grin breaks out across your face. You place your hand in his, allowing him to pull you up. “Not here, though. Stuffy, old Fellow put the ban on tonguing it.”

Despite his lighthearted tone, Fellow’s eyes are devoid of smiles. “As a pair of extraordinary scholars, I’m sure your extensive education has taught you the important phrase ‘there is a time and a place,’ yes? So there’s a time and a place for studying each other’s anatomy just as there’s a time and a place for making money. Customers await, my oh-so-astute assistants!”

He coaxes you through the door rather impatiently.

“We’re going. We’re going. Damn!”

For the remainder of your shift, the rain persists. Normally this wouldn’t have posed a problem…if you came in the car. As you wipe down the counter, maneuvering around a preoccupied Fellow, who scrutinizes the register and taps at a calculator at his side, your hopes for a break in the rain dwindle.

“Is that everything, Mr. Honest?” Skully asks once your boss has finished his calculations.

He does a brief once-over of the store and then runs his index over the counter to inspect for any dirt. “Well, would you look at that? The two of you are quite efficient, as expected of my dynamic duo.”

Skully gasps and slams his hands on the counter. “We’re dynamic?!” he whisper-squeals.

Fellow gazes over his glasses at his hands propped on a perfectly clean counter. With a sheepish, apologetic chuckle, Skully withdraws.

“Sure, kid. Whatever hangs stars in your sky,” he replies, noncommittal.

“Yes!” He pumps his fists in the air and then folds them over his chest to swoon. “Yes!”

“We’re free to go?” you call out from the back, time card in hand.

Skully flashes you two very enthusiastic thumbs-up and you make quick work of signing yourselves out.

“It’s been fun, Fellow,” you announce, blowing him a mock kiss.

“Yes, yes. Good evening to you. Study hard and all of that.” Fellow follows you to the front, swinging his keys on his finger and humming a merry tune.

Skully holds the door open, and the moment you’re both outside you’re assaulted with rain and wind. The door locks behind you and the lights inside dim. It’ll take a while for Fellow to close the register and complete everything he needs to do as boss, but that doesn’t concern you.

“This fucking rain,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around yourself and peeking out into the night.

I thought it would’ve settled down by now. I really hope it doesn’t storm.

You fish your phone out of your pocket and call Rollo, who answers on the second ring.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“Rollo!” you hiss. “Get your ass over here! I’m cold, wet, and very much car-less.”

“It’s raining.”

“Gee, thanks for that, Mr. Obvious. You wanna tell me my pussy’s pink next?”

He doesn��t say anything in response to your catty sarcasm. Seconds stretch into minutes. You pull your phone away from your ear to see he’s hung up.

“That asshole! I’m going to… Gonna… Ooh!” You stomp your foot and stuff your phone in your pocket. “I’ll crucify him and then put him out in the middle of town square so everyone can point and laugh and throw tomatoes at him.”

“My dear?” Skully’s hand falls gently upon your shoulder. He’s been so soundless you almost forgot he was standing next to you.

“Sorry.” You huff, but the breath sticks in your throat the minute lightning arcs across the sky. It cuts through the trees in a brilliant, jagged flicker. Right on cue, seconds later, thunder rumbles forebodingly. “O-On second thought, maybe I’ll wait inside…all the way at the back of the store, where it’s dark and I won’t have to look at any windows, and I can cover my ears and block out the sounds.”

Skully looks at you strangely, brows furrowed. He watches you struggle with the door, a gloved finger tapping thoughtfully at his chin.

“Could it be,” he says, peering at you with more intention, “that my dear is afraid of thunderstorms?”

“Wha—I’m not scared! Of that? Please.” You jut your thumb at the sprawling treeline, where the trunks melt away into mountain peaks and then a cloudy expanse, and flinch when the sky thunders again. The rain continues its steady downpour. Gritting your teeth, you grind the admission out even though it hurts your pride. “Okay, fine. Yes, I’m…scared. I… I don’t like storms or loud noises or lightning. I hate it. Always have.”

“Ah.”

“Lame, isn’t it?”

“Of course not. It’s human nature to be afraid. Everyone is scared of something, even myself.”

“So what’s your fear?” you ask, hoping his is lamer so that you won’t feel so childish.

Skully hesitates around a reply. Just before he can tell you, a loud boom shakes you to your core. Someone up in the clouds is having fun slamming pots and pans together… You’d send them your most vicious glower if you weren’t on the verge of crying. Hoping to dispel some of your fears, you tap at your phone.

