Hi! I'm Spiritus Scriptor (that's Ghostwriter, to you), and I'm known throughout the Hobbit and Phantom of the Opera fandoms for my particularly whumpy, angsty, hurt fics. But there's nothing wrong with going outside my niche once in a while.

I've wanted to to a TNBC fic for a while, but could never think of a good story. This is as good as it's probably going to get.

I'm really bad at oneshots. I don't write them often.

Watched TNBC today after all my midterms were over (wahoo!) and thought of this. It's based more on the poem than the movie, in terms of outcome. If you have the special edition DVD and have seen it, you know what I mean. And if you haven't...well...enjoy the angst and feels.

Does anybody else think it's awesome that the poem was narrated by Christopher Lee?

Am I the only one who watches special features?

I'm such a nerd...

Jack Skellington thought he knew terror. He'd been the master of it for centuries. But nothing could compare to this—his sleigh gunned down, the free fall that seemed endless and uncomfortably fast at the same time. He should have nothing to fear, he thought, grimly humorous. He was already dead. What worse could happen to him?

He could shatter into a million pieces, that's what. Bone wasn't that strong. If he'd had blood, it would be curdling. If he'd had guts, he would be sick. But he had nothing. And so he waited for his bones to collide with solid, frozen ground, for his skull to crack—and then what? Who would pick up the pieces of poor old Jack, the Pumpkin King, bringer of nightmares to all of humanity for all these years? Would they take pity on the poor, shattered old bones and give them a proper burial, or would his remains be tossed to the dogs?

Dogs…Zero! thought Jack. Oh, Zero, I'm sorry I dragged you into this mess. He could her Zero barking faintly in the distance, floating far above him. The little ghost dog would be safe, but what would happen to him, stuck in the human world without his master? He would have to spend all of eternity getting walked through, screamed at, and probably feeling very lonely. He didn't deserve such a fate. He was a good little dog.

And the others, the denizens of Halloween. Surely they'd mourn him. How could he have been so stupid, to think he had no one? They were his friends, after all, even if they didn't understand him. No one ever had, it seemed. That was what led Jack to such foolishness. That was why he was now falling through the wintry night sky at a few hundred miles an hour, why he would soon be obliterated. Because no one understood him. Not everything is about you, you twit. Jack thought to himself as his final resting place came into view. A cemetery. How fitting. Bones clattered against cold stone, and the reign of the Pumpkin King drew to a close…

But wait, Jack mused, as a shockwave radiated from his core all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. I'm still here.

"Ugh," he groaned, a strange sound. He was missing his mandible. That was it. A dislocated jaw was all he had to suffer for his idiocy. His faithful Zero had found it and brought it back, and he painfully clicked it back into place. I thought I could do something good for a change, he thought, as he hauled his aching bones into a sitting position on what he saw was the open book of a stone angel. As he eyed the destruction around him, broken, burning toys, a phantom feeling arose in his ribcage. If he'd had a chest, it would have tightened. If he had eyes, he would cry.

But all that escaped him was a low, sorrowful moan. Of course he couldn't do this. He was the Pumpkin King, the horror of Halloween. He couldn't be jolly if he wanted to. Plagued by ennui after eons of haunting, all he wanted was a bit of magic, of happiness. He wanted to remember what it felt like to be alive. He couldn't remember being alive, nor his home, or his family. He'd never felt so alone.

Poor Jack didn't know what to do, where he was, or how to get back home. Zero circled around him, concerned for his master. At long last, Jack slid down from his perch and stood shakily in the snow. Still weak from his fall, he fell to his knees amid the chaos he had caused, the charred remains of a Christmas that was not to be.

He crawled away and slumped down with his back against a headstone. Zero swooped down and hovered at his side, nuzzling him. Jack's hand hovered momentarily over Zero's head, but lowered back to the ground in defeat, too miserable to give his best friend a reassuring pat.

A warm pinkish light spread over the snow. Looking up, Jack saw that the day was dawning. It was Christmas morning, and he had failed. Something long-dormant welled up inside him, and he emitted a strange noise, barely more than a squeak. The squeak turned to a whimper, and the whimper to a sob. No tears flowed from his eye sockets, but he cried and shuddered all the same, alone in loss and grief. If anyone had been passing the cemetery that bleak winter morning, they would have seen a strange sight indeed—a dirty, burned skeleton in a tattered Santa costume weeping mournfully over a grave.

But at least they'd have a story they could tell.

...They could!

All Jack wanted was to feel alive again... :(

Reviews appreciated! Happy early Halloween!