A- I -min-
Am I c- -ow?
Am I coming in now?
AH! There we are! I knew I just needed to re-route the Gordon amplifiers through the Hawkmen relay.
Now!
Good morning, and a wonderful All Saints Day to you, the dear listeners of the illustrious Deer College Guerilla Radio Station; coming to you all throughout Three Portlands on all airwaves, including one wavelength that mankind was not meant to know of—I told you I'd get that set up for you, Grothanorphax!
With the dawning of November, we bid farewell to that wild cad and crew, Bones Malone and the Spooky Boys. As is tradition with the DCGR station, I'll be spending this morning recounting the major exploits of Mr. Malone and his crew. Most of these are a re-telling of my own reports, but I am in possession of the works of a couple of the more… unsavory journalists that plague The Odyssey's office. No, I am not plagiarizing, folks. These articles apparently disappeared from the desks of their respective authors. I would give them credit where credit is due, but it appears neither of them bothered to put their names on the paperwork.
But, without further preamble or ramble, let us recount the mischief and mayhem as one of the most notorious paracrime outfits gave our city the annual shakedown.

October 1st

Well folks, here we are once more in Three Portlands during a gorgeous October! And that means Bones Malone and The Spooky Boys are at it again. Reports are coming in that the first victim of Malone's terrorizing is none other than our beloved Tim Wilson, of Wilson's Wildlife Solutions. It seems the gang descended upon his sanctuary and caused quite a ruckus as Mr. Malone was giving the gentle Mr. Wilson quite the squeeze. In the words of Mr. Wilson, ‘They gave us all quite a fright! You would think we'd be used to Mr. Malone by now, but things are always in an uproar when that trio shows up. You should've seen how upset the animals were at all that rattling!'

October 4th

Update number two on Bones and his boys, listeners! It seems this was another year when Bones and his lads shuffled their way down to Deer College student housing for some ghostly delights at our own Haunted House! They came bearing gifts, just like in previous years when they've stopped by one of the reanimated raves we're always graced with during this most sacred of months. Of course, Bones was sure to bring some of the finest–certainly stolen–Dwarven ale and Sidhe wine his stock has to offer. The trio proceeded to party all night with our living-incapacitated peers–and any living party animal daring enough to join the shindig.
On a related note, eight dorm spaces from Canyon House, and twenty-seven in MadSci, are now available for any looking for campus housing.

October 10th

It's been nearly a week since we've heard from the illustrious Bones Malone or at least anything more than some mild mischief around town, but once more, The Spooky Boys are rattling on some doors! This time they kicked down the entrance of Anderson Robotics, Tommy guns bore and demanding to speak with Mr. Dornanse, the sitting head of the company. Mr. Dornanse, being the reasonable and logical man he is, simply buzzed them right in. Only Mr. Dornanse would truly be able to articulate what happened next.
We all know the annual hooliganism that Mr. Malone brings, so, of course, I had no fear of them and simply decided to get it all over with. At least then my lobby won't be full of holes from gunfire and me needing to hire someone new to clerk the front desk. To my surprise, however, the trio set up a presentation that was quite insightful, if a bit antiquated in method, on the problems with the skeletal structure of the new line of robotic humanoids we have been working on. I have no idea how they knew of the designs, honestly. But, I have decided to pardon them, and all involved, due to their very constructive feedback leading to a 34% reduction in the timescale to full production!

October 14th

This morning, a mild ruckus at the town's Art District proved to be another of Mr. Malones' wild escapades. What terrible deed did the trio get up to in our quaint little Bohemia? A short interview with Miss Daily, of You Paint It, We Frame, It found that things took quite the artistic turn. In the words of Miss Daily;
Mr. Malone and his two friends spooked me quite a bit when they walked into my humble store, but they quickly proved to be perfect gentlemen! Mr. Malone told me, ‘Me and the boys here need a new portrait for our poker room; the current one's got too many bullet holes in it. We already got the picture, and I hear you's is the best framer in town. So you got yourself a commission, see?' I do hope I did Mr. Malone's words justice; he has a lovely speaking voice, you know. At any rate, they handed me their painting and told me I had a week or they would '[…] set up our own frame job.' I'm not quite sure what that means, but they paid in advance and were very generous!

