Chapter 1: GALLERY
Summary:
Just a bit of aesthetic, yes, I edited the images (there's more complete on my tiktok, showing more of their real aesthetics)
Chapter Text
#0 GALERIA
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⋆ ✦ ⋆
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✶ 𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑶 𝑵𝑶𝑹𝑹𝑰𝑺
King of Halloween; Cursed by the gods and forced to become an entity of dreadful fame.
"— Ah, the legends... nasty little things, aren’t they?"
"— Never believe everything they’ve told you, my sweet."
✶ 𝑶𝑺𝑪𝑨𝑹 𝑷𝑰𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑰
Something between human and supernatural; he believes he ended up in Halloween Town by accident, but in truth, it all began with a promise.
"— I shouldn’t be here, I’m just... human."
"— How long have you waited for me, Lando?"
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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄
⋆ ✦ ⋆
"I will fall in love with you over and over again,
I don't care how, where, or when.
No matter how long it's been...
you're mine."
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𝑫𝑶𝑵'𝑻 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑫𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑮𝑬𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑴𝑨𝑮𝑰𝑪 𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑺 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑨 𝑷𝑹𝑰𝑪𝑬, 𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑫.
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© thisisdray copyright, 2025.
Chapter Text
00. Warnings and Explanation
🎃 WELCOME TO HALLOWEEN 🎃
Your eyes have touched these lines — and there is no turning back.
The spell has risen in silence, like a whisper crawling through the bones of the night.
The Realm of Halloween is not a place to be observed from afar, as if one were watching a harmless spectacle.
It does not tolerate silent witnesses.
Those who dare to cross its threshold — even if only by reading these words — have already been chosen, whether they offered themselves or not.
This tale was born from a profane fusion:
a story the world tried to disguise as childish, yet always hid the rot of a dark fable (The Nightmare Before Christmas);
an ancient legend whispered in the dark, speaking of the spirit of Halloween itself;
and my own curse — the ability to weave legends like shrouds, made of shattered pacts and graves left half‑closed.
Those who wander through these pages will find more than words. They will find echoes.
The distant laughter of dead children, resonating in nightmares that don’t fade upon waking.
Shadows stretching into the corners of your room, whispering your name with funereal patience.
The lingering feeling that something was left behind…
a piece of you, lost in the very instant you chose to read.
There is no return.
You belong to the story.
And the story belongs to the dark.
Chapter 3: 01. It was like falling down the rabbit hole.
Summary:
Spooky season is finally open.
Notes:
Some of you have known me for months enough to know that I'll be posting practically everything today, lol.
I hope you enjoy my crazy retelling of a children's classic, mixed with a creepypasta and a tragic story of romance sealed with a pact.
Chapter Text
01. It was like falling down the rabbit hole.
Oscar always felt it.
It wasn't just nervousness, nor accumulated fatigue, but something that seemed to sprout from his very skin—a constant shiver, as if the October air carried invisible particles that seeped into his bones. The week leading up to Halloween never went unnoticed by him. No matter how many times he tried to rationalize it, the discomfort returned, dense, inevitable. It was as if someone had hung an invisible weight on his shoulders, too heavy to ignore, yet light enough to be mistaken for paranoia.
Still, his routine proceeded as always.
The alarm clock buzzed shortly before seven, a jarring sound that seemed to echo louder on that grey morning. The first sip of black coffee burned his tongue, but the familiar bitterness brought a false sense of normalcy. Steam escaped from the mug in slow spirals, as if even the smoke knew that day carried a different rhythm. With his backpack slung over his shoulder and his coat hastily buttoned, Oscar left the house, following his usual path to the coffee shop.
The "Pumpkin Coffee" was already bustling before eight. The aroma of ground beans mixed with the sweetness of pumpkin pies fresh from the oven, creating an atmosphere too cozy to match the tension pulsing within him. Oscar greeted customers with his automatic smile, the same one that was already part of his uniform, but he felt his lips tremble slightly with every sympathetic gesture.
It was the details that betrayed him.
Every time his eyes landed on the illuminated pumpkin heads—in store windows, on decorated porches, even on the coffee shop counter—a cold shiver ran down his spine. The triangular, deformed, and flaming eyes seemed to observe him with malice, as if mocking his fear. Some smiling pumpkins showed overly jagged teeth, and for an instant, Oscar had the impression that the light inside them flickered in rhythm with his own breathing.
It was always like this in October.
Always like this when the legends of the "Halloween King" began to spread like smoke around the corners.
They said the monster only appeared on the night of the 31st, when the clock struck midnight. He wore a striped suit, imposing and macabre, and reaped innocents to drag them to his shadowy kingdom. Children, mainly. Ripped from their beds, their streets, their dreams. Tales too horrifying to believe—and yet, impossible to forget.
Oscar tried to laugh it off. And sometimes he even managed to, but only on the surface. Deep down, a part of him never stopped believing.
The day advanced at a hurried pace, set by the clinking of cups, the muffled laughter of colleagues behind the counter, the excited voices of children already dressed up as witches and vampires. The world seemed too normal, almost joyful. But with every step outside, with every gust of wind that shook the hanging decorations, the uncomfortable memory grew: that week, the veil between worlds was thin. So thin that, they said, the shadows could peer through to this side.
When the clock announced the end of his shift, Oscar removed his apron and folded it carefully, as if that gesture could prolong normality. He put on his own clothes—black shirt, neat pants, and the thick coat—but the fabric seemed incapable of protecting him from the cold that tore through the air. The streets were swept by cutting winds, carrying dry leaves that swirled as if dancing in circles. There was something in the icy breath that sounded like distant, old voices, laden with secrets he preferred not to hear.
All he wanted was to get home.
Close the curtains, keep the pumpkins out of sight, immerse himself in videos of clumsy kittens until sleep came. But he knew even that was asking too much. Dreams never spared him. The man in the striped suit was always lurking, waiting for him in corridors that didn't exist.
That night, fate seemed to mock him.
One of the main streets was blocked: police cars flashed, yellow tape stretched like scars across the landscape. Police flashlights illuminated patches of wet asphalt, and the murmurs of curious onlookers filled the air. A frustrated sigh escaped before Oscar could contain it. There would be no returning by the usual route.
The only alternative: to cut through the woods.
Oscar stopped at the corner, his eyes fixed on the dark line of trees that rose like walls. He had never liked that idea—the woods were dense, damp, always shrouded in rumors. But standing there, surrounded by strangers, seemed even worse. He took a deep breath. The cold air rushed in, scratching his throat. When he let it out, his breath came out trembling.
His feet began to move on their own.
The first blocks were still greeted by the light of the streetlamps. The crackling of dry leaves echoed too loudly with every step, as if the woods amplified every sound. Soon, the light thinned until it disappeared completely. The gloom closed in on him, heavy, almost solid, and the sensation that something was walking right behind him became impossible to ignore.
Oscar knew: from here on, nothing was reliable.
Not the darkness.
Not the stories.
Not even himself.
And yet... he kept walking.
Oscar walked with quick steps, the gravel and dry leaves crunching loudly under the soles of his shoes, as if announcing his presence with every movement. The sound seemed to echo through the entire woods, repeating in muffled echoes that came back to him from all directions. He tried to ignore the throbbing feeling that he wasn't alone, but it was useless. It was as if every leaf that rustled behind him concealed invisible eyes, as if the very air breathed at the same pace as his own.
His shoulders were tense, the back of his neck ached, and with every second, he felt a shiver slide down his spine, slow, persistent. His whole body screamed to run, but he didn't dare. Haste would only make him stumble.
Nervously, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. The screen lit up with a fragile, bluish-grey glow that barely outlined the ground before him. The light shook, reflecting on the branches like small blades. It didn't help: instead of brightening, it created denser, distorted, elongated shadows, as if every tree had a monstrous double stretched out over him.
Maybe it was better this way, he thought. Maybe it was better not to see what might be just a few steps behind, what might be lurking in the dark crevices.
But the forest seemed to be toying with him.
The twisted trees stood like immobile guardians, but there was always a strange feeling that they moved when he wasn't looking. The path, which he had walked so many times on sunny afternoons, now seemed longer, more winding, and every curve hid the doubt: was he really walking forward, or circling in the same spot?
A low beep vibrated in the palm of his hand. He looked at the screen, his heart sinking.
5% battery.
Oscar swallowed hard. Cold sweat trickled down his neck, even with the cutting autumn wind. He felt trapped in a nightmare of branches, wind, and darkness.
He kept going. He had no choice.
His feet sank into the layers of dry leaves, which cracked like breaking bones. The cold air scratched his cheeks, making his eyes water. With every breath, small white clouds escaped his mouth, dissolving too quickly in the heavy air. His heart hammered in his chest, loud enough that he swore anything in the shadows could hear it.
Then, without warning, the cell phone died.
The screen went dark in his hand, leaving him immersed in an almost solid blackness.
Oscar froze. His feet stopped moving, and for a few seconds, he didn't even dare to breathe. He tried to strain his eyes, looking for any silhouette, any detail on the ground, but the full moon was hidden by the thick canopies. Only a pale thread of light trickled between the leaves, insufficient, cruel.
A curse word got stuck in his throat. He cursed himself for not having waited on the blocked street. It would have been easier. Safer. Now, every gust of wind that passed through his coat seemed to mock him, whispering: you chose wrong.
Still, he moved. First one step, then another, hesitant, measured. The uneven ground threatened to make him stumble at any moment.
It was then he noticed the clearing.
The trees spread apart, forming a crooked, almost ritualistic circle, as if the woods reserved that space for something too old to be seen. Oscar advanced to the center, instinctively, and there he spun on his own axis, trying to find any exit. The silence crushed him, heavy, thick, broken only by the rustling of leaves far above.
Then the air changed.
A sweet scent emerged from nowhere, creeping like invisible smoke. It was sickly, unmistakable: burnt sugar, melted lollipops, caramelized apples. A perfume of a fair, of an amusement park—but here, in that darkness, it sounded like a poison. Oscar paled, his entire body gripped by a visceral instinct to retreat.
He knew what that meant.
He was too close.
He took two steps back, his fingers trembling in clenched fists, his throat too dry to swallow. Fear spread like an anchor in his chest, heavy, immobilizing. And it was in that fleeing movement that his back touched something.
Cold. Rigid. Alive.
Oscar turned around slowly, and the air left his lungs when he saw it.
The tree.
The twisted trunk looked like burnt iron, its bark black as charcoal. A suffocating presence emanated from it, as if it were breathing. The roots broke the ground in sinuous lines, resembling deformed fingers trying to grab anyone who came near.
Oscar’s heart raced. He opened his mouth to scream, to run—but he didn't have time.
The ground gave way beneath his feet.
