A/N: On Halloween last year, I watched Nightmare before Christmas for the first time (Netflix came through for once). I loved the movie so much that I've decided to write out this mini-story, just for fun. I figured that since October is beginning, I'd publish out the story as a Halloween treat. Hope you enjoy!
Origin
Jack Hallow walked down the street, his hood pulled up over his mess of black hair, protecting his ears from the cold. He would be in for it once he got home: another supposed to be harmless prank had backfired. It had taken some quick intervention to prevent the unfortunate victim from calling the Police.
Jack sighed, watching his breath form into a white cloud and drift away. Halloween was hardly a week away, and Jack couldn't help himself; he enjoyed the holiday so much, it should be criminal. October was the one time of year that Jack couldn't resist getting a shriek out of his friends and neighbors. No one would ever be exempt from his "mischief of the tenth month".
On any other day, the skinny young man was next to harmless-except when his friends were threatened-but the very thought of Halloween gave Jack a devilish gleam in his eye that meant someone would get a shock.
Today, however, he was the only one getting a shock: something jabbed him in the side and he froze on the spot, directly in front of an alleyway.
"Don't move," a rough voice breathed behind him. "Step into the alley, and I won't hurt you."
"What do you want?" Jack asked, remaining exactly where he was in a show of stubborn independence. Whomever was behind him chuckled softly.
"What do I want? Oh just the usual: your money, your jacket, everything you own."
"Who are you?"
"You wouldn't know me. Maybe I'm crazy, or a fanatic." He paused. "Or maybe I'm just bored."
Jack heart was racing. He was in serious trouble, and the wrong move could get him mugged or worse. There were three options: run, fight, or cooperate. All three held their risks, and he was unsure which path he should take. A sharp prod hastened his decision and he slid into the alley, pulling off his jacket, shivering as the wind picked up, running over his unprotected skin. The thief took the fabric, checking the pockets for loose change. Jack studied the man, intent on memorizing his face so he could report him later: he was a squat man, hardly five feet tall, with overlong, greasy hair and squinty eyes. The most distinctive feature was a long burn scar across both his hands and arms.
"Get on outta here," the greasy man ordered, leveling his knife again. Jack scowled, but turned his back, taking a single step forward.
He got no farther: a sudden pain hit him from behind, and Jack felt frozen steel slide between his ribs. He gasped, his legs giving way under him. He did not hit the concrete, but rather fell into the arms of the thief, who began to drag him deeper into the alley.
"Never leave a witness behind," his killer whispered to himself. "That's what I always say."
Jack could feel his life slipping away as he bled out, his heart slowing. He barely felt a thing as the shorter man hoisted him into the garbage dumpster. A second later, a fountain of reeking gasoline was poured into the trash, followed by a lit match. The flames were hot, scorching his flesh, but Jack could not make a sound, suffocated by smoke. Then he felt nothing.
Hours later, the police would find the smoking dumpster and peer inside. When they did, there wasn't much left of poor Jack, just a grinning, blackened skeleton.
*.*
Marcus Skellington sat in the dead grass of the Halloween graveyard, his concentration wholly focused on piecing together stray bones he'd found. Marcus was old for a skeleton, his bones more brittle than they used to be and a cautionary slowness to his every move born of too many breaks and fractures over the decades. The pumpkins in his patch were growing better than usual this year, giving the bone man more time to himself than before. In these periods of relaxation, Marcus found himself wishing that he had made more of an effort to be friendly with the other creatures of Halloween town, because the most prominent feeling these days was one of profound loneliness; Marcus was the only skeleton still undead in town, most of the others facing their second deaths when he was still young.
"You're turning into a sentimental old fool, Marc," he said aloud, eyeing his bone creation on the ground; he had arranged the bones into another skeleton, this one the size of a child. The leg and arm bones were a little disproportionate, but other than that, it was perfectly joined. Marcus sighed and moved to pick up the bones, but hesitated as he noticed something. After a long moment frozen in place, it happened again: the bones quivered.
Looking up, Marcus saw a small golden sphere drifting through the still air, under the dim light of the new moon. Reverently, the old skeleton stepped back and watched the orb hover over the small bones. Then the light descended so that it glowed faintly inside the small rib cage and then faded away.
A light gasp was heard in the still night as the new arrival sat up, the pale bones moving in perfect synchronization. Marcus watched, silently in awe of what he had just witnessed. The young skeleton stared up at the black sky, shivering as the wind picked up. Marcus slowly took off his long black cloak and draped it around the small bony shoulders. The youngster whipped around in shock, his sockets wide.
"It's alright, son," Marcus murmured. "You're safe here. I'll look after you. Do you have a name?"
The small figure was wracked by another shudder as he answered in a small voice.
"Yes. I'm Jack."