October 15th

In what appears to be an artistic spree, that excellent little jazz cafe in downtown, Three Bohemias, has been the next target of Bones Malone! The trio caused quite a stir as they burst into the cafe, instrument cases in their hands that surely held the signature Tommy guns the trio is known for! But things took a lyrical turn as the trio made their way to the stage, opened their cases, and proceeded to set up for a performance. Those cases were of quite some interest as one contained an entire drumset and in another a full double bass; Mr. Malone's case made more sense as he pulled out a simple trumpet.
The news of Mr. Malone and The Spooky Boys preparing to perform spread like fire around the surrounding area, and within minutes, the cafe was packed tighter than Willaim Howard Taft's coffin. But don't worry, my dear listeners, you can be sure your host was in attendance as those bone daddies blew us all away.
After a bit of tuning up, Mr. Malone stepped forward to the microphone, tipped his hat, said, ‘This one's for Louis', and the trio started their set with a stunning rendition of ‘La vie en rose'. Then, they set all of our bones shivering as the trio covered some of the best jazz hits of the last century. Of course, it is always a sight to behold a skeleton playing trumpet when they lack lungs and lips, but Mr. Malone is undoubtedly not one to let little things such as organs or a mouth get in his way.

October 18th

It seems after setting fire to the musical senses of patrons at ‘The Bebop' last Sunday, Mr. Malone and his boys were found to literally set fire to a small warehouse on the fringes of town. Witnesses state that Mr. Malone was heard shouting, ‘You's mugs think you're living up Richie D's legacy?! Ya makin' me laugh from my head to the tibia my toes!' The trio then opened fire on the open main bay door of the building without any further preamble and, shortly after, began using a crate of bottles as Molotov cocktails to begin the fire that would ravage the structure. They were quickly met with another unidentified trio who returned fire on Mr. Malone and his Boys as they made their way to a small vehicle and swiftly fled the scene.
UIU Agents and The Fire Brigade thaumaturgists arrived at the scene just as the last bits of gunfire were exchanged before Malone and his duo, and the unknown triplet, beat a hasty retreat. Due to having to deal with the raging fire, the two groups were able to quickly escape outside the agent's reach. Once the fire wizards made short work of the infernos, the UIU entered the building and found that it was being used as a storehouse for numerous illegal anomalous items. Particularly noted was the large amount of varying liquors stashed in the crates.
While the identities of the trio who operated out of the warehouse remain officially unknown, second-hand accounts report one of the agents shouting, ‘Fuckin' tell me that ain't Murakami behind the wheel!' Those familiar with current paracrime events will certainly make the connection to Murakami Killswitch, known to be the wheelman for The Chicago Spectre.

October 21st

The gloves seem to be coming off those boney fingers of Mr. Malone as his gang continues the violence from the eighteenth, but with a very different target. We all know Misters Marshall, Carter, & Dark operate illegal auctions within the town–it's part of the charm here–but they rarely ever cause a stir among the residents. This tepid peace was shattered in the late hours of the evening when Mr. Malone and his duo reared their heads again to raid an ongoing auction. The incursion started when a human skull had come up for bidding. It appeared to be completely normal before witnesses stated it roared to life and shouted, ‘I'm a powerful demonic force! I'm the harbinger of your doom! And the forces of darkness will applaud me as I STRIDE through the gates of hell carrying your head on a pike!'
In order to retain civility, the staff gagged the amusing post-dead fellow. It appears bidding had just begun at twenty-five dollars when gunfire was heard from the lobby. The door to the hall quickly burst open, and the infamous trio muscled their way inside. Mr. Malone was reported to be silent as a tomb as he stared directly at the auctioneer the entire time he stalked up the aisle to the stage; all while those two thugs were at his side to quell those in attendance by brandishing their weapons. Once they reached the lectern, Mr. Malone exchanged a few short sentences with the auctioneer and then gunned the man down without another word. After readjusting his tie, Mr. Malone was said to then retrieve the skull, remove the gag, and lead the rest back out through the front entrance.