The sensation was immediate, brutal: the world opened up into a living abyss, sucking him down. There was no ground, only a whirlwind of spiraling shadows, spinning like a vortex. His stomach shot up into his throat, the pressure crushed his ears, and his fingers struggled to find anything to cling to.
It was like tumbling down the rabbit hole—but here there was no magic, no curiosity. Only terror.
The world above disappeared in seconds.
And Oscar fell, swallowed by the realm he feared the most.
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Lando was bored.
The entire kingdom was buzzing at a feverish pace, vibrating with anticipation for Halloween night. Monsters rehearsed deafening screams, each competing to sound the most terrifying at midnight. Witches stirred their cauldrons, pouring in thick liquids that bubbled in indecipherable colors—corrosive green, pulsating purple, blue that seemed to swallow its own light. Skeletons rattled their bones against each other, testing tunings for the macabre symphony that would guide the ghost march. There were wolves howling in chorus, ravens rehearsing raspy voices, and even the shadows stretched into grotesque figures, like dancers of darkness preparing for the grand performance.
It was perfect.
It was magnificent.
And, to Lando, it was unbearably the same.
From the top of the bone tower—a lookout constructed with columns made of piled skulls and ribs fastened with rusted iron—he watched his city pulse. It was a living spectacle of smoke, will-o'-the-wisps, and screams that intertwined in chorus. Everyone expected the same from him: that he would be the maestro of that night, that he would reign supreme, that he would embody the title he had inherited and masterfully shaped. The King of Halloween.
And Lando played the role like no one else. His impulsiveness, his crooked laugh, the way he commanded the creatures like a conductor of a macabre circus—everything was perfect. But, deep inside him, there was always an uncomfortable echo. A question that throbbed: what if there was something more? Beyond screams, blood, and dancing monsters. An emptiness that no crowd of horrors could fill.
He sighed, his elbows resting on the bone railing, about to descend. The night wind ruffled his brown hair, bringing with it the bittersweet smell of decaying flesh mixed with burned spices. The same air, the same kingdom. Always the same.
It was then that he saw it.
The sky above the clearing, in the distance, tore open in a rip. It wasn't lightning, it wasn't thunder. It was as if a veil had been ripped apart by hand, and something tumbled out of the dark void. A silhouette in free fall, twisting, trying to grasp at nothing. The shadows that haunted the woods stirred excitedly, murmuring among themselves like children about to receive a new toy.
Lando narrowed his eyes.
From above, he immediately realized: it wasn't a skeleton, nor a witch, nor one of his creatures. It didn't have the deformed structure of the aberrations that served Halloween. It was... strange. Different.
And when the body hit the drenched ground of the clearing, the sound was muffled, wet, like flesh against mud. Lando’s dead heart quickened.
A human.
Or at least... it appeared to be.
A crooked smile blossomed on his lips, revealing teeth too sharp to be merely human. It was a dangerous smile: almost charming, almost threatening. His footsteps echoed dryly against the stone of the staircase as he descended from the tower toward the fallen body. The shadows, sensing his approach, drew back reverently, folding like dark curtains before their king.
The boy was unconscious for a few seconds, his breath shallow, his face too pale for a living person. But he didn't have the coldness of a corpse. Something about him was... different.
"Welcome to my kingdom..." Lando murmured, tilting his head to the side like a curious raven. "You fell right into the wolf's mouth, didn't you?"
His eyes scanned the details: the black shirt, the thick coat, the vulnerable way the body huddled on the ground. There was fear clinging to him, the sweet and acidic scent of dread that Lando knew so well. And that was delicious.
But at the same time... fascinating.
He knelt beside him, his skeletal fingers almost brushing Oscar's shoulder.
"Let's see... who exactly you are."
And for the first time in a long while, the King of Halloween felt something new: genuine curiosity.
Chapter 4: 02. The Kingdom of Halloween.
Notes:
When I posted this chapter on Wattpad, McLaren had just won the Constructors' World Championship.
But it's always good to remember that.
Chapter Text
02. The Kingdom of Halloween.
Oscar opened his eyes slowly, his eyelids heavy as lead. The first impact was the damp, sticky feeling of the ground against his back, as if he were lying on a mix of cold mud and soggy moss. The air was saturated with a strange smell, a sour mix of rot with something nauseatingly sweet, like burnt sugar clinging to the back of his throat. Every breath was a battle between the desire for oxygen and the urge to vomit.
For an instant, he thought he was still dreaming. But the throbbing weight in his head, like an invisible hammer banging from within, and the constant shiver rising on his skin like invisible insects left no room for illusion.
When he managed to force his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he noticed the shapes around him defining themselves. The shadows, previously formless, gained contours: skeletal, twisted trees, their branches arched like bony fingers trying to reach him. Between the trunks, lanterns made of skulls hung on worm-eaten ropes, the flickering light trembled as if breathing, casting elongated figures that danced on the ground. And there were eyes. Hidden eyes. Fleeting glints that appeared and disappeared between the crevices of the wood, watching him in silence.
Oscar swallowed hard, feeling his throat scratch. He didn't recognize this place—and yet, he knew exactly where he was. A space that didn't exist in the real world, but that had haunted his childhood nightmares forever.
The nightmare.
His nightmare.
"I see you're awake..." The voice echoed, deep and velvety, scraping his ears like a muffled laugh that belonged to no human.
Oscar blinked quickly, his heart beating so hard it felt about to explode. He tried to get up, supporting himself on trembling hands, when he finally saw him.
A man. No, something wearing the shape of a man. Tall, thin, his shoulders straight and elegant as if he had stepped out of an old painting. He was dressed in a black and white striped suit that seemed alive: the fabric undulated on its own, following movements he wasn't making, as if it had a will of its own. His face was too beautiful to be comforting—there was too much perfection in the features, like a handmade mask. But it was the details that froze the blood: the dark eyes that sparkled like two deep pools of oil, and the smile. A smile too wide, too sharp, that seemed designed to terrify.
He walked calmly, but each step echoed like the crack of a whip in the suffocating silence of the woods. He walked like a king. Like someone accustomed to being revered.
Oscar froze.
The striped suit.
The legend.
"N-no..." his voice failed, coming out in a thread of air. "You... you don't exist."
The stranger tilted his head to the side, studying him with feline curiosity, his lips still stretched into that smile that was disturbing to Oscar's eyes, yet held a touch of gentleness.
"What a funny thing to say to someone who is right before your eyes." With every word, Oscar felt the air around him grow denser. The man took a few slow steps, and the sound of his shoes, a dry, measured beat, reverberated as if echoing inside Oscar's chest. "I am Lando. Welcome to the Kingdom of Halloween, my kingdom!"
Oscar felt his stomach churn. His heart wanted to run, but his legs seemed stuck to the ground, inert, as if invisible roots held him.
"You... you can't take me. I'm not a child!" he suddenly said, more in desperation than courage.
Lando laughed. It wasn't a normal laugh. The sound resonated like dozens of out-of-tune bells clanging together, echoing in opposite directions, impossible to ignore.
"Ah... so you know the stories." He slowly crouched down, meeting Oscar's gaze. The dark eyes seemed to swallow any glint of light around them. "But I must say... they are disappointing. Exaggerated, cruel... and, honestly, much less creative than I truly am."
Oscar tried to back away but felt his back hit the rough root of a tree. There was no more space.
"So... you don't...?" the question came out incomplete, his voice choked.
Lando's smile widened even more, ambiguous, amused, and cruel all at once.
"I don't kill little children, if that's what you're trying to confirm." The pause was long, heavy, before he finished: "But I wouldn't say you're safe either."
The words trickled down to him like melting ice on the back of his neck. Oscar took a deep breath, his lungs burning, while he trembled almost involuntarily. It was as if, with every second he spent there, the warmth was drained from his skin, leaving him colder, emptier.
And yet... there was something about Lando. Something terribly magnetic. As if it were impossible to look away from him. As if the danger itself was too beautiful to ignore.
Oscar couldn't tell if the cold came from the ground, the trees, or the man himself before him. But it was there—seeping under his skin, freezing the air in his lungs. Each time he inhaled, it seemed like he was breathing in a little more of Lando's world, and less of his own.
The silence of the forest weighed heavily, interrupted only by the irregular thump of his heart. And suddenly, even his heart seemed to beat at the wrong pace, too fast, as if trying to keep up with the rhythm Lando's steps imposed on the space.
"You're pale," Lando murmured, his voice almost affectionate, almost. "Don't tell me you're scared."
Oscar opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The air scratched his throat, trapped, stubborn. Lando's dark gaze fixed him like a nail driven through wood, holding him in place without any effort.
When Lando leaned in a little closer, Oscar could smell the scent coming from him—an impossible blend of smoke, wet earth, and something sweet, almost addictive, like vanilla burning in old candles. It was an aroma that belonged to nothing human.
"I like fear," Lando confessed, his sharp smile curving further. "It has taste. Texture. Even sound, if you listen closely enough." He snapped his fingers, and Oscar swore he heard whispers coming from nowhere, like hidden voices between the trees.
Oscar's heart pounded so hard he nearly choked. His hands trembled, his fingers trying to scratch the dirt behind him as if they could dig a path to escape. But no matter how much he wanted to look away, he couldn't.
There was something in those black pupils, an invitation disguised as a threat. An invisible gravitational field pulling him in, as irresistible as an abyss. He wanted to hate it. He wanted to get up and run. But his mind betrayed his body, frozen by fascination and horror.
Lando brought his face closer, his breath grazing Oscar's skin like a cold breeze.
"See, Oscar?" The name left his lips as if it had flavor, savored syllable by syllable. "You've only been here a short time, and yet... you can't stop looking at me."
Oscar shuddered. He hadn't told him his name.
Panic exploded in his chest, but along with it came something worse: the strange, disturbing feeling that Lando was right.
Oscar could barely breathe. Every muscle in his body was tense, his fingers digging into the damp earth as if they wanted to escape on their own. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, trying to register every detail: twisted trunks that seemed to peer, skull lanterns casting a shaky light on soaked leaves, creatures hidden in the corners, still as statues, but with eyes that glowed in the darkness. All were watching, but none dared to approach. None while Lando was there.
The man in front of him remained still, his wide, blade-sharp smile, extending one of his skeletal hands toward him. Oscar felt the instinct to retreat, but his back was already pressed against the rough, cold root of a black tree. The wet ground clung to his palms, his clothes, and the bittersweet smell of burnt sugar and wet earth seemed to penetrate his lungs, mixing with his own panic.
Lando tilted his head, studying every tremor, every irregular breath. His black eyes shone with an intense, almost animal curiosity. Oscar was not just interesting; he was unique. He didn't seem entirely human, but Lando didn't care to discover what exactly he was. In that moment, his identity was merely fascinating. The living—or almost living—presence of something different, so unexpected, was enough to hold the King of Halloween's complete attention.
