Notes:

I have been working on this story for a while now. Years, as a matter of fact, using the prompts from Kurtoberfest. I apologize that, even though this is a Halloween story, it won't be complete by Halloween. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

"Can we go?" Kurt chants, kicking his feet as his father slips the last rain boot over his sneakered foot. "Can we go? Can we go yet? Can we go? Can we can we can we can we …?"

"Hold on, kiddo!" Burt laughs, wrangling his barely bundled seven-year-old son as the boy tries to scurry out of his parents' grasp. "We've got all afternoon to pick our pumpkins. But there's a few things we've gotta talk about first."

"Aw, all right!" Kurt groans, surrendering to his mom's fussing over his gloves while his father fastens the jute toggles on his grey wool coat. "Just don't make it too wordy. We're burning daylight."

Elizabeth looks over at her husband and snickers. "Now who does that sound like?"

"Your father," Burt answers quickly, and receives a smack on the thigh for his remark.

"Okay, love," Elizabeth says, returning to her little boy. "The rules are look before you leap. There could be slick patches of mud and uneven ground. I don't want you slipping and twisting an ankle."

"I know," Kurt grumbles, though he definitely did not know. This pumpkin patch isn't the same roadside stand they usually go to. That stand closed down, completely out of the blue. Not a single member of the Hummel clan understood why since the place had an advertisement printed in The Lima News yesterday. But they pulled up to it – or to the spot where it had been – and the whole stand is gone.

Vanished without a trace.

And not just the stand, but the field beyond, which was usually filled to bursting with pumpkins, squash, corn, bell peppers, and every other vegetable that sprouts during the fall, lay fallow.

Unsown.

It was as if the stand - the same stand his parents had been going to since they were children, the same stand their local news station visited at the beginning of October the way they did every year - had never existed.

They were about to go home and regroup, look for another stand nearby, when they stumbled across this place. Admittedly, Kurt's parents weren't too thrilled to stop here. For one thing, this whole place seemed deserted, run by a single old man at the entrance - stooped in posture, haggard in appearance, with one clouded eye and a head of stringy white hairs starting midway past his crown and ending above the knob of his neck. When he looked at Kurt, Kurt felt it, like a hand grabbing his heart, and not from the man's clear eye, but from the milky white one, moving through Kurt as if the man were taking a peek inside him.

Looking through him at his very soul.

And Kurt felt transparent. Like cellophane.

He had a voice like broken glass, and a laugh that sounded like cats being skinned alive.

Kurt was glad he only had to hear it once.

But as unsettling as that man was, even that didn't dissuade Kurt.

Kurt's parents shared many a significant look during the decision making process. But Kurt insisted. It was three days before Halloween. They were running out of time. He wanted a pumpkin, preferably not one bought at The Home Depot or the supermarket since where's the fun in that? And this place, with its air of rustic mystique, seemed like the perfect place to find one.

They tried to talk Kurt out of it, but his little mind was made up, and his parents, the way most well-meaning parents are, didn't want to disappoint him, even if a question of safety was involved.

"If you find a pumpkin you like, don't pick it up," his father adds. "These are going to be bigger than the ones we usually get. Call me over, and I'll help you."

"Yeah, yeah …"

"But most importantly, stay where you can see us," Elizabeth stresses, wrapping her own too long red cashmere scarf around Kurt's neck and tying it in front. "If you can't see us, we probably can't see you."

"I know, Mommy," Kurt says, burying his nose in the knot and breathing in to catch a whiff of his mother's perfume.

"And don't go near the trees," she warns in a slightly lower voice, as if the trees, standing at the boundary of the field over a hundred yards away, might be listening.

Kurt turns to look at them – tall, dark sentries of greying bark standing guard before an even darker wood. There's a silence about them. A steadfastness. A chill wind blows, fluttering the vines along the ground, but it doesn't seem to budge the leaves on those trees. That does make them appear a tad bit ominous, but other than that, they're just trees. It's a forest. Outside of fairy tales, Kurt has never known a forest to be scary.