October 24th

ICSUT today was not greeted with festivities by Mr. Malone and his gang—one more reason Deer rules. Once they'd gotten to the campus, they were found to be questioning anyone they came across regarding the whereabouts of Dr. Moria, the college's Head of Necromancy. Once they finally learned his location, teaching a lecture on preserving zombie flesh at that time, the trio made their way to the lecture hall and stormed in. When he was questioned, Dr. Moria confirmed his identity, at which time Malone's sidekicks seized the professor and hauled him over to stand before Mr. Malone. However, Malone was noted to look around the lecture hall and state, 'Not here, boys. These kids don't need to see what happens when you commit crimes against The Bone Batallion'. Mr. Malone then led the group out of the lecture hall and to Dr. Moria's office. No gunfire was heard, but the unmistakable voice of Dr. Moria was heard loudly ringing out in agony through the halls before quickly cutting out.
Why was Dr. Moria targeted by the gangsters and forcibly retired to his office? Rumors of ICSUT administration using reanimated skeletons, against their will, to re-shelve their library's books have been flying for a while now, and it seems there may be some truth to them. So, it would seem our rival campus certainly walks in lock-step with their masters at the Occult Coalition if they so freely practice post-death slavery.
After engaging in a short, retreating gunfight with the ICSUT campus security, the trio was seen quickly fleeing from the scene. It should be noted that, although gunfire was exchanged, the only victim of the gang today was Dr. Moria.
As a result of this incident, the UIU is opening a full investigation into the matter of illegal necromantic practices on the part of Dr. Moria, and the ICSUT administration. Unfortunately, the prime suspect, Dr. Moria himself, was found in his office shortly after the scene was secured, deceased, and missing his entire skeleton.

October 31st

Now… we know the last few significant exploits of the nefarious Bones Malone and The Spooky Boys have seen extreme violence and death. So what could they possibly have planned for this hallowed day?
As you all are getting your finest costumes on and, for you rascals after my own heart, already pre-gaming for the evening's festivities, have a listen to what our little X-Files gang, The Unusual Incidents Unit, was met with once their lunches had settled.
In the late afternoon, the commotion outside the UIU main office was hard to miss. The gangster ghouls marched their way up to the front door, rushed into the bustling office, and were greeted with every handgun the UIU had available. (So, about seven guns.) And what did Malone and the Boys do in response? What weapons were they holding?!
Bags of candy.
And they went around the office, handing out candy bars to every agent; full size, bless those bones. After the excitement of their entrance, the building calmed down in the face of the Halloween treats.
Before they left the building, Captain Daniels, the current head of the Three Portlands office, was given one last treat to pass on to a specific superior. This hard-working reporter was lucky enough to arrive on the scene just as Mr. Malone reeled back his right arm and slugged the Captain right across the cheek, sending the man sprawling to the floor.
As the trio ventured back into the city, Mr. Malone glanced over his shoulder and simply said, ‘Make sure ya pass that sugar onto Ol' Herbie, ya hear? And tell'em ‘Happy Halloween, from Bonesy.'


VIDEO LOG TRANSCRIPT
DATE: 10/31/20██
LOCATION: FP-120 ("Esterberg"), the Living District
SUBJECTS: Six SCP-5572-1 instances, five unidentified humanoids
CONTEXT: The following footage was captured by an anonymous bystander present during the events shown.