Come on, Rollo. Please pick me up. I’m sorry I was a bitch, but I really need a ride. Please. I don’t even have my wallet on me.

Orange eyes track your every movement. He inhales once, clenching and unclenching his fists. He takes another breath and then…

“‘Hey there, cutes, put on your dancin’ boots and come dance with me. Come dance with me. What an evening for some Terpsichore!’”

Taking pause, you glance up from your screen at him. “What’re you…?”

Skully steps out into the rain and turns with a flourish, his arm extended. “‘Pretty face, I know a swingin’ place. Come on, dance with me! Romance with me on a crowded floor!’”

Wary, you eye him from where you’re fidgeting under the awning. Your phone finds its home in your pocket, the text unsent. Rain patters the roof. It isn’t loud enough to drown out the distant thunder or the encroaching crackle of lightning. Skully projects his voice only slightly to guide your attention away from those things.

“‘And while the rhythm swings, what lovely things we’ll be sayin’!’”

You take a few deep breaths in through your nose, rub your arms consolingly, and join him for musicless karaoke in the rain.

“‘And what is dancin’ but makin’ love set to music…playin’!’”

You close your hand around his and belt out the lyrics, uncaring to whether or not you sound good. You just want to shake off these nerves. Having sensed that, Skully spins you closer and smiles joyously.

“You know the words!”

“Of course I know the fucking words!” Laughing, you slap his chest. Skully smiles wider. “I love this song! Michael Bublé’s version is like sex but for your ears.”

His face lifts in amusement. “It’s not a duet, but perhaps we might make it one?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’d like that.”

“I trust you’re familiar with what comes next?”

“Obviously!” You squeeze his hands. The chill of the rain can’t compare to the warmth of comfort slowly spreading through you.

Don’t think about the storm. It’s going to be okay.

“‘When the band begins to leave the stand and folks start to roam! As we wing home, cheek to cheek we’ll be…’”

Your voices mix together in sweet, screeching harmony for the next part: “‘So come on, come on, come on, come on and dance with me!’”

Thunder resounds then and you yelp, clinging to Skully out of instinct. You realize your proximity seconds later and jerk back. He takes hold of you in a position for an upbeat ballroom dance, and you stumble after him when he pulls you into the one-sided rhythm. You’re spun energetically, rain shrouding your visage and clinging to your lashes, and you scrabble for purchase when he releases you. You trip into a dramatic pose, your shoes skidding on the slick ground. It’s unintentional, but it earns you verbal applause from Skully.

“That’s it! Marvelous!” His laughter isn’t mocking. It’s threaded through with thrill, so infectious it paints a goofy smile on your cheeks. “‘Hey there, sweets, throw on those Latin cleats, and come dance with me! Oh, what I mean is, come on and my, let’s…’”

“‘Cha-cha-cha!’” you shout over the rumbling and grin at him.

He spins you towards him, his hand curled around your waist. You kick up mud and specks of stone as you dance together. Eventually, your shaky voice smooths out into something less frazzled the more you immerse yourself in the theatrics. Now you’re pulling Skully along, and he eagerly settles into your tempo.

“‘And leave your sweat and do the bongo bit. Come on, dance with me!’”

“‘Romance with me, ooh-la, la, la, la, laaa.’”

“‘I don’t care what it has ’cause that jawbone jazz makes me move it.’” As you sing that line, you bump hips with him.

“‘And we charade when the band starts to groove it. They prove it.’”

“‘Come on by ’cause we’re all set to fly, and I’ll let you lead. If that’s agreed, you know where I’ll be.’”

You squeeze his hand and he reciprocates by spinning you into a low dip. The sudden switch leaves you clutching even tighter, your leg lifting as gravity shifts. Skully’s hand splays across your back to hold you in this position. Even though you know he would never let you fall, you still dig your nails into his shoulder. He giggles boyishly and hoists you onto your feet.

“‘So come on, come on, come on…’”

“‘Come on, come on, come on…’”

“‘Come on, come on, come on. Come and dance with me!’”

The both of you come chest to chest, your fingers intertwined and bodies pressed together like dried flowers in a book. It’s a magical moment punctuated by the rumbling sky and falling rain. Even when lightning flashes through the clouds, you focus on your reflection in his sunglasses. Your faces proceed to inch closer with every verse.

“‘We’ll do the cha-cha-cha.’”

“‘Ooh, the merengue!’”

“‘We’re gonna tango,’” you say, putting on a comically deep voice.

“‘Come on and dance with me,’” he finishes, holding the last note with a wide, adoring smile.