The silence between them stretched, heavy like the damp air of the woods. Oscar felt the seconds drag on, each one longer than the last, as if the night itself held its breath along with him. His legs trembled, his head throbbed, his heart felt like it wanted to burst from his chest. But he didn't dare look away from Lando's smile.
Then, as if the tension were a thread that needed to be cut, Lando let out a low, musical, and surprisingly humorous laugh that echoed through the woods like crystal drops falling onto metal. It wasn't a laugh of pure malice—there was amusement in it, a dark satisfaction that made Oscar involuntarily gasp.
"Well... well..." Lando murmured, approaching unhurriedly. "Let's see if I can get you up without breaking anything."
With an almost theatrical gesture, he extended his skeletal hand again and, without rushing, helped Oscar stand. His body trembled, heavy, as if every muscle was still glued to the cold, damp ground. Lando held his back with surprising care, brushed the dirt clinging to Oscar's clothes, and precariously adjusted the drenched coat and shirt. Every movement had precision and grace, but also a menacing lightness, as if each gesture could be lethal if he chose.
Oscar breathed with difficulty, his vision blurred by fear and the effort to stay upright. Around them, the creatures of the Halloween Kingdom kept their distance. Wolves, bats, humanoid figures with twisted limbs, shining eyes—all seemed curious, but they had learned to fear the King. None dared to approach the new visitor while Lando was so near, his power permeating the air.
"You are... intriguing," Lando finally said, his fingers still hovering near Oscar, as if studying whether he could sense anything more about him. "I don't know if you're human... or something else. But, either way... you're the most interesting thing that has happened in this... dead existence of mine."
Oscar felt a shiver run through every vertebra, not just from the cold or the fear, but from being studied, analyzed, reduced to something that piqued the curiosity of such a powerful entity. The air seemed to vibrate between them, filled with the smell of burnt leaves, wet earth, and Lando's peculiar aroma—something sweet and metallic, almost impossible to distinguish from the woods themselves, and yet unmistakable.
He looked around again, trying to orient himself, feeling the clearing spin slightly beneath his feet. But there was no escape route. There was only Lando, the wide smile, the eyes that shone with insatiable curiosity, and the overwhelming feeling that in that instant he had no choice but to obey, or at least remain there, motionless, hypnotized and terrified.
Lando's touch, though minimal, seemed to radiate power, a silent warning: "you are in my kingdom now."
And Oscar knew, with every fiber of his being, that there was no way back.
Oscar didn't know if he was trembling more because of the cold that seemed to penetrate his clothes or because of the presence of the man—creature? entity?—in front of him. His fingers still tingled from the contact with the skeletal hand that had pulled him from the ground, and every part of his body screamed for him to move away, run, disappear. But it was impossible.
The air was thick with expectation, as if even the woods held its breath. The twisted trunks around them seemed to lean in a little closer, closing the circle around them. The skull lanterns flickered with weak flames, casting shadows that danced on the damp earth as if amused by Oscar's terror.
He risked a quick look past Lando. The creatures were still there, motionless, only their eyes betraying the life pulsing within them: some glowed red, others green, others an opaque white that more resembled polished bones. Shaggy, shapeless forms jostled each other between the trunks, peering at the scene with childish eagerness. But none dared to cross the invisible boundary that Lando's presence drew on the ground.
Oscar swallowed hard. Since childhood, he had learned to fear this place. The stories whispered by neighbors and told in trembling voices said that nothing here was as it seemed: that sweets tasted like ashes, that trees could devour entire men, that the very ground opened up to swallow those who dared to defy the King of Halloween.
And now, he was standing before him. Not in a dream, not in a legend—in flesh, bone... and something more.
Lando watched him in silence, his dark eyes flashing with curiosity. The smile remained, but there was something slow, dangerous about it, like a cat watching a mouse wriggle before deciding whether to play or kill. The striped suit seemed to subtly undulate with the wind—or perhaps it wasn't the wind. Oscar couldn't tell if the fabric actually moved on its own or if it was just another illusion of the place.
With every second, the feeling of vulnerability suffocated him more. He tried to convince himself that he could still fight, that if he tried hard enough he could escape, but his body knew the truth: there was no running. Not in that kingdom, not under that gaze.
Then Lando leaned forward slightly, closing the distance in a calculated manner, his skeletal fingers adjusting the collar of Oscar's coat as if he were a careful tailor. The gesture, though simple, made his heart race even faster. It was intimate, but also threatening.
"Still so scared..." Lando murmured, his voice low and velvety, vibrating in the air like a melody only Oscar could hear. "What a sweet curiosity you are."
Oscar tried to speak, but his throat seemed sealed. Only a hoarse sound escaped, nothing that turned into words.
Lando's smile widened. He seemed to savor that broken silence, as if Oscar's fear were music made just for him.
For an instant, Oscar felt as if time had stopped. The creatures stopped breathing, the wind ceased, even the flames in the lanterns seemed to freeze. Only the two of them existed in that space—the King and the intruder.
And, for the first time, Oscar realized that the fear wasn't just his. The whole woods seemed to tremble under Lando's presence, as if even the shadows were afraid to provoke him.
And that terrified him even more.
Oscar felt his mouth dry, his tongue heavy, as if every syllable were a rock impossible to move. Still, the silence suffocated him more than the fear—and Lando seemed to be waiting, with that lazy smile that dripped from his lips like a hidden blade.
"Well?" the voice came low, almost a whisper, but it vibrated like thunder in Oscar's chest. "Are you going to stand there staring at me like a cornered deer... or are you going to tell me what you are?"
Oscar blinked quickly, trying to moisten his eyes. "I... I'm... human." The word came out choked, almost inaudible.
For an instant, Lando remained motionless. Then he tilted his head back and let out a laugh—loud, crystalline, full of humor and derision. The sound reverberated through the woods, making the creatures retreat even further, as if afraid of being hit by that laughter.
"Human?" he repeated, as if the word were a delicious joke. "Ah, no, my sweet. Humans don't fall in here by accident. Humans run to hide in their little homes smelling of cinnamon and pumpkins, lock doors, close curtains." He took a circling step around Oscar, his dark eyes glowing like embers. "You fell. You crossed the veil. That's not the work of just any human."
Oscar followed him with his eyes, his body too rigid to move. He felt his heart pound against his ribs, but he didn't dare look away.
"I don't know... how it happened," he murmured, his voice wavering, as if clinging to every word. "I was just... going home."
"Going home, hmm?" Lando repeated with a melodic, mocking tone. "And you ended up in my woods. How convenient."
He stopped behind Oscar, so close that the cold of his presence grazed the back of his neck. Oscar shuddered, swallowing hard, and Lando smiled with satisfaction.
"You know, this makes me curious..." he continued, leaning in so his mouth almost touched Oscar's ear. "If you're human, as you say, why does the fear in you have this different flavor? It's not the shallow fear of mortals who scream at the sight of a shadow. Yours..."—he inhaled softly, as if tasting Oscar's dread—"...is deeper. Denser. As if it has been seasoned for years, rooted so intensely within you that it seems intertwined with your soul."
Oscar closed his eyes tightly. He knew exactly what Lando was talking about: the sleepless nights, the dreams populated by the man in the striped suit, the shivers that pursued him every late October. But admitting that... would be like handing over his soul on a platter.
"I... I always heard stories," he replied, his voice faltering, as if grasping at each word. "About you. Since I was a child."
Lando laughed again, lower this time, almost a satisfied purr. He circled back to the front of Oscar and crouched down, until their eyes were aligned. The dark gaze sparkled with malice and interest.
"Ah, so I'm your ghost under the bed..." he murmured. "The monster that haunted your dreams."
Oscar tried to look away, but Lando's gaze pulled him back, like invisible claws.
"What... what are you going to do with me?" the question escaped before he could stop it.
Lando's smile widened even more, an almost childlike glee crossing his face.
"That, my sweet, is the best part." He brushed a skeletal finger on Oscar's coat sleeve, adjusting it carelessly. "Not even I know yet."
The forest seemed to sigh along with Oscar. Every shadow that moved between the trees seemed to laugh at him, mock his fear, and yet dared not approach. It was as if Lando's simple presence was an invisible shield, keeping all other creatures at a distance—not out of pity, but out of respect, or even greater fear.
Lando did not let go of Oscar's hand. His long, cold, rigid fingers were intertwined with the boy's as if it were natural, inevitable. He tilted his head, his luminous eyes narrowing with interest.
"You know..." he began, drawing out the words, like someone savoring an idea before voicing it, "you really don't seem made for this place. There's something... alive about you. Something that doesn't belong in the Kingdom of Halloween. But another part... that does belong."
Oscar shuddered, his heart beating so fast it felt like it would leap from his throat. His words were not just observations: they were accusations. A thin blade, cutting too close.
Lando came even closer, so close that Oscar felt the cold of death graze his living skin. His teeth were revealed in an almost mocking smile, while his other hand—the one not holding Oscar—slowly lifted and passed through the air, near his face, as if testing the distance between them.
"But that's what makes you... fascinating." His tone oscillated between humor and threat, between an invitation and a sentence. "Tell me, Creature, what are you? A lost mistake? Or... a gift that fell straight into my lap?"
Oscar swallowed hard, but the words wouldn't come out. His eyes searched for any escape, any route out of that dark woods. He only found shadows. And they stared back.
Lando laughed softly, that deep, distorted sound that seemed to be born both from his throat and the trees around them. And before Oscar could pull away, he tugged his hand and spun him around, in an almost theatrical gesture, leaving him facing the path that led to the heart of the Kingdom of Halloween.
"Come." Lando said, his voice carrying an authority that brooked no refusal. "If you survived this far, you deserve to see what lies beyond the forest."
Behind them, the creatures retreated even further, some murmuring in incomprehensible whispers. No one dared to follow them.
Oscar felt that every step he took from there on could be the last one that still remembered who he was.
Chapter Text
03. The Heart of a Macabre World.
With every step Oscar took, the forest seemed to twist behind him, as if closing the way back. The tree trunks contorted into impossible shapes, as if arms and faces carved in the wood mocked him in silence. The ground, previously covered by dry leaves, was now paved with black stones that reflected a damp sheen, almost as if they were alive.
Lando walked ahead, still holding Oscar’s hand, pulling him along firmly, but not brutally. It was a strange gesture, as if he wanted to keep him attached to himself, not by force, but by choice. With every glance back, Oscar saw the creatures of the forest hesitating in the shadow. None crossed the path that he and Lando followed—as if that path were reserved for something greater.
And then, the forest opened up.