[BEGIN LOG]
2241: A group of six SCP-5572-1 instances converse with each other while loitering outside of a residential building. It is dark outside, impairing visibility. The front of the building is lit by a porchlight, and all six skeletons are clearly visible.
2244: A couple of unidentified individuals pass by the group. The pair do not acknowledge the skeletons, and continue walking down the street.
2249: A single Fae1 individual approaches the building. They wave to a member of the group as they approach, and the skeleton waves back. The individual joins the group and begins conversing with various members.
2250: After a brief conversation, the Fae bids farewell to the group and enters the building.
2258: A group of five unidentified humanoids become visible on the video feed. Because of their distance from any light source, details of their appearance cannot be determined. However, their movement and behavior suggest that the group is heavily intoxicated.
2259: The group of skeletons notices the other group.
2301: A member of the newly arrived group notices the skeletons, and loudly calls out to them. This alerts the rest of their group to the presence of the six SCP-5572-1 instances, one of whom waves to the other group.
2302: The new arrivals attempt to converse with the skeletons, but after a heated exchange the skeletons begin to ignore the other group.
2304: A visibly-drunk member of the second group makes an obscene gesture in the direction of the skeletons. The rest of their group laughs. The skeletons notice this, but continue to ignore the other group.
2305: Another member of the second group makes an obscene gesture, causing more laughter. An SCP-5572-1 instance moves towards the other group and attempts to communicate. The intoxicated group jeers at them, and begins to taunt the other SCP-5572-1 instances.
2306: Though it is not clear who, someone in the second group is audible saying the words "Spooky Scary Skeletons send shiv-" before being interrupted when the nearest skeleton attacks them. This altercation quickly escalates into a street brawl between the two groups.
2311: The melee continues for several minutes. However, due to differences in physiology and a slight numbers advantage the skeletons begin to route the other side. After one individual flees, the rest of the opposing group scatters, running in separate directions.
2312: The skeletons congratulate each other and mock the fleeing opponents. One of the skeletons climbs on top of an overturned garbage can before shouting "STUPID SCAREDY HUMAN-MEN!" The rest of the group laughs.
The footage briefly continues past this point, however audio is not available, only video; the rest of the footage has been altered using a video-editing mobile app to include the opening theme song of the 90s cartoon series Skeleton Warriors.
[END LOG]

Footnotes
1. Homo sapiens sidhe.


