The candles flickered inside the tiny shack as the last strings of light from the jack-o-lantern sun faded into hue of deep indigo. Marcus turned the pages of his book, pausing every so often to make a note in the journal resting on the rickety table beside his chair. One of the witches had "borrowed" a book from a human's personal library on Halloween and had given it to him as a thank-you gift for keeping an eye on her daughter. Not one to pass up on a new piece of literature, the old skeleton had set about reading it the moment he and Jack had finished their light supper.
His new novel was a thick, leather-bound volume, a literary collection of Transcendentalist essays. When Jack had seen the size of the book, he'd swiftly asked if he could go out past the pumpkin patch to explore the graveyard. Marcus had allowed it, but only if he were back in the house by moonrise.
As Marcus turned the page in his notebook, he heard something drag across the solitary window in the shack. He paused for a moment, but quickly resumed his reading. Such sounds were not a rare occurrence; many a teenager had come to his home in an attempt to frighten the old bone man living alone outside town. He heard the sound again—a faint squealing as something scraped over warped glass. Once again he ignored it.
Fifteen minutes passed in silence. Marcus glanced up at his clock to check the time, and saw it was nearly eight. Jack should have been home by now.
Getting to his feet, groaning as his old knees protested, the skeleton opened his creaky door and stepped into the cool November evening. The sky was clear, and the first curve of the moon was visible as it slowly ascended the sky, half-hidden behind Spiral Hill. Marcus looked out towards the graveyard, expecting to see Jack rushing home. The horizon was empty of anything that did not belong to the landscape.
For the first time, Marcus felt a twinge of worry. Jack wasn't the type to lose track of time. Had something happened to him?
Marcus walked up the hill that separated his home from a small patch of woods. The long shadows of the trees blocked the moonlight. a chilly breeze swept through the trees.
Marcus froze. For a moment, he had thought he saw a shadow flicker across the ground, one that didn't belong to the usual landscape. A twig broke behind him. The old skeleton had to resist the urge to whip around and look—mostly because his creaky spine might be thrown out of joint, but partially because he still thought this was some elaborate setup from one of the town's teens, something he could not condone.
But if this was a prank, then Jack might be a hostage, as much as a victim as his father. The worry from before had grown, threatening to swallow Marcus whole. But still, he walked on.
He reached the edge of the woods without incident. He could see the graveyard—its tall stone mausoleums, various headstones, and crypts. His gaze scanned the area, searching for the familiar gleam of moonlight on Jack's bones, but the only shine came from the marble graves. A branch creaked ominously from the woods at his back. Marcus waited for some scare attempt, steeling his nerve. Nothing. The skeleton released a sigh of relief and a little exasperation.
Suddenly, something grabbed him from behind, two hands seizing his shirt along the sides of his ribcage. Marcus yelped involuntarily and heard someone start laughing in a familiar voice.
"Jack Skellington!" Marcus hollered, turning to face his son who had collapsed to the ground, howling with mirth. "If I had a heart, it would've stopped beating! What in the name of the Grim Reaper were you thinking?!"
Jack could not respond: he was laughing too hard. When he finally recovered from his hilarity, the young skeleton inhaled deeply, standing on shaky legs. Marcus shook his head.
"I'm glad you find my worry so amusing," he remarked dryly. "I was expecting you home at moonrise. Explain."
"I'm sorry," Jack muttered, hanging his head. "I've wanted to try a little trick for next Halloween."
"Jack, it's November," Marcus sighed, exasperated. "Not even the mayor is thinking of next year right now."
"Well maybe he should," Jack replied, unusually defiant. Marcus watched his son, his skull wiped of any emotion, until the boy bowed his head in a repentant manner. He then walked past his son, mounting the hill. he heard footsteps behind him and knew Jack was following.
"Are you upset with me?" his son's timid voice asked. Marcus didn't say a word until they were back home, he in his reading chair, Jack on a stool before him.
"Jack," he said, not unkindly. "I am very upset that you broke your promise to me that you would be home at moonrise." He paused, allowing Jack to feel the shame that showed clearly in his expression for a moment. "However," he added, "I am very impressed with your prank."
"Really?" Jack asked, raising his head, eye sockets wide. Marcus nodded.
"Yes, really. I'm not easy to scare. With a little practice, you could be good enough to scare anyone in town. Oh, the humans won't stand a chance!"
Jack watched in awe as his father began to laugh, a delighted sound that could have belonged to an excited child. Then he joined in. The sound of father and son, laughing together, echoed through their small home, all worry and frustration gone.