Before them, the Kingdom of Halloween pulsed. It wasn't a city as Oscar knew it, but a delirious mixture of village and nightmare: twisted towers made of bones and rusted iron rose against the hazy sky, orange and green lights came from lanterns embedded in skulls that laughed on their own, streets snaked in absurd directions, some ending in doors suspended in the air or alleys that led to bloody walls.
The sound was deafening and fascinating: laughter that echoed from windowless houses, ritual chants coming from hidden alleys, and a constant murmuring, like an invisible crowd, commenting on the new visitor's arrival.
In the center of it all, there was a square. A circle of black stones, where a violet flame burned inside a gigantic cauldron. Around it, hooded figures muttered, and every word seemed to beat against Oscar's chest like a war drum.
He stood motionless, his eyes wide. The terror was absolute, but there was something hypnotic. The Kingdom breathed, looked at him. It wanted him.
Lando leaned into his ear, his tone charged with an almost cruel irony:
"Welcome to the heart of my world." His eyes sparkled, intense. "Now tell me, Oscar... are you afraid?"
The question was not merely a provocation. It was a challenge. And at that very instant, Oscar felt that all those invisible creatures—shadows, eyes, mouths, and bones—awaited the answer as much as Lando did.
Silence suddenly fell.
It was so abrupt that Oscar almost stumbled into the vacuum of his own breath. The incessant murmuring echoing through the streets, the distant laughter, even the crackle of the violet fire in the center of the square—everything ceased as if someone had yanked the sound from the air.
And then, the flame.
The fire in the cauldron, previously agitated and wild, changed. The purple flames trembled, the deep violet opening into golden streaks, as if a forbidden color had infiltrated the heart of the Kingdom. Hooded creatures immediately backed away, horrified, some falling to their knees, others covering their faces with tattered sleeves.
Oscar felt his chest tighten. The warmth of that gold called to him, though it was impossible to explain how. It wasn't physical heat, but a vibration that seemed to emanate from the flames directly to his bones.
"What... what is happening?" his voice failed, almost swallowed by the reverent silence.
Lando didn't answer immediately. His eyes, for the first time, lacked that mocking glint. He watched, fascinated, as if he had just discovered a secret that not even he knew.
"That..." he murmured softly, almost to himself, but loud enough for Oscar to hear, "...that is not normal."
The smile returned, slow, but there was no humor. There was something hungry in it.
"The Kingdom likes you." Lando lifted his chin, staring at the fire that now pulsed in shades of gold and violet. "Or rather... it recognizes you."
Oscar took a step back, terrified.
"Recognizes? What does that mean? I'm not from here!"
A creeping sound began to move across the ground. The black stones of the square vibrated beneath their feet, and pale roots began to sprout from the cracks, stretching toward Oscar as if trying to touch him. The creatures hidden in the shadows stirred, some growling low, others whimpering like frightened dogs.
Lando turned slowly to him, his smile widening again, almost tearing at the edges of his face.
"Ah, my sweet..." his voice was pure excitement, mixed with a hint of danger. "Perhaps you're not just an intruder. Perhaps you are... the piece this place has been waiting for so long."
Oscar felt the roots brush his ankles, not aggressively, but like curious fingers. And the fire, now, seemed to call his name without using words.
The air grew heavy. Dense. As if every shadow breathed together, in unison, around Oscar.
He didn't dare move, but he couldn't stand still either. His heart beat irregularly, almost as loud as the strange crackling of the golden flames that now dominated the cauldron. The fire seemed to lean in his direction, as if curving its very shape to observe him.
The roots crawling across the ground wrapped around his ankles, slowly climbing the hem of his pants. It wasn't hostility—not yet. It was a living curiosity, as if the Kingdom, with all its bones, smoke, and shadows, were reaching out to acknowledge him. To claim him.
Oscar gasped, trying to pull away, but the root merely squeezed lightly, a gesture of possession. Fear burned within him, but the most terrifying thing was the opposite feeling, growing like a whisper in his mind: this felt... familiar. As if he had been there before, in another time, in another body.
"Just look at you..." Lando's voice cut the silence like a blade. He advanced slowly, the smile still plastered on his face, but his eyes fixed on the boy's every reaction. "The Kingdom doesn't usually like strangers. In fact, it usually devours them."
He tilted his head, his disheveled hair falling over his eyes.
"But you... you're different."
Oscar clenched his fists, his voice trembling.
"Different how? What does this mean?!"
Lando approached until the distance between them was almost nothing. His skeletal fingers brushed the roots holding Oscar, and they immediately recoiled, like animals obeying their master. A low laugh escaped his throat.
"It means the Kingdom wants you, little creature. And when the Kingdom desires..." he paused, looking around. The stone houses, the iron gates, even the skull lanterns glowed with a sudden golden hue, reflecting the central fire. The creatures, previously huddled, now trembled as if standing before something sacred. "...it always takes."
Oscar tried to breathe deeply, but the air felt trapped. His eyes scanned the scene, seeing living structures subtly lean in, as if the entire space recognized his presence. Windows rattled on their own, shadows bowed on the ground, even the wind seemed to circulate only around him.
He stammered, almost voiceless:
"I don't belong here..."
Lando let out a short, humorous laugh, though it was laden with something dark. His fingers, this time, actually rested on Oscar's shoulder, dusting him off as if playing with his vulnerability. He precariously adjusted the coat, slapping the sleeves, straightening it with a theatrical exaggeration.
"Ah, Oscar..." he said with sweet irony, extending his hand, as if it were an invitation and a threat at the same time. "No one ever belongs in this place. Until the day they do."
The flames behind them roared like a living breath.
Oscar still felt Lando's touch on his shoulder, but he didn't dare move much. Every muscle was tense, his body urging flight while his mind tried to process the strangeness of that place—and the strangeness of the man in front of him.
"Look around," Lando said, leaning slightly, his tone soft, almost conspiratorial. "See how everything here reacts when you're near. Don't you notice? Even the shadows bow. Even the fire changes color. Even the creatures... fall silent."
Oscar averted his gaze, trying not to be impressed, but every part of the sight was a terrifying confirmation. The trees slightly bent, trunks twisted as if whispering among themselves. Some lanterns trembled, not from wind, but from an almost conscious interest.
"What do you want from me?" he finally managed to ask, his voice failing.
Lando moved closer, so close that Oscar could feel the phantom warmth of his skin—if that could be called skin. The suit undulated slightly, even without wind, as if breathing.
"I want to know who you are." He smiled, but it wasn't a comforting smile. It was a curious, hungry smile, as if he were facing the most intriguing puzzle in the world. "What brought you here? What kind of creature dares to cross the veil and reach my kingdom?"
Oscar swallowed hard. The feeling of vulnerability was overwhelming, but there was also something in him that resisted, however minimally.
"I... I'm just..." he tried, but Lando cut him off, tilting his head, his dark eyes sparkling.
"Just?" he repeated, mocking. "Ah, my sweet, 'just' never leads anyone here. You didn't fall by chance. The Kingdom noticed you. And I... well, I noticed you before it did."
Oscar felt a shiver run down his spine. He wanted to pull away, but Lando's words seemed to have some kind of gravity of their own, pulling him closer.
"Why me?" he murmured, almost inaudible.
"Why not you?" Lando murmured slowly, savoring his confusion.
Lando leaned forward, his breath reaching Oscar's face, cold and sweet like a promise of danger.
"Because you're different." He said slowly, savoring each syllable. "But you'll soon remember and see, you weren't made for normal life, my sweet."
Oscar looked down at the ground, his fingers clenching his own coat. The violet and gold fire behind them pulsed like a giant heart, but it seemed conscious, almost eager, as if waiting for the next move.
"What if I don't want to..." he tried to say, his voice weak.
Lando smiled, a crooked and charming smile that carried danger.
"Ah, but you're already here." He extended his hand again, offering it not just as support, but as an irresistible invitation. "And the Kingdom... well, the Kingdom likes those who surrender to fear with curiosity. And so do I."
The creatures, the trees, the fire, the shadows—everything seemed to wait. Watching. Hinting at will, but not touching. The tension hung in the air, so thick that Oscar could feel it clinging to his skin.
And Lando just kept smiling, waiting, curious, amused, while every muscle in Oscar screamed for escape, and every part of his mind insisted on not looking away from that smile that was simultaneously an invitation and a sentence.
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Lando guided Oscar through the twisted alleys of the Kingdom of Halloween, as if every turn had been shaped to confuse and enchant at the same time. The narrow lanes were too tight, and the walls, alive with a slow breath, pulsed under the dim light of deformed lanterns, spitting out orange lights that flickered as if they were about to go out at any moment. The ground, covered with uneven stones, made the boy stumble more than walk, but he didn't dare release the hand that guided him.
That hand.
Lando's thin, icy bone structure pressed against his skin, transmitting an impossible contradiction: a silent threat and an inescapable protection. Oscar didn't know if it was imprisonment or comfort. Perhaps both. He felt the touch like a slow spell, rooting itself in his mind with every passing second, until his own thoughts no longer seemed to belong to him.
The shadows in the corners of the alley murmured among themselves. Sometimes they laughed, sometimes they cried, like invisible neighbors trading secrets in a language he didn't understand. Oscar kept his eyes fixed on the subtle movements around him: transparent ghosts adjusting chains on iron posts, uniformed skeletons lining up in rehearsed steps for some kind of procession, witches stirring cauldrons whose colored vapors snaked through the air like ethereal serpents. And yet, everyone—absolutely everyone—darted curious glances at him. As if he were an intruder. As if his mere breathing there was an invitation to chaos.
But no one dared to approach.
Not while he walked beside Lando.
Oscar realized this. And the realization filled him with a growing discomfort: Lando carried something no one dared to confront. A secret—no, several—that escaped from behind the crooked smile, from the hungry glint in his eyes. It was as if there was an abyss inside him, and every step Oscar took was one more rope-less dive back in.
"You need to see," Lando said, his voice more melody than speech, vibrating like plucked strings in the cold air. "You need to feel that none of this is bad. The smell of burnt sweets, the terror in the alleys, the dread in the walls... all of this is your place."
Oscar remained silent. The words infiltrated him like smoke, filling his lungs until there was no room left for air.
Then something changed.
Children's giggles, small and quick like broken bells, suddenly echoed. A group of children ran through the alley, with steps that seemed not to touch the ground. They laughed loudly, cackles mixing with the squeak of bats and the crackle of the lanterns. They played as if that world were just an eternal amusement park.
The shock tore Oscar from his trance. He blinked several times, his mind spinning in an effort to process the absurdity before him. Instinctively, he tried to let go of Lando's hand, his heart pleading for distance.
But the response was immediate.
"Don't." The word slid from Lando's lips like silk. Soft, but implacable. The smile that spread across his face held something victorious. His hand tightened around Oscar's, holding him firmly. "Don't try to run yet."