More by this Author

I step out into the cool autumn air. It carries the scent of dead leaves. Their smell is alluring. I have the urge to reach down and snack on them. I have to fight it. For one thing, I don't have time. I need to make distance from the Way I just came through. For another, I can't eat leaves in broad daylight. There are a million eyes around me, and I'm counting on the fact that, on this one day out of the whole year, I can walk among them without seeming too strange.
I've done everything I can to make myself look less remarkable. I wear a long, black hooded robe which was once part of a grim reaper costume, chosen because it hides as much of my body as possible. It hides my gossamer wings, my segmented body, my large, inhuman abdomen, my midlimbs, and my legs, whose knees bend the wrong way. My antennae protrude through two holes in the top of my hood, but I can claim they come from a headband, so long as I'm careful not to move them. My hands are visible, but they can be dismissed as gloves. My face is the strangest part of me that's uncovered. I won't get away with pretending it's a mask, but I've done some research, and everything about my face could be achieved with make-up and prosthetics, so long as I keep my lower mandibles closed, which I have to do anyway if I want to talk like a human.
Having emerged from a Way in a hidden corner of an alley, I skitter onto the sidewalk nearby, trying to project the confidence of someone who belongs where he is. As I move, I swivel my head left and right, tracking the reactions of those near me. Some people are staring, but no one is running and screaming like someone outside the veil would if they realized what I really am. One of them even says, “Cool costume,” to me.
“Thanks,” I say. My voice is strange, clicky and nasal, but not beyond what a skilled human voice actor might be able to achieve.
I maintain course for my destination. It's a large Unitarian Universalist church, six blocks south-east of where I emerged. A Halloween party is going to be hosted there. When I was little, my mom used to take me there every year, because our main church was too conservative to do anything for Halloween. I've not gotten to go there in years. I've barely left my house's basement since the incident that made me the way I am. It was a hell of a task to get my mom to let me visit the Wanderer's Library today, and I certainly couldn't have ever gotten her to let me out in public where veiled people could see me. That's why I snuck away. We no longer live in our old hometown. The Hand helped us establish new identities once it became clear the Jailors would be after us. However, I found a Way in the library that led me here, and as soon as it dawned on me that I was within walking distance of the Halloween party I always used to go to, I resolved to go there again.
I arrive at the church just as the Halloween sun is fading. It's well-decorated for this event. Its front is lined with jack-o-lanterns, running the spectrum from silly to scary. One has large, round features. Another has a harsh angular face, and its front is covered in random knifemarks which give the impression that it has been mauled by something. A few have complex shapes, including impressions of both a witch and a cat.
I enter through the front door. This is the first time I've been inside a church since the incident. Should I be afraid? I'm not. I'm just excited. I'm going to a party. For the first time in years, I'm going outside and spending time with normal, human people. Not members of the Hand, or strange Library patrons, just normal, human people, who won't think I'm anything more extraordinary than a human in a costume.
There's a woman in a witch costume, standing just inside. “Welcome,” she says, affecting a witchy voice.
“Thank you,” I say.
Her face lights up. She thinks I just outdid her with my monster voice. “The party is down that hall and through the double doors,” she says. “Just follow the hands.” Large, skeletal hands have been pinned on the wall, and which lead the way to the main room where the party is being held. I follow them. I pass a few people on my walk down there, but no one pays me any mind. No one stares. No one gawks. No one screams.
I turn a corner and enter the large room where the main party is being held. It has a wooden floor, whose markings indicate that it used to be a basketball court. In its center, long tables have been set up, and covered with snacks—mostly bowls of candy, but there's also a large bowl of bright pink punch, two smaller bowls of pumpkin seeds, and a large tray of brownies. The entire thing is speckled with spiders and skulls. All around the room, there are people in costumes. Some of them are complicated. One person wears a navy-blue bedsheet draped over them like a sheet ghost, but the sheet is covered in googly eyes and drawn-on mouths. Another man wears a hocky mask and overalls and carries a mock chainsaw. He's conversing with a knight, and someone wearing a large cloud-shaped headpiece from which thin strings hang like rain. Elsewhere, a woman is dressed in green, textured to give the impression of a vine. She carries a baby dressed as a pumpkin.