And even though he's only all of seven-years-old, Kurt doesn't believe in fairy tales.

"Why not?" he asks.

"Because it's getting dark," his mother says, "and it's getting cold. I wouldn't want you to get lost."

Kurt nods. That seems fair. That's definitely a mom thing to say. But there's something in the tone of her voice, in the hardness of her inflection that niggles at him. It's not a cruel hardness. It's more of a veil, hiding how she really feels.

As if her reason for him not going near the trees goes deeper than 'it's dark and it's cold'.

"Okay," he agrees. There isn't any reason for him to go near the trees anyway. Today is about picking out pumpkins with his mom and dad. It's not for exploring by himself. After this, they're making cookies and candied apples and cider, then spending the whole night carving jack 'o lanterns while watching scary(ish) movies. He doesn't want to do a single thing that might derail their plans by a single minute.

Considering the way his folks have been talking – late at night after he's in bed, when they think he can't hear – he's beginning to believe they might not be celebrating Halloween this way much longer. Like his parents think he's getting too old or something.

Whatever their reason is, it seems to make them sad, so as soon as he can, he's going to reassure them that there's no reason at all to stop.

Kurt intends on celebrating Halloween forever and ever.

Once Elizabeth has her son properly shielded against the cold, the three set off into the pumpkin patch, weeding through the vines, meandering amongst the squash, on the search for the family of pumpkins that will adorn their doorstep, their dining room table, and the hearth in front of the fireplace.

"Do you see one you want yet, kiddo?" Kurt's father asks, glancing periodically over his shoulder as they walk farther in. The ground begins to slope and it spurs Kurt ahead, but he does his best to stay within comfortable talking distance of his dad.

"I don't know." Kurt carefully examines one gourd, then the next. The ones in this particular section are misshapen, grotesque, knobby. Those are the kinds of pumpkins his father likes – the ones he can turn into goblins and trolls with a few masterful slices of his carving tools.

The ones he can decimate with his sledgehammer the second Halloween is over.

But Kurt likes the picturesque pumpkins – the ones without dents or growths; round and evenly segmented, almost unnaturally so, like he's seen in Simply Living magazine.

The ones that match his mother's decorating aesthetic.

His mother has already chosen her pumpkin and taken it back to their SUV. Kurt wishes she could have ventured with them longer, but she gets so tired nowadays – out of breath during the shortest of walks. They no longer go on treks to the park, or strolls to the market. She sleeps in later, goes to bed earlier, stares off into the distance for long periods, and cries with no explanation as to why.

There's something going on. Something wrong. Like the forest.

And just like the forest, no one will tell him what it is that they really fear.

A rustle of leaves and a small whimper draw Kurt and Burt's attentions away from the pumpkins and up to the top of the hill, beyond which they can't see, but where their SUV is parked. Burt looks at his son, then past him at the forest, a wealth of thoughts scrolling behind his tired eyes.

"I … think I should go check on your mother," he says, body turned halfway up the hill, quietly debating if he should make his son come with. Or waiting for Kurt to offer. But Kurt is only seven. He doesn't know that's what his father wants him to do.

He doesn't know what's going on.

Burt sees his own fear reflected in his son's eyes as they begin to widen, and he smiles to soothe him. This is supposed to be a good day. That's what he and Elizabeth had wanted. A fun afternoon filled with pleasant memories.

They'll be needing more of these during the oncoming months. Best not to sabotage this one.

He doesn't want to frighten his son over nothing.

"I'll only be a minute," Burt says. "You keep looking, but … stay here. Don't go any farther without me."

"I won't," Kurt says, relief curling into a smile that lifts his red cheeks. "I promise."