Oscar's heart pounded, a desperate drum against his ribs. His eyes wandered back to the children, seeking a visual refuge, until something caught his attention: a small boy, perhaps the youngest of the group, ran toward them and bumped directly into Lando's legs.
Oscar held his breath.
The boy seemed ripped from a childhood nightmare: his body wrapped in filthy rags, each strip stained with a red that looked too fresh. A grotesque little mummy. But something was wrong... the aura surrounding him was too alive, too intense to be a simple game. But Oscar knew better... that child was dead.
The little boy looked up. And smiled.
"Lan!" he exclaimed, running into the man's arms with the raw innocence of someone who no longer fears monsters.
Lando immediately bent down, his arms opening with a softness Oscar hadn't imagined he was capable of showing. The contrast sent shivers down his spine. It was too human. Too much intimacy.
"Hey, little one," he murmured, pulling him close, cuddling him against his skeletal chest. Lando's voice, suddenly, became a sweet poison. "You've been up to mischief again, haven't you?"
Oscar couldn't move. The cold on his spine increased. That image—the monster embracing the child as if he were the most precious thing in the world—confused him on a visceral level. The Kingdom of Halloween was fear, it was grotesque, it was a field of living horrors. But there was this too: warmth, tenderness, a spark that was out of place and, precisely because of that, was even more terrifying.
And Lando?
Lando smiled, his eyes twinkling in a dangerous mixture of control and pleasure. Every gesture calculated, every word poisoned with intent. He would never reveal yet what he truly wanted from Oscar.
"Don't they fear you?" Oscar asked in a thread of a voice, observing the unusual scene.
"Why would I be afraid of Lan?" The little boy asked innocently. "He was the only one who cared, he saved me from the bad man..."
Oscar felt the air escape his lungs. Those words seeped deep, loaded with something he was not prepared to face.
The bad man.
Saved.
Cared.
And when his trembling eyes turned back to Lando, he found him smiling. Not that mocking or cruel smile, but something between enchantment and calculated delight. His eyes sparkled like two illuminated slits of darkness, reflecting pleasure in seeing Oscar so confused, so torn between visceral fear and disturbing doubt.
Lando didn't need to say anything.
The silence was enough.
But still, his voice came—slow, drawn out, like a poisonous melody:
"See? Not everything they tell about me is true. The legends... ah, the legends. They prefer to paint me as an insatiable demon, but they forget that even in horror... there is room for care."
He lifted the little boy into his arms as if he were light as air and, for an instant, Oscar almost believed it wasn't a performance. Almost.
His heart hammered with desperation and doubt.
What was worse? The child-devouring monster of the legends? Or this man who managed to be both absolute terror and the only hope for the lost in that place?
Oscar felt the trap was set.
And the cruelest part was: there were no bared teeth, no chains, no claws. There was only tenderness, and that held him much more effectively.
Notes:
Hello darlings, how are you? Enjoying the creepy vibe of the fanfic?
Is it just me, or do you also have a soft spot for Lando calling Oscar "my sweet"? I swear I just melt.
Chapter Text
04. I Never Let Them Go.
The night seemed endless. With every step, Oscar felt the ground pulse beneath his feet as if the Kingdom itself breathed with him—or against him. The creatures had returned to their mischief: weaving webs between bone streetlamps, letting out distorted laughter, biting poisoned caramels with their broken teeth. But, even amidst the chaos, eyes turned toward him and Lando. Always curious, always following.
Lando, for his part, did not let go of his hand. The delicate skeleton of his fingers seemed to hold Oscar in an invisible, unbreakable knot. With every gesture, every smile, he reinforced the feeling that there was no escape.
"Do you know what they say about me?" Lando's voice broke the heavy silence, in the tone of someone sharing a forbidden secret. His smile was almost lazy, but his eyes, ah, his eyes were sharp as razors. "That I drag innocent little creatures here and never let them go."
Oscar glanced at him, his heart pounding, and almost stumbled when the path began to change. The stones, previously covered with moss, were turning into dark slabs that formed an ascending trail. On the horizon, silhouetted against the dead moon, twisted towers rose: Lando's castle.
"Is it true?" he dared to ask, though his own voice sounded strange, choked.
Lando laughed softly, like someone savoring the other's fear. A slow laugh, full of irony. "Well, my sweet... do you really believe all the legends?" He tilted his head, bringing his face close to his, so close that Oscar felt the cold, sweet breath, like smoke from a recently extinguished candle. "If it were, you wouldn't be here talking to me."
Oscar swallowed hard, with no immediate answer. The castle towers grew before them, each window looking like a dark eye that watched, each door a shapeless stone smile. The entire Kingdom seemed to tense, attentive, as if awaiting something from him.
Lando continued, feigning nonchalance:
"They say I steal dreams." A slight chuckle escaped. "But that's a lie. I just... visit them."
Oscar shuddered. It was impossible not to remember the nights when the same smiling figure invaded his dreams, when he still believed it was just imagination.
"They also say," Lando continued, his voice soft as a wicked song, "that I am the guardian of fear, that if you look into my eyes for too long, you will never find peace again."
Oscar felt his chest tighten, but he didn't look away. And Lando smiled even wider, satisfied with his involuntary courage.
"I would tell you not to believe everything, but..." Lando tilted his chin, guiding him closer to the black gate that began to groan, as if it had a life of its own. "Some legends are more useful when you feed them."
The gate creaked, opening slowly, as if recognizing its master. Beyond, the castle exuded a heavy air, sweet and poisonous at the same time, a mixture of promise and threat.
Lando raised his chin, pulling Oscar with him:
"Welcome to the heart of what they call my 'forbidden kingdom'." His lips curled into a sharp smile. "And beware... sometimes, it's easier to believe the legends than to understand the truth."
The gate closed behind them with a sound that seemed more like a sigh than a snap.
A living sound.
Oscar instinctively took a step back, but Lando didn't allow it. His hand—cold, firm, almost ethereal—pulled him back to his side.
The air inside the castle was different. It seemed dense, almost liquid. It smelled of burnt candles, damp wood, and melted sugar—an impossible combination that sometimes resembled childhood, sometimes a funeral.
The walls were too high, lined with tapestries that moved slightly, as if breathing. Shadows danced without needing wind, and somewhere distant, a clock marked the wrong time.
Oscar watched everything, silent.
His heart pounded, but it wasn't just fear. There was fascination too—that kind of fascination that arises when something scares you, but still calls to you.
Lando guided him down a narrow corridor, his footsteps echoing almost musically.
"You know," he began, with the tone of someone discussing the weather, "they say this castle was born from a mistake."
Oscar looked sideways, not understanding.
"A mistake?"
Lando nodded slowly.
"When the Kingdom of Halloween was created, it needed a center... a heart. Something to make it beat. But what they didn't know is that the heart ended up gaining a will of its own." A smile crossed his lips. "And this is where it beats."
Oscar swallowed hard. The candles around them flickered, as if they had heard.
"So... this place is alive?" he asked, hesitant.
"Oh, everything here is, my sweet." Lando replied without hesitation, running his fingers over a wall that seemed to tremble under his touch. "The Kingdom breathes, observes, reacts." He turned to Oscar, and his eyes shone amber. "And it likes you."
Oscar froze.
The floor beneath his feet trembled slightly, and a whisper ran down the corridor, an almost childlike voice, but impossible to understand. The tapestries undulated, the candlesticks tilted.
The Kingdom was truly reacting.
To him.
"What... what does that mean?" he asked, his voice failing.
Lando moved closer, so close that Oscar could see the reflection of the flames in his eyes.
"It means it recognized you," he whispered, with a dark pleasure. "And when the Kingdom recognizes someone, it... chooses."
Oscar took a step back, but Lando followed him, with a smile too serene for someone who hid such dense secrets.
"Chooses?" Oscar repeated.
"Hm." Lando tilted his face, pretending to think. "Perhaps it felt the same way I felt when I first saw you. Something... inevitable." He moved even closer, until his cold breath touched Oscar's neck. "The Kingdom doesn't make mistakes, Oscar."
Outside, the wind howled and for an instant, Oscar had the impression that the entire castle laughed.
Lando extended his hand, inviting him to follow.
"Come. I want to show you something."
And as they walked, the corridor slowly opened into a grand hall, where the ceiling disappeared into a sky of dark clouds and floating lanterns. There was a long table, filled with improbably shaped sweets and goblets that seemed full of mist.
In the background, a black throne waited.
The Kingdom murmured.
And Oscar began to understand—even if in a terrifying way—that nothing there was random.
Lando was leading him to the center of the Kingdom, but also, perhaps, to his own center.
The hall stretched out before them like a dream that had been asleep for too long.
The columns—gigantic, twisted—seemed made of polished bones and dark vines that still dripped sap. The floor, in turn, reflected like a liquid mirror, and each of Oscar's steps sent small waves spreading, mixing his reflection with that of the flames suspended from the ceiling.
He tried not to look too much, because every time he did, he had the sensation that something was looking back.
Lando, however, walked naturally, almost dancing.
"This is the Heart," he said, opening his arms theatrically. "The point where the Kingdom breathes. Where every legend, every scare, and every laugh begins."
His voice sounded different there, deeper, as if it were part of the room itself.
Oscar felt a shiver run down his arms.
The lanterns began to move, rotating around them slowly, as if analyzing the intruder. Shadows leaned on the walls, some smiling, others murmuring phrases that the human mind couldn't understand.
And then... the lights bowed.
It was subtle, but Oscar noticed. They leaned toward him.
Lando watched, the smile growing in silence.
"Did you see that?" he asked, like someone commenting on a private joke. "They recognize you."
Oscar frowned. "Recognize me? I've never been here."
Lando let out a short, drawn-out laugh.
"Oh, sweet creature, the Kingdom doesn't need to see you to know you. It senses what's missing from it." He approached, his look now serious. "And it seems that... you are what was missing."
Oscar felt the air thin.
"That's impossible. I'm... I'm just human."
Lando tilted his face, analyzing him as if he were an ancient work of art.
"Human." he repeated, savoring the word with irony. "What a curious concept." He moved closer, his fingers almost brushing Oscar's skin. "Are you sure?"
Oscar took a step back, his heart racing.
Lando smiled, not cruelly, but like someone who enjoys the other's fear.
"Yes, perhaps it's better not to answer now. Some truths... are easier to swallow in the light of pumpkins."
The comment was vague, but there was intent in it.
Lando was hiding something, Oscar could feel it. And so was the Kingdom.
The columns trembled slightly, and a deep sound, almost like a heartbeat, reverberated throughout the structure. The liquid floor vibrated, reflecting Oscar's face—but there was something wrong with the reflection. His eyes, for an instant, were not the same color.
He blinked. It was gone.
Lando watched everything attentively, the amused tone now mixed with something more intense.