I can smell those pumpkin seeds from across the room. God, they're good. I head over to one of the food tables, stick my hand in one of the bowls, and grab a small handful of them. I have to be careful about how I go about eating them. I can't let someone see my four-mandibled mouth at work. However, by holding my hand over my mouth just so, I can cover it while I eat. I practiced this in the mirror at home. No one should be able to see through it.
The seeds are amazing. Greasy and salty in just the right way, but still hard, plantish, in a way I rarely get to indulge in. My mom doesn't like to let me eat things a human wouldn't, so most of what I eat is too soft and sweet. This, though, it's even better than those leaves would have been.
“Cool costume!” says a teen around my age, standing across from the table.
“Thanks,” I say. He's dressed in ordinary clothing, including a white shirt. However, the front of the shirt is dominated by an enormous bloodstain. He picks up a brownie from the table, and, as he does, he removes a set of fake vampire teeth from his mouth and puts them in a plastic case, which he stows in his pocket.
“How did you even do that?” he asks. “Like, is that even a mask?”
“Make-up,” I say.
“That's freaking amazing,” he says.
“Your costume's good too,” I say.
“Dude, there's no comparison. I just dripped fake blood onto a white shirt.”
I decide not to challenge that. I mean, my costume is pretty impressive. “Say, do I know you?” I ask. There's something familiar about him I can't put my finger on.
“I don't know,” he says. “I'm Allen.” He holds out his hand over the table.
I grip it with my own chitinous hand. “I do know you,” I say. I used to hang out with this kid whenever I came here. We even met up for playdates a few other times, though my mom was resistant to our friendship, preferring I spend time with ‘better influences' from the catholic school she sent me to. “It's me, Ryan.”
“Holy shit!” he says. “Long time no see, man.”
“Yeah.”
“Awesome to see you back. Where have you been the last few years?”
“Studying abroad,” I say.
“Where?”
“Oh, places. It's not that interesting.”
“Well, glad you're back,” he says.
He looks down at our grasping hands. “Is that make-up too?”
“No,” I say. “Just gloves.”
“They feel so real.”
“Thanks,” I keep my smile. I don't think anyone has ever admired my current body.
Once it's no longer on him, my hand finds its way back over to the bowl of pumpkin seeds. I fill a small foam bowl with more of them, then look around for somewhere to sit. This place used to be a basketball court, so there are bleachers lining one side of it. I head over to them, and sit on the edge of the lowest one, not too close to anyone else. Allen fills a small paper plate with a few more brownies and a handful of M&Ms, gets a glass of the punch on the end of the table, then follows me. “You're gonna enter the costume contest, right?” he asks.
“Yeah, totally,” I say. I'd forgotten that there was one, but yeah, of course I'm going to enter. “Where do I do that, by the way?”
“Over there,” he says, “that table.”
“Gochya. Better do that before I forget. Watch my food.”
“Sure thing.”
I leave my bowl of seeds behind to walk over to the sign-up sheet. A couple dozen other people have signed up. There are two columns. I write my name in one, though I use a fake last name for security's sake. The other column is for the name of my costume. Should I give it a fancy name? If someone had voluntarily adopted this costume, would they have? Maybe. I didn't think of one, though, and I don't want to stand here for a long time while I figure one out. I was enjoying talking to Allen. “Bug in Robe,” I write. I turn around, and scan the room, looking at some of the other costumes. Honestly, nothing else seems to be close to me. Am I cheating? Maybe. I don't care. It's about time I got something out of what happened to me. I walk back over to Allen.
“I'm, not keeping you from other friends, or anything, am I?” I ask Allen.
“No, not at all,” Allen says. “I've not seen you in years. I want to catch up. Oh! I should give you my number, though, so we can keep in touch.”
“Sure thing,” I say. I don't have a phone to put the number in. The Serpent's Hand people say cell phones are easy to track, so my mom won't let me have one. It's not as much of a problem as you'd think. It's not like I ever leave the basement where the computer is. Allen writes his number on a slip of paper and gives it to me. There are no pockets on my robe. I tell him there are, on the inside, so I have an excuse to pull my arm in, at which point I grab the paper with one of my small midlimbs. Without a phone of my own, I don't know what I'll do with his number, but I'll find something.
“So, you say you've been studying abroad all these years,” he says, “how did that come about?”
“I got accepted into a thing,” I say. “The details are really boring, I promise. It's honestly not been that great. I'm not enough of a bookworm to make the most of it.”
“I hear you,” he says.
“What about you?” I say. “What have you been doing since I last saw you?”