"Good." Another whimper and Burt's steps quicken. "I'll just be …" He doesn't finish his sentence. He's up and over the hill in the space of ten steps when Kurt could have sworn it took them twenty to get down there. No matter. Eyes on the prize, he tells himself as he returns to the pumpkins. He needs to find one so perfect that it'll take his parents' minds off of whatever it is they're worried about. A pumpkin so perfect, it'll make that forest seem less scary. A pumpkin so perfect, it could end hunger, bring about world peace, and win him a spot on the cover of next year's Martha Stewart Living.

Kurt chuckles to himself. Alright. That might be overdoing it a little.

He'll settle for … a pumpkin so perfect, it could cure cancer.

"Hello."

Kurt's gaze snaps up at the sound of a voice that's not his father's, not his mother's, and definitely not the man from the entrance. Standing in front of him a little ways away is a boy about his age, bearing a wide smile of straight, white teeth. He has brown hair like Kurt's, and green eyes that are not. That's important for Kurt to note because sometimes he'll see images of himself that he swears are other people, but they're not. They're just him.

But this boy is definitely not him.

For one thing, he's not as wrapped up as Kurt. The coat he's wearing looks much more elegant than Kurt's for a plain old Tuesday afternoon. It looks like the kind of coat one would wear to the theater, or to church.

Or to a funeral.

How can he walk through this muddy field of pumpkins and not worry about getting that expensive coat filthy?

Kurt definitely has questions for this boy's mother.

Kurt glances curiously side to side.

Where is this boy's mother?

The boy with the green eyes smirks.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Uh … nothing," Kurt says. "It's just … I thought my parents and I were the only ones here."

"It's a big place," the boy says, shrugging one shoulder. "It's easy to miss people, even when they're right in front of you."

"I guess so."

"My name's Sebastian, by the way," the boy says. "Not that you're asking or anything."

"Sorry," Kurt apologizes since Sebastian sounds mildly offended. "Mine's Kurt."

Sebastian nods. "So … you lookin' for a pumpkin?"

Kurt scans the field around him, rows of pumpkins stretching as far as the eye can see … and nothing else. "Yup. That's what I'm doin'."

"Well, these pumpkins here are nice and all," Sebastian remarks, toeing a gourd at his feet, "but I think the best pumpkins are over there." He gestures toward the far side of the patch, closer to the line of trees. Kurt's eyes follow, momentarily forgetting his parents' warning as the thought of a pumpkin more perfect than the ones he can already see occupies his brain.

The pumpkin that could solve his problems.

"Why do you think that?" Kurt asks.

"No one goes over there. Nobody's stomped on them or smushed them. And the ground's dry, so they're not moldy and soft. Every single one is better than the next."

"Really?" Kurt says. Martha Stewart Living, here I come.

"A-ha. If you come with me, I'll show you."

The boy reaches out a hand. On impulse, Kurt does the same. He extends his small arm, and a strange sensation overtakes his body – electricity crackling from his skin to Sebastian's, arching between them in strings of thin blue light. Kurt can't seem to make his legs move, but he feels himself being carried forward. There's a power inside him, one he's felt before but that he does his best not to recognize, but it's never done anything like this before. This is bigger than him, stronger than him. Whatever this is, it's both his and borrowed from this boy with the green eyes, whose heart, from five feet away, Kurt can hear in his ears, beating at the same rhythm as his own.

"Come with me," Sebastian says, reaching but avoiding Kurt's touch as if he can't take Kurt's hand alone.

He needs Kurt to take his instead.

And Kurt tries, but the more he reaches forward, the farther the boy moves away. Kurt's feet, which could easily solve the problem by lifting off the ground, seem to have grown roots. They tug him backwards, his heels creating furrows in the dirt from the strength of his resistance.

"Come on, Kurt," Sebastian pleads, sounding inexplicably desperate. "Only a few more inches …"

"I'm … grrr … trying," Kurt says, but he can't reach any farther. He can't make his arm stretch those last few inches. A distant warning rings in his ears that sounds like his mother's voice calling his name, but Kurt ignores it … only for a few more seconds, he thinks, so he can reach Sebastian and take his hand. He needs to take Sebastian's hand. Looking for the perfect pumpkin is no longer his goal.