Mere centimeters are between you; if you shuffle in you could close the gap and—

And then a car honks at the both of you, and you flinch away with startled shouts. Caught in the bright headlights, your shadows spattered against the brick building, you lift a hand to shield yourself from the harsh glare and rain. You manage to spot a very unamused Rollo in the driver’s seat, and for once you couldn’t be any happier to see your grump of a roommate.

You abandon Skully’s side and throw the door open. “Rollo, you came!”

“I wasn’t going to leave you to walk home in this awful weather.”

“So you do love me. If I wasn’t so soaked, I’d kiss you right here, right now.”

“There’s no need to overdo it. A simple ‘thank you’ will suffice.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you very much, Mr. Chauffeur.”

You climb into the back and, realizing you’re a person short, poke your head outside.

“You coming?”

Skully’s shivering just as much as you are, looking more bug-eyed from this distance. He points to himself, as if asking: Me?

“We’ll give you a ride.” You look towards Rollo, who seems ready to agree to anything so long as he can get back on the road. “That’s fine, isn’t it?”

“He’ll catch his death otherwise.”

“Oh, no, it’s quite all right!” He waves his hands in objection. “I appreciate your kind offer, but I could never burden—”

“Get in the car, Skulls.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The door shuts after Skully boards. Now you’re both sitting huddled in the back, shoulder to shoulder. Rollo pulls out and onto the road. Your sodden clothes cling to your body in a way that makes you feel as if you’ve just been shrink-wrapped. The toasty heat does nothing to chase away the chill in your marrow, but the music softly spilling from the radio boosts your mood.

“My dear, I would hug you and offer my warmth, but I fear that might make it significantly worse,” Skully says, teeth chattering.

“Why didn’t the both of you wait indoors?”

“Uh, why didn’t you get here sooner?” you shoot back, fishing around for a blanket.

“I didn’t have to come at all.”

“Okay, all right. I’m in no position to fight you on that.”

“A romantic musical number in the rain never hurt anyone, Mr. Rollo.”

“Maybe not, but you’ll get sick if you aren’t careful,” he advises, glancing at Skully in the rearview mirror. He watches you drape the blanket over him.

“Ah, live a little, Snow Fright.”

“I am, and as it happens I’m not looking like I’ve just sailed the Seven Seas.”

Unable to craft a clever retort, you stick your tongue out at him. Skully adjusts the blanket so that it envelops you as well, and you sidle closer to conserve warmth—if any can be found when you’re both sopping wet. You rest your head against his shoulder and shut your eyes, relieved to find the lightning and thunder have abated. He stiffens and peers down at you from where he sits stock-still.

“My dear?”

But your tongue is so heavy in your mouth that you can’t muster an answer. Exhaustion wraps itself around your brain like a cotton shroud.

“Thanks for looking after her,” Rollo says, but his voice and the soft notes spilling from the radio sound like distant murmurs.

“You needn’t thank me, Mr. Rollo. I shall always be present to protect and serve my lady. All I hope for is her happiness.”

What is this, a period drama? Isn’t that way too knightly?

“I’m sure she appreciates that.”

Very much, you think, and you drift off enveloped in the coziness of his care.

“If I may, what might you be planning to dress up as for Halloween?” Skully asks during a particularly uneventful lull.

The lot of you are crowded behind the counter, bored out of your minds, and his question is a welcome distraction from the nothingness.

“I’m not dressing up,” Rollo replies, not looking up from his book. “I don’t celebrate.”

“Don’t listen to him,” you interject, waving your hands before Skully can launch into his why-Halloween-is-the-superior-holiday-and-everyone-should-appreciate-and-celebrate-it lecture. “Rollo and I are matching costumes. I’m gonna be a succubus and he’s gonna be my priest!”

“Absolutely not.”

“What?! Come on, Rollo, pleeease? We’re a duo—a two for one sorta deal! You can’t bail on me like this. Every exorcism needs a demon, and every demon needs a priest. Oh! How about this instead? You can be the angel and I’ll be the devil!”

“I’d rather not.”

Pouting, you review the picture on your phone: A scanty, latex one-piece with stockings, a clip-on devil tail, and matching horns. “Look at this cheap, definitely-not-gonna-last-after-Halloween masterpiece! Who’s gonna match my biblical freak if not you?”

Rollo glances up from the passage in his book to spy the costume. “I assume the angel costume is just as revealing, so my answer remains the same. I’ve no interest in matching any sort of freak, biblical or otherwise.”