“Nothing's changed on my front,” he says. “Just been going through things like I always have been. Went from middle school to high school. Y'know.”
“Yeah,” I say, though I don't, in fact, know what it's like to be in high school.
While we're talking, and older man walks onto a raised platform to the right of the room. “Alright,” he says, “may I have your attention, please?”
We stop talking. We both know what he's going to say, but I haven't gotten to hear it for a few years, and I want to listen. “The Walk of Fear will open in five minutes,” he says. “I repeat, the Walk of Fear will open in five minutes.” There's a bit of clapping around the room. I join in. My chitinous hands sound less like a human clap and more like wood knocking against wood. I take my last handful of pumpkin seeds and quickly devour them.
“I miss the walk of fear,” I say. “Have they changed anything?” The Walk of Fear is sort of like a haunted house. They take one hallway in the church and decorate all the rooms along it, each with their own theme. Every room has at least one costumed performer. Of course, those people don't want to sit in those rooms all night, so the hallway is only fully operative for a portion of the night, just long enough for everyone to go through it.
“The fundamentals are the same,” he says. “I won't tell you anything else. Don't wanna spoil it for you.”
I smile.
“You don't have to do the voice, by the way,” Allen says.
“What?”
“The monster voice you're doing. It sounds cool, don't get me wrong, but I have to imagine it's uncomfortable to keep it up.”
“Oh, no,” I say. “It's not. It would actually be harder to slip in and out of it.”
“Oh,” he says.
We line up by the entrance to the Walk of Fear. I get more compliments about my costume on the way. One old woman is especially kind, telling me it's the best she's ever seen. “Thanks,” I say to the group, lined up behind me.
“Oooh, nice voice,” one of them says.
“Thanks,” I say, again.
After a few minutes, the Walk of Fear opens.
The door opens to a hallway. The hallway itself is sparsely decorated, but what decorations have been placed around the first door hint at the room's theme. It's a science lab. Upon entering, we see a countertop lined with organs in jars. At the center of the room, there's a stainless-steel table, on which a dummy is laying. A curly-haired woman in a lab coat and goggles stands over it, holding surgical tools. We have just a few moments to drink in the decorations as a few more of the guests wander into the room. Suddenly, the body on the table begins to convulse. I let out a stringy screech that doesn't belong in a human mouth. Luckily, everyone is too focused on the theatrics to notice. The woman in the lab coat lets out a shrill, evil laugh. “Welcome to my laaab!” she announces. “I'm always looking for new test subjects!”
Mom would be mortified to see this room. This is exactly what she thinks will happen to me if I go outside.
The next room is simpler. For the most part, it appears to be an ordinary Sunday school classroom, with one simple alteration. Bugs. Bugs everywhere, covering the walls so densely you can barely see the walls themselves. Most of the bugs are bug-sized, though some are much bigger, like the enormous spider that hangs from the ceiling. In the dark, they almost look real, though none of them move. They do make noise, though, or rather, a hidden speaker somewhere is making a cacophony of buzzing and chirping sounds. There are sounds of a thousand different insects, but one stands out to me. A high, chirping buzz. It sings to me, sweet and frightening. Something moves. I jump. A person in a bug suit—a good one, though worse than mine, has burst out from under a large pile of plastic centipedes, eliciting screams from most of the people with us.
The next room is meant to seem haunted. Old furniture has been set up, and a chandelier casts the room in an eerie twilight. The woman inside wears a tattered white dress, her hair dyed bright white, and her face made up with white powder. There are a lot of objects scattered around the room. It's a rather eclectic, probably assembled from various people donating whatever old stuff they had. It's mostly furniture, but there are some old paintings as well, and a line of brown-paged books between two ornate book ends. We don't stay too long. If I wanted to look at old books, I wouldn't have bothered to come here. “Were there one or two more?” I ask Allen as we leave.
“One more,” he says. “It's the best one.”
“Oh?”
“Not gonna spoil it. Just come on.” I follow him down the hall. He leads me back near the front door, and through a large set of doors close to it, into the church's main chapel.
The air is full of chanting. The room is dark, lit only by a dense group of candles surrounding a gray altar. Patterns resembling skulls and spider webs protrude from it. In front of it, half a dozen worshipers in dark red cloaks chant, led by another, older man behind the altar. There's another man tied to the altar, dressed in white robes that have been covered in fake blood. He screams and struggles against the ropes that bound him but is firmly held in place. “Approach!” the older man says once we've funneled into the room. “Witness our sacrifice!” The group goes forward. I go with it. Part of me doesn't want to, but I force myself. My eyes wander, both to keep my eyes off the altar, and out of the hope that I'll see more decorations throughout the room, which might help it feel less like a chapel. There aren't any others, though. It's a large room and decorating the entirety of it would probably take too much work. They're relying on the darkness and the candlelight to draw attention away from the pews.
