Author's Note: Bonsoir, mes amis! It's been a little while! Amidst school and work I've kind of fallen off the radar as far as goes, much to my own dismay, but fear not…I have been lurking in the shadows and following a lot of great stories by some very talented authors here.

Honestly, I never thought I'd be struck with an idea quite so inspiring as for my first story (What the Eyes Don't See), but by some grace of the heavens…at last I was! I'm kind of a commitment-phobe in regards to creative writing and I tend not to embark on extensive projects unless I'm positively certain about their potentialities. That being said, I'm pretty excited about my plans for this feature-length fic, and I sincerely hope you guys take as much delight in this creation as you did my last! Thank you all so much for your sincerity and dedication!

Without further adieu, I begin with the introductions:

This story takes place precisely one year before the events of the original film.

Rated T for language, drug/alcohol use, and suggestive themes.

Story by Amira; all related characters/settings are property of Tim Burton and Walt Disney Studios.

"If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees."

- Khalil Gibran

Beep…beep…beep…beep…

Oogie Boogie grunted in frustration. He shifted a couple paces to the right and kicked over a mound of dirt, only to uncover yet again another Bloodweiser beer bottle cap.

Suddenly a trio of tiny masked imps scampered over from the edge of the bay to where their burlap guardian stood staring intently at the water-sodden ground. They skidded to a halt several yards back and removed their masks, revealing the young, momentarily confused faces of a witch, a devil and a troll.

The little witch – Shock was her name – laid a hand to the side of her narrow face and chirped, "Come on, Oogie; the metal detector again?"

"Yeah man, punch out for the day!" added the devil child – Lock – with his arrowed tail flicking irksomely. "You've been out here since 5a.m. We want breakfast. What are you doing with that thing anyway?"

"Barrel's birthday's coming up," the boogeyman announced, pausing to adjust the settings on his device. Then he turned to the three children and held out his fingerless limb, in his palm resting several rusted coins. "I've already got thirty-seven cents," he added proudly.

"That's better than what he got me last year," the little troll known as Barrel muttered dryly under his breath.

Oogie smiled, shaking his head slightly. With considerable effort he attempted to climb the grimy slope that led from the swamp grounds up to the east base of Spiral Hill, cursing when the fresh muck swallowed up one of his stubby legs and he tripped.

"Ack!" the sack man grunted, struggling to yank his foot free. "Hey, punks! Care to offer your old man a little help over here?"

Shock rolled her eyes and grabbed the hands of her two playmates. "Coming, Gramps."

The tricksters scurried over to their fallen guardian and threw his metal detector over the peak of the slope, Shock and Lock grabbing hold of his arms while Barrel firmly grasped the ankle of his sunken foot. It took at least several ardent heave-ho's! before they succeeded in hoisting Oogie up and over the incline.

Clumsily lifting himself upright, Oogie growled and brushed the dirt off of his burlap. He peered displeasingly down at the three demon children lying belly-down on the earth and breathing heavily. "Did you have to throw the metal detector?" he growled, shuffling over to retrieve said item from a cluster of reeds.

Shock craned her neck back to glare at Oogie spitefully. "Hey, how about a thank-you?" she accused.

"Right, okay, whatever," Oogie mumbled nonchalantly as he began scanning the ground at the east perimeter of the larger Spiral Hill.

"You know, it's not really fair," Lock began after rising from his fallen position and brushing off his own red onesie. "Why does Barrel get thirty-seven cents, and counting? When Shock and I turned eight last month you only gave us a nickel."

"And you made us share it," Shock added miserably.

Oogie let out a gravely chuckle. "Children, children children…see, this is how parenting works: With the older ones, it's only natural that you're going to make some mistakes. But hopefully you'll learn from such experiences and do a better job with the younger kids. Lock, do you remember the old days how when you and Shock would get smart with me I used to deny you water?"

The devil child and the little witch glanced at each other with disgruntled expressions. "What do you mean, 'used to'?" said Shock. "You denied me water just a couple days ago when I wore your galoshes out just to fetch the mail."

"Nevertheless," Oogie resumed, turning his back to the imps. "I know now to never withhold Barrel's source of water."

"Well, Barrel, I guess that explains your bed-wetting problem," Shock muttered to the troll child whose cheeks flushed bright red in embarrassment.

The gang was silent for a few minutes after that as Oogie continued his mediocre treasure hunting. Humming impatiently, Shock stuffed her hands in her coat pockets and glanced in the direction of the Hinterlands where the pumpkin sun proceeded with its gradual ascent into the sky. It was late September in the year 1958, and this time of the season was the beginning of the so-called "rush-hour phase" of Halloween Town's preparations for its respective holiday. While Shock and her playmates always liked the idea of Halloween (for if they didn't then living in such a town would be unfortunate), they rarely ever contributed to the grand celebratory evening. They preferred to play the role of "conniving little brats" year-round, pulling pranks on the denizens of Halloween Town with the blessing of their guardian, the infamous town outlaw, Oogie Boogie.