“But that one will be robes. There’s a halo and wings, too. It’s perfectly virtuous, Mr. Righteous and Holy.” You bat your lashes at him. “Please? Pretty please? I’ll cover all the cleaning and cooking for November—”

“I don’t understand,” Skully interrupts, squinting at the screen. “Where are the horrors beyond human comprehension? The claws? The gnashing fangs or the blood and gore dripping from a gash in the stomach?! This just isn’t…terrifying.”

“That’s the point. It’s supposed to be sexy, not scary.”

“What for?”

“Uh, so I can get laid? Can’t do that if my costume scares the guy soft.”

Skully glances from the phone to you and then back, as if attempting to comprehend your vision. He must’ve landed on something, for his face burns brighter than an apple. “O-Oh, righto… I see now. Very… Very clearly do I see the…intention.” He clears his throat just as you pocket the device. “And then you bite off the head, no?”

“What?”

Even Rollo, who has gracefully benched himself from this conversation, raises a bemused brow from behind the pages of his book.

“Like a praying mantis! She devours the head of her lover after they mate. Isn’t that romantic? Even in death, they remain part of one another. Aah, the insect world is filled with alluring examples of creepy-crawly consummation.”

“Sexual cannibalism’s pretty popular in the animal kingdom, isn’t it?”

He nods. “Quite the macabre fascination, I’d say.”

“So what do you think, Father Flamme?” You nudge Rollo. “Priest is still on the table. Or do you wanna be the unfortunate bug between my jaws?” You fix your fingers into curled claws and swipe at him. “Want me to make a meal out of you?”

He glares at you, half of his sneer now hidden behind celestial patterns. “None of those ideas are on my table.”

“Boooo. You’re so boring! Where’s your Halloween spirit?” With a dramatic sigh, you fall back into Skully’s arms. He holds you steady, allowing you to play out your mourning as if it’s an act in a melodrama. Draping your arm over your face, you exclaim, “Woe is me! Who else will entertain my spooky whims if not my kind, selfless roommate who loves me oh-so-much?”

You hazard a glance from under your arm. Rollo isn’t swayed in the slightest, but then you’re not about to give up either.

“Who’d do anything for me because, despite being a hard-ass, he cares a lot. I see the love in your stone heart. You can’t hide it from me and my all-seeing, all-knowing eyes!”

He sighs. “Must it be me?”

“You’re the one going to the Halloween parties with me so, yeah, it must be you.”

He finally decides to snap his book shut. Tucking it beneath the counter, he says, “Costumes aren’t mandatory, so I see no reason to fret over minute details.”

“Well, you should treat it like it is. It’s one night for a few hours and then you won’t have to give a shit about the ‘minute details’ until next year. You’ve gotta come with me. It won’t be Halloween without my angel.” You straighten up in Skully’s arms and lean towards Rollo to whisper, “That’s you, by the way.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re never going to convince me. I hope you’re aware your pestering will earn you nothing but my ire.”

Pouting, you slump over the counter. “So harsh… And you’d look so cute with your halo. Am I gonna be flying solo for the first time in forever this Halloween? The café au lait to my croissant has abandoned me! Can you believe this, Skulls?”

“Enough of that. I never said I wouldn’t attend the gatherings,” Rollo chides, clicking his tongue at you.

Immediately, you snap to attention. “Wait, for real? You’re the man, Rollo! Are you sure you’re not actually an angel? This guy’s seriously seraphic!”

Before he can evade the shadow of your appreciation, you throw your arms around him. He relents, all too familiar with your physical affections to bother with protest, and reciprocates with a pat to your shoulder.

Skully, who has witnessed this spectacle and remained strangely silent throughout it, barks out a laugh. It’s strained and unnatural. “You seem very close.”

“We are, aren’t we?”

Your arm moves to wrap around his waist, and you drag Rollo closer despite his obvious discomfort. But then the connotation of close catches up to you and that takes precedence over every other feeling.

“Not in the way you think,” Rollo corrects, shaking his head.

“Yeah, we’re close but not that close. He’s my best friend. I couldn’t ever imagine him as anything else, but if it comes down to it we’ll totally be roommates for life. Rollo’s a certified ride or die!”

“She’s my roommate, so I have no choice but to tolerate her. How will rent be paid otherwise?”

“As you can see, I’m very cherished. You can tell because he called me his roommate.”

“Um, but isn’t that technically what you are? Unless…” Skully gasps and looks between the both of you in a panic. “Unless you’re already more than that?! Roommates for life…” He points as if accusing you of witchcraft. “That’s marriage!”