"Are you seeing?" he said softly. "The Kingdom has already begun to play with you." He turned to him, his eyes sparkling. "And when Halloween chooses someone, Oscar, there is no returning to the other side."
Oscar felt the cold crawl up his spine again. But there was something different now.
It wasn't just fear—it was something like a connection, a force that drew him to Lando, to the castle, to the entire Kingdom.
Lando extended his hand again, the gesture identical to before—and Oscar, hesitant, accepted.
The flames around them rose, illuminating the entire hall.
The heart of the Kingdom of Halloween pulsed, alive and hungry.
And Oscar, without understanding why, felt that this... had been waiting for him.
Notes:
My disappearance for a bit was due to a few factors. The first was that I was in the midst of a depressive episode again, and although I hid it well from both you and those who talk to me daily, this time it was a little more intense.
Fortunately, I'm fine now and have returned to writing some plots I've had on hold for a while, one of which once again features an Oscar Piastri Australian cowboy. (Btw I need post these ones here too 🥲🥲)
Chapter 7: 05. Dreams Where I See You.
Chapter Text
05. Dreams Where I See You.
October 28. Oscar had completely lost track of time. In the Kingdom of Halloween, the days—if they could be called that—stretched and blurred into an eternal twilight. The sky never fully cleared, nor did it completely darken; it was a swirl of orange and lilac hues, as if the sunset had been cursed never to end.
Curiously, sleeping was what confused him most. It should be impossible to rest in a place like that, where the ground whispered and the walls seemed to breathe, but he slept. He slept deeply. Perhaps even better than he had ever slept in the living world.
The pillow—made of raven feathers and withered petals—had a bittersweet scent that lulled him, and the mattress sank almost alive under the weight of his body, as if the Kingdom welcomed him every time he closed his eyes.
And then came the dreams. Dreams that were more vivid than any memory, so real that he woke up unsure if he had slept or crossed another threshold. In all of them, there was Lando. Always Lando.
He appeared in the dreams as an inevitable constant—the man of the stripes, the dark eyes, the voice that sounded like laughter trapped in cracked bells. It was the same face that tormented him since childhood, in the nightmares that came every October, always on the same date, always with the same setting: The bone tower.
Oscar saw himself there, leaning on the railing, the wind carrying the smell of melted wax and caramelized apples. Below, the Kingdom was buzzing: shadows ran like living smoke, creatures sharpened teeth and claws, witches decorated their brooms with orange ribbons. And above everything, the moon hovered. A moon with a face. A wide smile, jagged teeth, empty eyes—like a pumpkin carved by impatient hands. Its light was not cold, but warm, pulsating, staining the world with copper.
Oscar sighed, observing the scene with a mixture of enchantment and discomfort. It was a dream, he knew—but it also wasn't. The sound of the wind felt too real. The touch of the cold railing, the weight of the clothes on his body, all too alive.
And then came the footsteps. Slow, measured, almost rhythmic—like a song only the Kingdom knew. The sound of shoes tapping against the bone floor, each touch resonating in the dense air. A scent preceded him: sweet and autumnal, a mix of burnt sugar and wet leaves.
Oscar didn't even need to turn around. He knew who it was. The voice came first, deep and hoarse, carrying an irony that sounded almost affectionate.
"Is my queen bored in his kingdom?"
Oscar turned, and there was Lando, the same sly smile, the same gaze that seemed to know too much. The striped suit undulated as if breathing, and there was something shimmering in the shadow around him, as if the night itself followed him.
Oscar let out a short sigh, a small smile escaping before he could stop himself. Lando always called him that: My queen.
"I wish I could go back to the living world for a bit," he replied, his voice light, but sincere.
Lando laughed, a sound that seemed to come from all corners of the tower at once.
"You can always leave, my sweet..." he said, approaching slowly, his fingertips almost brushing Oscar's chin. "As long as you return to me at the end of the day."
Oscar didn't answer. The wind blew, carrying the murmur of the shadows. And for an instant, he believed he heard the entire Kingdom sigh with the touch of that promise.
He woke up soon after—his heart racing, Lando's name caught between his lips. But even awake, the feeling didn't dissipate. The smell, the warmth, the touch... everything was still there. The Kingdom of Halloween was more alive than ever. And Oscar was beginning to suspect that his dreams didn't belong only to him.
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Oscar awoke with a start.
The room was bathed in a golden dimness, as if moonlight filtered through an amber-stained glass. The curtains—if they could be called that—were woven from spiderweb threads and pieces of scorched velvet. The breeze that entered through them carried the same scent as the dreams: burnt sugar, wet earth, and something ancient, indescribable.
He blinked a few times, trying to distinguish reality from illusion. But the weight of the sheet on his body, the distant sound of laughter echoing in the castle courtyard, and the soft chime of funeral bells outside reminded him—he was still there. In the Kingdom of Halloween.
Oscar sat up, his fingers running over the sheet that seemed to breathe beneath his skin. He was dizzy, as if he had dreamt something too intense to fit inside his mind. And indeed... he had. The tower. The moon with a face. And Lando, calling him "my queen." A shiver ran through him. Was he letting himself be carried away by this madness? Or was the Kingdom playing with him, molding his thoughts like clay?
It was then that he heard the familiar sound. Footsteps. Measured, light, unmistakable.
"Sleep well?" the voice emerged before the shadow fully revealed itself.
Lando leaned against the doorframe, a lazy smile on his face and his hands in the pockets of his striped suit, which today looked even more alive, the white stripes shimmering with the reflection of the amber light.
Oscar felt his heart race. It was strange... his presence filled the space like a flame, and, at the same time, consumed him.
"I... I think so," he replied hesitantly. "But the dreams... they are so real here."
Lando let out a low laugh, a hoarse and almost melodic note, like the striking of a match.
"Oh, the dreams." He approached, his eyes playfully engaging with his. "Here, they are more than mere daydreams. They are memories that haven't yet understood their own time."
Oscar looked at him, confused.
"Memories?"
Lando tilted his head, the smile returning, but now there was something different—a shadow behind the irony, something deeper, denser.
"Do you really think this is the first time you've set foot here, my sweet creature?" he asked in a low tone, almost a whisper, as if he didn't want the Kingdom itself to hear him.
Oscar felt his blood run cold.
"I... what?"
Lando took another step closer, and the air seemed to change density, becoming thicker, warmer.
"There are things you've forgotten," he said, and his eyes, for an instant, ceased to look like eyes. They glowed orange and black, like live embers. "Things the Kingdom guards zealously."
Oscar recoiled a little, his heart beating irregularly.
"I don't understand..."
"You will understand," Lando assured him, placing one of his skeletal hands on his chest. The touch was cold and heavy, yet somehow comforting. "You need to remember the before, if you want to conquer the after."
Oscar swallowed hard, unable to reply. Lando's gaze held him, and something deep in his mind stirred, as if an old door were starting to creak.
"The before..." he repeated in an almost inaudible voice.
Lando smiled again, but this time the smile wasn't mocking. It was almost sad, almost human.
"The before, my sweet. Everything starts in it."
And, with that, he turned, heading toward the open window. The wind blew, making Lando's suit undulate as if it were made of living smoke. He looked over his shoulder and added, in an enigmatic tone, before disappearing into the dimness:
"The Kingdom remembers you, even if you have forgotten it. I remember you."
Oscar was left alone, the echo of the words vibrating on the walls. Outside, the pulsating heart of the Kingdom beat slow and constant, as if breathing the same air as him.
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Oscar closed his eyes.
For an instant, everything seemed to spin. The room dissolved around him—the black velvet, the walls that seemed to breathe, the distant sound of creatures outside. Everything vanished into a thick, sweet, sticky mist, like the very air of the Kingdom when it wanted to show something.
He tried to breathe deeply, but the air felt too heavy, almost liquid. And then, the memory came.
It wasn't the castle. Nor the bone towers. It was a forest, but not like the one he had crossed days earlier. This one was... alive. The trees had open mouths in the bark, whispering to each other, and the ground pulsed beneath his feet, as if something—someone—slept under the earth.
Oscar was there. Younger, perhaps, or just more innocent. He wore simple clothes, his hands dirty with earth and something red—blood, perhaps—dripped from a small cut on his palm. Before him, a standing figure watched him with a hungry gleam in its eyes.
Lando. But not the Lando he knew now, with a sharp suit and controlled smile. This one was wilder, older, covered in fragments of shadow and bone, as if the Kingdom itself had forcefully molded him. His eyes burned with live orange, and his smile was a slit that seemed to want to swallow the world.
"So you accept?" the voice echoed, reverberating through the trees. "Accept my gift?"
Oscar—the Oscar from before—hesitated, blood dripping from his palm.
"And... and what do I have to give in return?"
Lando stepped forward, and the ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet.
"Just a promise," he replied, with dark humor. "That you will return. Always."
Young Oscar looked at the cut on his own hand, then at the dagger Lando held. It was beautiful and terrible, the handle sculpted with tiny skulls, the blade gleaming with a reddish shine that seemed to pulse along with the Kingdom's heart.
"If I promise..." he began, his voice trembling. "Will I never forget again?"
Lando leaned in, his eyes now inches from his.
"Never again," he whispered, and the words sounded like an enchantment.
Oscar extended his hand. Lando did too. The two palms met—blood with blood—and the entire Kingdom seemed to shudder. The wind blew, the trees screamed, and something ancient and terrible awoke.
Lando smiled, satisfied, but there was something tender in that gaze.
"Now it is done, my sweet. A bond. A cycle." His fingers delicately touched Oscar's face. "Even if one day you run away... the Kingdom will always call you back."
And then, everything burned in orange light. A fire that didn't hurt, but consumed. Oscar screamed—not in pain, but in recognition. Something inside him opened, and for an instant, he saw the Kingdom from within, saw the living, pulsating heart, covered in sweets, bones, and laughter. He was a part of it.
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Oscar woke up with a jolt, his entire body covered in cold sweat.
The room surrounded him again, but his heart beat at a frantic pace. His hands were trembling, and when he looked at them, he saw something. A thin red line, like a thread, drawn on his palm, shining under the amber light. Like a scar... or a pact mark. Damn, how many times had he wondered where he got that scar?
The door opened slowly. Lando was there, leaning against the doorframe, as if he knew exactly what had just happened.
"So... did you remember?" he asked in a calm, almost sweet voice.
Oscar raised his eyes to him, fear and fascination mingling.
"The pact..." he murmured. "You made me promise."
Lando smiled, a sad, dangerous, and profoundly beautiful smile.
"No, my sweet. We promised. And promises, in this Kingdom, never die."
The wind blew again, making the candle flames flicker and projecting shadows on the walls that danced around them—as if the entire Kingdom celebrated the reunion.