Touching Sebastian is.

And like everything else going on around him, every look he can't decipher, every secret whispered in his presence but out of his earshot, he doesn't know why.

But he's certain he'll understand when he finally takes Sebastian's hand and this is over.

"Kurt!" his mother cries. "Don't, Kurt! Don't take another step! Please!"

Kurt hesitates, and with that hesitation, he and Sebastian slip farther apart. The distance between them widens until Kurt knows he won't be able to reach Sebastian, not even if he manages to break free of whatever's wound around his ankles and takes a flying leap. Sebastian flexes his fingers, and the electricity grows brighter. A single fork breaks free from the rest and spits forward, pricking Kurt's finger. Heat spirals up his arm, leaving a trail of fire behind. It becomes too heavy to lift and drops back to his side, but before it does, before his fingers break the connection between himself and Sebastian, that electricity zips through Kurt's chest … and pierces his heart.

A sad smile lifts Sebastian's lips.

"Kurt!" Elizabeth wraps her arms around him, tries to scoop him up. She falters, falls forward, but Burt catches them. She makes do with his help, Kurt's father hugging them both as if their lives depended on it. "What were you doing!?"

"I was … I was looking for pumpkins!" Kurt scrunches his nose, confused as to why his mom and dad look so frightened, why they're hugging him so tightly. "I wasn't going to go into the forest! Honest!"

"But you were!" Elizabeth cries, burying her head in Kurt's neck. "You were nearly there!"

"No," Kurt argues, not because he's in the habit of disagreeing with his mother, but because she had to be mistaken. He would never disobey her. And even if he'd wanted to, there was no way. He'd inched forward a step or two, but after that, he couldn't move. "I was just going to look for the good pumpkins, with Sebastian."

"Who … who's Sebastian, love?" Elizabeth sniffles, her tears drying in an instant at the mention of a name. "Where is he?"

"He's right there …" Kurt turns to point and notices for the first time where they are. A foot in front of him stand the foreboding line of trees that guard the woods. Standing this close to them, Kurt can understand a little better his mother's fears. It's not even so much the trees, but the darkness beyond them that takes his breath away. Kurt isn't a stranger to forests. Where they live in Lima, Ohio, there are many forests, lining the outskirts of every park, and almost every property. But they usually have a warm, welcoming feeling to them. A serenity that's inviting and safe.

These woods are dark. That's the only word Kurt can think of to describe them. Darker than dark. A darkness so overwhelming, it becomes a void. Not a single shadow can he see, not a silhouette. A wolf could be crouching out in the open a few feet within and he would never see the creature. Not until it opened its eyes and bared its teeth.

Not until it was ready to strike.

And that was another thing.

More mysterious than how Kurt might have made his way to the forest's edge with no recollection of it, Sebastian, with his green eyes and white teeth, was nowhere to be seen.

"But … he was here. He was right here," Kurt mutters in confusion. "I … I swear. I'm not lying."

Burt and Elizabeth exchange a look.

"Don't worry. We believe you, kiddo," Burt says, mussing his son's hair.

"You don't think …?" Elizabeth starts, but Burt nods. It's not what he thinks, it's what he saw. He felt it in the ground beneath his feet, the way it shifted uncomfortably. The vines had begun to grow around them, climbing up the hillside to warn them. The sky itself had summoned them, grey clouds closing in overhead, sparking to get their attention. Then they saw their son, gliding across the ground as if floating, wrapped in a cloak of blue lightning.

The only thing they didn't see was another boy. To their eyes, there was no one else in sight.

But that doesn't mean he wasn't there.

It means he wasn't meant for them to see.

If what Kurt says is true, and Burt has no doubt it is, he has found them.

And he means to take their son.

Elizabeth hugs Kurt tighter as Burt turns her towards their SUV.

"I think we'd better go," he says. "Now."