“And we haven’t even held hands yet,” Rollo mutters wryly.

With a scandalized gasp, you shove him. “Rollo, you slut!”

“All this time…” Skully’s mumbling, his hands tugging at his hair and leaving his crown askew. “Right before my eyes, my darling’s heart rests within the palms of another… How could this happen? How could I fail to see it—to chance upon such covert courtship in this soul-wrenching way?”

Sensing his seriousness, you settle your laughter. “Whoa, whoa! Slow down, Skulls. Don’t burn us at the stake!”

“I rescind my previous remark—made entirely in jest, you ought to know.”

“We’re just messing with ya, man. No romance here. Platonic vibes only. I’ll be the first to tell you that.”

“And I, the second.”

“So there’s really nothing?” he asks, hopeful.

Rollo gives you that look, and you signal to him with your own secret scowl: Don’t utter a word.

“Nothing you need to worry about, no,” he says instead, duplicity warping his thin-lipped smile. “(Name) remains lover-less. How fortuitous for you.”

“I think he gets it. No need to put me on blast.” You push Rollo out of Skully’s sight, which hardly achieves much when he’s so tall, and rush to change the subject. “Anyway, what about you, Skulls? What’re you gonna be for Halloween?”

“Something truly fearsome.”

You and Rollo wait for an elaboration, but when he doesn’t follow through you start to nod. “Uh-huh. That’s…vague. So are we talking monster-fearsome or something with serial killers? Jack Skellington?”

An ominous grin cuts into his cheeks. “You’ll see.”

“We all will,” Fellow announces, approaching with Gidel at his side. “I’m giving Halloween shifts to everyone here. And, yes, that includes you, dearie.”

“Fellow, do you know what day Halloween falls on this year?”

“Saturday.”

“And everyone’s going to be out. No one’s coming to the shop.”

“That’s what you think! Do you know how many pestiferous devils like to target my shop?”

“Sorry you’re an old man who can’t run fast enough to catch those devils.”

He scoffs. “I resent that!”

“If you’re a fan of dressing up for Halloween, might I offer a suggestion? You can be the considerate boss who gives his employees the day off. It’s a holiday and a Saturday.”

“For once, I must agree.”

“See! Even Rollo agrees and you know he never agrees to any of my ideas.”

“Only when they’re good ideas,” he adds, smirking behind his handkerchief.

“I’d fire you both if I could,” he grumbles, shaking his head in disapproval. “Skully, my boy, surely I can count on you to show up?”

“Um… Actually, Mr. Honest, I thought I might accompany my dear and Mr. Rollo to their Halloween soirée.”

“Wait, what?” you and Rollo parrot in perfect unison.

“Not that you can’t join, Skulls, but parties aren’t exactly your scene. No offense.”

“Yes! Listen to Miss (Name). What good will a mindless party do? Working the holiday shift will teach you plenty of valuable life skills. You don’t need some…party for that.”

“I’m certain I can learn them every day before and after Halloween, but this special day only comes once every year. I mustn’t squander this opportunity!”

Before Fellow can offer a valid counterpoint, Gidel tugs at his coat. He regards him passively for a perplexed beat and then his expression falls.

“Don’t tell me you want to galavant through Dante’s Inferno, too.”

“You make it sound like one day of no work is hell.”

“It is for my business. Honestly, you ninnies are so simple-minded sometimes.”

“Is your reason not just as simple?” Rollo argues.

“Come on, Fellow. Let the kid go trick-or-treating.”

“You must! It’s what our dearest Gidel deserves. A scary night full of memorable fun and treats.”

Gidel nods rapidly.

Fellow hesitates around outright acceptance and instead deflates with a huff. “You’re all dead to me.”

“Hell yeah!” You exchange high-fives with Skully, Rollo, and Gidel. “Master negotiators! Go team!”

“More like monstrous manipulators.”

“I wouldn’t describe us as such just yet. We haven’t even broached the subject of holiday pay. If you schedule any of us for Halloween, you must be intending to pay us accordingly.”

Your boss grits his teeth, and you think if Rollo were to nudge him any further he’d shatter. Instead, he spins with a flourish.

“We shall discuss that as we get closer to the date!”

“Wanna bet he folds and leaves us off the schedule for that day?” you whisper, bumping hips with Rollo.

“I quite like my odds, so I might have to accept that proposal.”

While you and Rollo scheme amongst yourselves, Skully watches with a fading smile.

second part.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #skully j graves x reader #skully x reader #n/sfw

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