The changes began almost imperceptibly—small distortions, strange reflections, a feeling that the mirror returned him in fragments of someone who wasn't him. But now, two days later, Oscar didn't need any mirror. He only had to look at his own hands under the dim light of the castle. The veins ran black, pulsing as if the Kingdom breathed through him. The golden shine of his eyes resembled the reflection of liquid fire on ancient metal—beautiful and horrendous in equal measure. The kind of beauty that the Kingdom of Halloween worshiped: that which was impossible to classify between life and death.
Lando watched him from a distance, leaning against one of the gothic columns that supported the hall. The shadows seemed to glide over his shoulders, obedient. His smile was a mixture of fascination and melancholy, as if he saw something Oscar couldn't yet understand.
"It's beginning," he said in a low voice, almost a whisper that the entire castle seemed to repeat.
Oscar looked up, confused, his amber eyes shimmering.
"What... what is beginning?"
Lando approached slowly, his footsteps silent, his gaze fixed on every new line on the Australian's face.
"The return. The Kingdom has recognized you, finally. And when the Kingdom recognizes... it reclaims what is its."
Oscar took a step back.
"I didn't make any pact."
Lando smiled—that kind of smile that didn't carry irony, but an ancient sorrow.
"Not now. But you have. A broken promise is the same as a sealed pact."
The air between them distorted. For an instant, Oscar tasted warm blood in his mouth. An echo of memory—intertwined hands, a cut on the finger, a moon dripping fire in the sky. The scene vanished before he could grasp it.
"Lando... what did you do to me?" he asked, his voice choked, his fingers trembling as they tried to touch his own face.
"Me?" Lando replied, smiling with the cruel calm and perhaps a little bit of love of someone who knows the outcome, but refuses to tell. "Nothing you didn't ask me for before, my sweet."
The wind blew through the windows, bringing the distant sound of funeral bells and children's laughter. The Kingdom seemed to laugh along with the King.
Lando approached until their faces almost touched. The smell of burnt sweets and old wood enveloped him—the same as in the dream. Oscar closed his eyes, allowing himself to breathe at the same gasping rhythm as Lando.
"You have until the thirty-first," he murmured, his voice sounding like a curse and a plea at the same time, his gaze... It seemed vulnerable, almost begging Oscar to choose to stay. "After that, the Kingdom will decide for you."
The candle flames curved toward him, as if the light itself bowed before the King's word. And Oscar, with his heart beating at a rhythm that no longer seemed human, understood: the deadline wasn't just a choice. It was a sentence.
Chapter 8
Notes:
When I started this fanfic, I had a much darker idea than just creating a tragic love story with a second chance—or more…
The truth is, I ended up simply following my heart as I wrote, and in the end, I realized I was crafting a tragic romance that spans centuries, traditions, gods, and prejudices.
Chapter Text
06. Star-Crossed Lovers.
The following days in the Kingdom of Halloween dragged on like a slow spell—each hour stretching as if time, there, were liquid and lived only to watch Oscar change.
The transformation was not just physical. It was deep, spiritual, silent... and beautiful in a way that only the grotesque could be.
His skin no longer reflected light in the same way; it had become translucent, almost ethereal, and beneath it ran a spectral glow, a trace of life and death mixed. His hair, once dark as autumn, now looked like strands bathed by the Kingdom's orange moon—they reflected cold gold and antique silver tones.
But it was his eyes that revealed the truth. Each day, the amber color burned brighter. It was the gold of the sunset about to die, the same glow Lando remembered from the centuries he had loved him.
And Lando... Lando was always there.
In the shadow of the corridors, on the balconies adorned with webs that breathed like living fabrics, in the towers that bent slightly when he passed. He watched, waited, and smiled with the kind of tenderness that only the dead could feel—that love which is not gentle, but inevitable.
Sometimes, Oscar lost his balance. The flashes came without warning:
A bleeding hand.
A kiss under a sky ablaze.
A ring made of raven bones.
A whispered promise before an altar of pumpkins.
And every time, Lando was there.
He held him before he fell. The cold touch contrasted with the heat of the memory burning beneath Oscar's skin.
"Breathe, my sweet," he murmured, almost in despair, with a voice that seemed to caress and wound at the same time. "It's coming back... little by little."
Oscar blinked, confused, his eyes still clouded with visions.
"I... I saw you," he whispered. "But it was another time. I... we..."
Lando merely smiled. A smile that carried centuries of loss.
He couldn't say anything.
Not now.
Part of the pact was cruelly clear: Oscar had to remember alone.
And Lando—the King of the pumpkins, the monster crowned in bones and longing—had to endure the torment of watching his beloved walk, blind, through memories he himself had buried to save him.
His dead heart... ah, that stubborn little piece of humanity the Kingdom never managed to steal... still beat for Oscar. Every time he saw him stumble, every time a flash of memory crossed the Australian's eyes, Lando felt the echo of an ancient pain.
The pain of having lost him so many times.
Of having seen him die—burned, drowned, exiled, forgotten.
Fate seemed to laugh at them, spinning the wheel once more, just to test them.
The first time they loved each other, they were alive. Human.
It was the 14th century, in a village that no longer existed on any map. Oscar was a painter. Lando, a fair singer with a restless soul. And in that life, their art and love had challenged an ancient god, who disliked mortals playing at eternity.
The punishment came quickly.
Oscar was reborn. Lando was not.
But love doesn't die easily when it's woven with vows of blood.
And so, in the turning of the centuries, the King of Halloween was born. Not human. Not spirit. Something in between—an entity born of what remained of the promise Lando refused to break.
For years, he visited him in dreams.
Always in October. Always under the fire moon.
And in each life, Oscar remembered a little less.
Until now.
In this incarnation, the thread was almost invisible. Forgetfulness had molded him too human. That's why Lando decided to betray the rules, deal the cards himself, for the first time.
A new pact.
A new risk.
And the chance to bring him back... for good.
Even if it meant seeing him fear his own name.
Even if, in this life, Oscar looked at him and saw a monster.
Lando sighed, watching his lover fall asleep on the purple velvet sofa.
The shadows of the castle moved around them, like faithful dogs.
And as the bone clock marked the arrival of midnight, he murmured, with bitter tenderness:
"Remember, my love... or the Kingdom will remember for you."
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The following nights in the Kingdom of Halloween grew denser—and, somehow, more intimate.
The air seemed to pulse with ancient memories, as if the very ground beneath Oscar's feet breathed the past. The castle walls whispered names and promises, and every shadow that moved in the light of the orange moon carried an echo of what had been—of what they had been.
Oscar dreamed every night.
But now, the dreams were not just dreams.
They were memories.
In the first one, he saw a field of dead sunflowers, trembling under a copper sky. He wore old clothes, the smell of paint ingrained in his hands—a reflection of another century. And Lando was there, alive, with warm eyes and an easy smile, reciting verses that spoke of eternity.
"If time tries to separate us, may it rot in my hands."
Oscar woke up gasping, his heart beating in a strange rhythm.
That voice, that laugh... he knew it.
It wasn't the monster guiding him through the castle corridors.
It was someone who had loved him so much they dared to defy the gods.
In the following days, the visions increased.
In one, Lando was kneeling before an altar of black candles, blood dripping from his palm as he whispered words Oscar now understood—a pact.
An ancient, binding spell.
An oath that united their souls across the ages.
"I will find you in every life, even if I have to cross hell to do it."
Oscar fell to his knees when the flash ceased, his body trembling.
Lando held him immediately, his hands cold, firm, almost gentle.
His gaze, however, was a mirror of something much deeper: longing and pain.
"You're remembering, aren't you?" Lando asked, his voice hoarse, almost fearful.
Oscar blinked, tears burning in his eyes.
"It was you... it was always you."
For an instant, the terror he felt dissolved.
In its place, something different emerged—a bittersweet melancholy, an understanding that came from the depths of his soul. Lando was not the monster.
The monster was fate.
Now he saw:
Lando's face when he lost him for the first time.
The madness in his eyes as he pleaded with the gods to let him see him one more time.
The cruel punishment—death denied, his body remade of bones, shadows, and eternity.
Lando had never chosen to be the King of Halloween.
He had been condemned to it. All for love.
Oscar looked at him differently that night.
There was still fear, but mixed with something more: pity, fascination, tenderness.
He saw what was behind the teasing smile and the poisoned words, a broken man, stitched together by time and longing.
In the days that followed, the Kingdom began to react.
The creatures that had once recoiled now watched him with reverence.
The wind whispered in his direction, as if recognizing the ancient oath etched into his soul. And every time Lando passed near, the candles lit themselves—as if the Kingdom itself wanted them together.
But the final memory came violently, like a blade cutting through time.
Oscar saw himself lying in a clearing surrounded by black candles.
Blood dripped from a cut on his palm, mixing with Lando's.
He saw him smile—a smile of one who knew the price would be high if everything went wrong.
And the words of the pact echoed, with absurd clarity:
"If I forget, may the blood remind me.
If I die, may the soul guide me.
And if I run... may you seek me, even if the world ends."
Oscar screamed.
The sound echoed through the castle, making the windows tremble.
The shadows rose, curious, alive.
Lando appeared seconds later, his gaze filled with something between despair and relief.
Oscar looked at him as if seeing him for the first time—and in a way, he was. Every line of pain, every scar, every shadow around his body now made sense.
"I remember..." Oscar whispered, his voice trembling. "I... I let you die."
Lando approached slowly, a melancholic smile on his lips.
"And I promised I would return. And I did." He raised his hand, touching Oscar's face. "But now, my love, it is you who must choose."
The Kingdom fell silent.
The creatures hid.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Lando leaned in, his amber eyes reflecting the embers of hell and the sweetness of a condemned love.
"You have until the 31st, Oscar. Midnight will decide if our love lives... or dies with Halloween."
Chapter 9: 07. I Waited Seven Hundred Years for You, and I Would Wait More.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
07. I Waited Seven Hundred Years for You, and I Would Wait More.
October 31.
The dawn—if the Kingdom of Halloween had one—came shrouded in a thick veil of black fog, as if the world itself hesitated to be born. The air was dense, electric, vibrating with the premonition of what was to come that night. Outside, the Kingdom's gates stirred with murmurs, creatures sharpening teeth and honing plans, waiting for the hour when the threshold would open to the world of the living.
But inside the castle, time felt different.
Oscar stood before the large, cracked mirror in the main hall, observing the reflection he barely recognized anymore. His skin—once warm, rosy, human—now had a pale, almost translucent tone. His veins looked like dark threads of smoke beneath the epidermis. His hair, lighter, reflected the candlelight with an almost ethereal golden glow. And his eyes... ah, his eyes were what scared him the most. They had the melted amber glow of a live flame.
He blinked and saw the shadows move in response.
They heard him. They felt him.