Shock's nose crinkled as a breath of chilling, foul-scented wind whipped across the terrain from the lagoon below. Why was Oogie so keen on searching for treasure in this location? Did he actually believe pirates once sailed the murky waters of a fifty-foot by fifty-foot runoff basin? The little witch sniffled again as they were hit with yet another burst of cold air. She plugged her nose…she thought the wind smelled like beets.

"Whoa, hold up gang!" Oogie abruptly shouted, startling the imps trailing leisurely behind him beside the hill. "I think I got something here! My metal detector's going crazy." He tossed the device aside and began madly digging into the ground with bare hands.

Lock, Shock and Barrel approached him inquisitively, half-expecting it to be simply another bottle cap.

Suddenly Oogie cried out in pain as his knuckle struck a sheet of iron. He took a moment to massage the tender area and then proceeded to brush away the surrounding layers of dirt. His vacant burlap eye sockets widened incredulously.

"Kids…come here…" he whispered.

Shock was the first to arrive at the boogeyman's side, followed closely by her two playmates. The four ghouls gathered around the finding intently, each of them drawing in a rather befuddled gasp when they realized precisely what Oogie had discovered: a large iron door.

"What the hell is this…?" Barrel finally spoke, running his fingers over its rusted surface. He winced slightly, suggesting the iron was unusually frigid.

"I think it might be some kind of crypt," suggested Lock. "Look; next to the handle there's some writing on it."

They all inspected the area to which Lock was pointing, and sure enough, written in some sort of cryptic, E. E. Cummings style caveat was:

2(ba

th e

in

mor

tal'

s

B)lo

o

d

Shock cleared her throat awkwardly. "So, um…" she said, "We got any poetry buffs around here?"

Lock, Barrel and Oogie all shook their heads.

"Well then…what do you guys propose we do about it?"

Suddenly Oogie shifted upright, conducting a brief albeit nervous survey of his surroundings. "Tell you what, fellas," he murmured quietly. "Why don't y'all go on back to the tree house and start whipping up some pancake batter. I'll take care of this…door."

"What are you gonna do to it?" asked Barrel innocently.

"Come on, Barrel, let's just get outta here," said Shock as she stood up and grasped the hands of her playmates. "That weird beet smell is getting stronger and it's making me sick."

Somewhat reluctantly, Lock and Barrel rose from their anthropological statures and followed the little witch down the base of Spiral Hill. They only stopped once to glance back at their guardian, who remained rigidly hunched over the entrance to the mysterious burial chamber.

Shock believed she was the only one who noticed his arm reaching for the handle.

Meanwhile…

"The red."

"Good, why?"

"…The blue."

"Come on, Jack!" whined the cone-shaped man sitting across the desk backstage in the Town Hall. "Halloween is just over a month away, and we are up to our necks in last-minute essentials. Well, we're up to your neck; since I'm shorter than you I've already drowned. Now tell me again: do you prefer the red goblets or the blue?"

"Mayor, please," Jack groaned, resting his face in his skeletal palms. "I know you're only an elected official but you can still make decisions by yourself. In fact, you must. Yes, as your Pumpkin King Jack Skellington, I command you to take these plans home right now and decide which goblets you like the best."

The Mayor leaned back in his chair and twiddled his thumbs nervously. The discomfited expression on his pale blue face contorted into one of intense thought, which lasted for only a short minute until finally he croaked, "I…I don't know that I can."

"You know, you've really got to have more self-esteem," said Jack as he rose from his seat and stretched his sore limbs. He cracked his jaw and then turned swiftly around to face the back door. "I'll see you in an hour."

"Wait, where are you going?" the Mayor pleaded frantically.

"Lunch; I'm starving," Jack stated without pausing to look back. "I was supposed to leave for my break half an hour ago, but you insisted on doing away with the goblets so they would stop 'taunting' you…you know Mayor, therapy can be a good thing –"

"Maybe I'll go with you!" the Mayor chimed in abruptly, hopping down from his chair at the planning desk. "I want to stretch my legs, after all."

"Why, so they can touch the floor?" Jack chuckled dryly.

"Oh, ha-ha!"

"Take it easy now."

Grinning, Jack held the back door open for the scouring cone man who putt-putted through it contemptuously.

Once the two officials had exited the building, Jack fumbled for his keys and proceeded to lock the door securely behind them. He then turned and trotted after the Mayor who was already on his way down the cobblestone path towards the plaza.

"So where did you want to go for lunch?" asked the Mayor with a twinge of sourness in his voice once Jack had caught up to him.

"Anywhere," said Jack, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm so hungry that I've been smelling beets for the past hour. And I don't even like beets."

Noticeably sniffing at the incoming breeze, the Mayor bobbed his head thoughtfully. "You know, I smell the beets too. I wonder if it's some new restaurant in town."

Jack scoffed and diverted his gaze towards the distant moor, the direction from which the bitter wind had blown. "Well, whoever happen to be the owners of this new 'beet shop,'" he muttered abstractedly, "tell them best of luck staying in business."