And he could hear them too—a constant whisper, sweet and dangerous, hissing secrets that were not meant for human ears.
In the last few days, he had gotten used to it.
The living presence of the Kingdom, the creatures that followed him with curiosity and reverence, the walls that seemed to breathe.
But what still disconcerted him the most was Lando.
The King of Halloween had become... different. More silent, more tense. With every hour that approached midnight, with every tolling of the bells marking the countdown to the great night, Lando retreated a little more. The weight he carried was visible, as if he were waiting for something he feared—Oscar's decision.
The choice that could free them... or separate them forever.
Oscar found him in the castle's main hall, surrounded by tall candelabra and gloomy stained-glass windows that filtered the Kingdom's orange light. The flames danced, reflecting on the stone walls covered with black ivy and ancient symbols. Lando stood in the center, his back turned, his shoulders tense, his skeletal hands resting on the window ledge.
When he turned, Oscar held his breath.
The striped suit molded him perfectly, but there was something broken in his posture. The usual smile—that smile of mockery and power—was gone. In its place, a melancholic serenity. Lando's dark eyes glowed, tired, like those of someone who had lived a thousand deaths.
He took a step towards Oscar, then another, and stopped before him. His pale hands sought Oscar's with an almost reverent gentleness, as if he feared the other would disappear at his touch.
For an instant, the silence was total.
And then the shadows—always attentive, always alive—began to move.
Not menacingly, but gracefully, undulating in the air like dark ribbons. They intertwined, and with them came the sound. A light, melancholic sound, an ancient and fragile melody.
Oscar looked up, confused.
"What is that...?"
Lando simply smiled, and replied softly:
"What I never tired of singing to you."
And then it began.
His voice sounded hoarse, but firm. An echo that seemed to cross centuries and promises.
"I will fall in love with you over and over again,
I don't care how, where, or when.
No matter how long it's been...
you're mine."
The melody seemed to come from the Kingdom itself—the candelabra flickered, the shadows danced, and even the wind fell silent to listen. Oscar allowed Lando to lead him, their bodies swaying slowly to the rhythm of the music. Each step was a memory, each movement a piece of history relived.
Lando's voice continued, fragile, broken by emotion.
"Don't tell me you're not the same person,
You're always my husband and I've been waiting, waiting..."
Oscar felt a lump in his throat.
The words reached the depths of his soul, tearing through layers of fear and uncertainty.
He held Lando's shoulders, fixing his gaze on that face that seemed human and monstrous at the same time—the contour of his cheekbones, the shadow of bones beneath the skin, the natural makeup of death that time had painted there.
"Lando..." he whispered, his voice choked.
But the other didn't stop.
He continued to sing, the last notes trembling in the air.
"Waiting...
Waiting...
for... you."
The entire hall seemed suspended in time.
Oscar didn't know if what he saw were tears or fragments of light in Lando's eyes—perhaps both. When the music finally ceased, the silence was as heavy as the sound.
"How long in total?" Oscar asked, his voice barely audible.
Lando took a deep breath, his hand still holding Oscar's firmly.
"Seven hundred years." A single tear rolled down slowly over his pale skin, falling and mixing with the stone floor.
Oscar felt his chest tighten. Seven hundred years. Seven centuries of waiting, of pain, of reunions and losses. Seven centuries of love, trapped between worlds, paying the price of a pact he himself had helped seal.
Lando lowered his gaze, trying to smile.
"I said I would wait. And I waited." His voice trembled, but there was pride there. "But, my love, time is running out."
Oscar knew it. He could feel it in the slow, heavy beats of the Kingdom's heart.
Every sound, every shadow, every creature moving outside vibrated with the final countdown.
There were only a few hours left.
And in that dance, under the ceiling covered with webs and embers, he understood something terribly clear: The decision wasn't just about love.
It was about what would happen to Lando, to the Kingdom, to the balance between living and dead.
Halloween was approaching.
And with it, the end—or the beginning again.
Oscar looked at Lando, feeling the cold touch of his hands still locked with his.
For the first time, he realized that the monster never wanted to be king.
He just wanted someone to call home.
And perhaps, Oscar thought, he had always been that.
The house. The home Lando searched for across the ages.
The countdown continued.
The clock of shadows began to toll the final hours.
And, faced with eternity about to repeat itself, Oscar knew that, at the stroke of midnight, he would have to choose.
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The night of October 31st began like all others in the living world—with the smell of burning pumpkins on porches, lights flickering in windows, and laughter echoing in the streets. But for Oscar, every sound, every reflection, and every breath of wind felt more intense, almost palpable. There was something different about that night. The air vibrated with an ancient energy, the same energy that circulated in the depths of the Halloween Kingdom. He had not yet returned to human form; his skin reflected a pale glow, as if made of mist and ash. The shadows recognized him, whispering his name with reverence, and he—in silence—heard them answer back, like speaking with old friends.
Walking among the living felt like visiting a forgotten dream. The streets were adorned with fake webs, plastic skulls, cheap costumes... and yet, Oscar saw beauty there. Children ran back and forth with buckets of candy, disguised adults laughed with glasses in hand, and the sky—heavy, gray—seemed to hold its breath. The boundary between worlds was dissolving, and Oscar could feel every pulse of this link, like a second heart beating within him.
Lando watched from afar. Always from afar. From the edge of the woods, his gaze fixed on the movement of his beloved. There was something tender and tragic in that image—the monster who was once a man, watching the being he loved, without allowing himself to touch. This was how it had always been, throughout the centuries. He paid his penance with eyes full of love and empty hands.
The hours dragged on. Laughter mingled with screams of fright, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed on the damp sidewalks, and the Kingdom's monsters fulfilled their role. They emerged from the cracks between the shadows, frightened, entertained themselves, and then, slowly, began to disappear. The veil separating the living and the dead—fragile, shimmering, alive—was about to close. Only a few minutes remained.
When the first bell tolled, a shiver ran down Oscar's spine. It was the first of the twelve chimes. The world seemed to stop for an instant. Children began to retreat, house lights flickered, and the wind carried a murmur that sounded like an ancient prayer.
The second chime came immediately after, vibrating in Lando's bones, who was walking among the creatures, guiding them back to the Kingdom. It was a silent work, full of sadness. Small souls of lost children followed him, some laughing, others silent, and Lando welcomed them as best he could. He always loved them. Perhaps because he saw in them the innocence that fate had snatched from him. Some, however, were frightened by his appearance—that half-human, half-skeletal face, his eyes glowing with dead blue—but even so, he smiled for each one.
Tenth chime. Oscar ran, his heart racing, as if something inside him screamed that time was running out. The ground beneath his feet seemed to pulse, and the air became dense, difficult to breathe. When he found him, Lando had his back turned, the silvery light of the moon outlining his silhouette among the trees. He was directing the last creatures, showing them the way back to the darkness.
"Lando!" Oscar called, his voice trembling, his chest heaving.
Lando turned slowly. For an instant, the world seemed to stop. The wind ceased, the shadows stood still, even the distant sound of children disappeared. All that remained was Lando's gaze upon him—a mixture of love, fear, and hope.
"Oscar..." the name came out like a prayer. "You... you're still here."
Oscar took a few steps forward. His appearance no longer resembled that of a human. His body was made of light and shadow, the living reflection of the Kingdom that was now also calling him. Even so, Lando saw him as he always had—beautiful, pure, infinitely loved.
"I made my choice," Oscar said, gasping, his eyes moist.
"And so, my sweet?" Lando asked, his voice low, almost a whisper, afraid to believe what he wanted to hear. "What was your choice?"
Oscar took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his words were laden with a certainty that crossed centuries.
"You, Lando. It will always be you."
The eleventh chime sounded. Lando closed his eyes, and a dark tear ran down his bony face. The shadows stirred around them, as if the Kingdom itself bowed in respect.
When the last chime echoed—the twelfth—Oscar took the final step. The light surrounding him flickered, and, before the veil closed completely, he extended his hand. Lando hesitated for only an instant, but then he took it, and everything around them—the woods, the wind, the sounds, the world—dissolved into gray and black.
The veil closed. But, on that Halloween night, the living who were awake swore they had seen, for a brief second, two figures dancing in the dim light—one of shadows, one of light—twirling silently under the waning moon.
And they say that, ever since, every October 31st, when the pumpkin candles tremble and the air grows colder, it is possible to hear, far in the distance, a hoarse voice singing among the trees:
"I will fall in love with you over and over again..."
Because some pacts are never broken. And some loves simply do not die.
Notes:
in the end, Oscar found his place and returned home.
The song sung by Lando is a reference to The Epic, which tells the saga of Odysseus and Penelope. The specific snippet lasts only about 20 seconds, referencing the years Penelope waited for her husband to return. I didn’t include it, but she sings “waiting” seven times because that was the number of sagas it took for them to see each other again.
I really hope you enjoyed my version of Tim Burton’s classic.
Kisses from Dray, and have a happy Halloween 🩷🎃
Chapter 10: ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter Text
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First of all, thank you, reader, for making it this far. Every page, every chapter, every sigh and shiver I shared with you was born from the love I have for this story, but also from your curiosity, your enthusiasm, and your willingness to get lost with me in the Kingdom of Halloween. Without you, these words would be merely echoes in the wind. With you, they gained life, shadow, and soul.
Thank you to my friends and silent supporters—those who listened to me talk about Lando and Oscar for hours on end, who tolerated my bursts of macabre inspiration and my obsessions with pumpkins, monsters, and eternal pacts. You constantly remind me why writing is so magical: because it is better when shared.
I also thank the sources of inspiration that guided my hands and my imagination: classic horror stories, films that made me clutch my heart, and that bittersweet feeling of fear that only Halloween can bring. Every laugh, every shiver, and every shadow that inhabits this fanfic comes from a little bit of all of that—and a little bit of me.
Thank you, especially, to Lando and Oscar—even though you are characters, you taught me about eternal love, patience, pain, and hope. You reminded me that sometimes life (or death) gives us second chances and that true love can cross centuries, worlds, and even darkness itself.
And, finally, thank you to myself—for not giving up on this story, for allowing myself to explore every dark corner of the Kingdom, and for trusting that every reader who reached this point would feel, at least a little, what I felt while writing.
To you, all the readers, monsters, children, and lovers of shadows: thank you for dancing with me in this eternal Halloween. 💌
Star_325 on Chapter 6 Fri 17 Oct 2025 07:27PM UTC
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thisisdray on Chapter 6 Sun 19 Oct 2025 11:24PM UTC
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poptartCanSortaWrite on Chapter 9 Fri 17 Oct 2025 08:08PM UTC
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Alex_OP81 on Chapter 10 Sun 19 Oct 2025 07:08AM UTC
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thisisdray on Chapter 10 Sun 19 Oct 2025 11:21PM UTC
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