I let my attention wander back toward the altar. Just as I do, I catch a glimpse of the cross above the altar. It's large, looming. It looks like it's floating. For a moment, it shares my gaze with the altar, with the victim's bloodied robes. I am assaulted by a memory. By a feeling of something outside, outside everything I've ever known, touching me. It's not a graceful touch. It's the touch of a child, clumsily grasping an insect he wishes to examine, crushing its limbs in his naïve grip. The screams of the man on the altar become my own. Screams I could no longer make. The last sounds made by my human throat, as what I was melted off of me, and what I am now burrowed out of my dead flesh. The room was full of churchgoers when that happened. I felt their gazes, though only a few could see me through the crowd and the pews. My mother also had the presence of mind to throw a coat on top of me as I gyrated on the floor. It wasn't enough. The people nearby saw enough that Jailors were after us by the end of the day. Lost in the memory, I, without thinking, let out a deep buzz. It's not from my mouth. It's from my midlimbs rubbing against the noisemakers on my abdomen.
“Dude?”
Allen snaps me out of my stupor. I look around. The mock cultists are still chanting, and the sacrifice still has the attention of the other partygoers. Not Allen, though. Allen is right next to me. He's looking at me strangely. I look back at him. He's studying me. “Sorry,” I say.
“What was that noise?” he asks. “Your mouth wasn't moving.”
“There's a noisemaker inside the robe. It's part of my costume. It's sort of meant to fit the insect theme, y'know?”
“Your hands were perfectly still,” he says.
“I was using my feet,” I say.
“Oh.” He looks me up and down.
“Sorry if I scared you,” I say.
“Don't be,” he says. “That's, uh, the point of Halloween, after all.” He laughs, nervously.
We leave the chapel and begin the walk back to the main area.
“You're sure you're okay?” Allen says.
“I'm fine,” I say.
“You're sure? Look, I know we don't know each other very well, but—”
“I said I'm fine!” I say it too loudly. “Sorry,” I say.
“It's okay,” he says. “I, uh, shouldn't have pried. Now, I'll be right back. I'm going to go get some punch.” He leaves.
Was this a mistake? Am I going to be found out after all?
Allen left me sitting in the middle of the basketball court. I head back to the corner of the bleachers, where we were sitting before. Halfway there, I remember those pumpkin seeds. I grab some more, and then go back to the corner.
A few minutes later, a woman walks up to me. “Ryan Burton?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“I'm the judge for the costume contest. Just here to look you over.” Her eyes scan me up and down. I'd been so excited for this a moment ago, but now her scrutiny makes me nervous. “This is impressive,” she says. I smile. I have to force the smile. “How did you achieve this?”
“Make-up,” I say.
“You have a future in film,” she says. She studies my face. She looks at it from the left and the right. She's looking for the seam, where the make-up would end and a human face would begin. “Can you lower your hood,” she asks.
“No,” I say. “The antennae stop me.” I made sure that they did. I don't want my hood to be accidentally pulled back.
“Oh. Well, the antennae are a nice touch.”
“Thanks,” I say.
She holds out her hand, as if to shake mine. I take hers. She takes my hand. We shake. “Make-up on the hands, too?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “Just gloves.
“Custom-made?” she asks. “They fit you well. I can't feel any empty space.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Custom-made. Internet.”
“I see.” Is that skepticism, or am I being paranoid? “Well, it's very impressive,” she says.
“Thank you.”
She walks away.
Allen walks over and sits back down next to me. “Was that the judge?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Did she like it?”
“Yeah.”
“Awesome. You're totally going to win.”
“Just how convincing is my costume?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“If you didn't know better, would you worry you were talking to a real bug person?”
“What?” He laughs. “Dude, I'm not sure any costume is that good.” He sips his punch. “Listen, sorry again for a minute ago.”
“It's fine.”
“Even so,” he says. “You must have put a lot of work into however you made that noise. I'm sorry I was weird about it.”
So it was the noise. Does that mean he did doubt my cover story, for a moment? “So, what I'm hearing is, you did think I was a real bug for a minute there,” I say.
“Oh, c'mon man,” he says. “Look, it was just the way you were staring into space, it kinda freaked me out.”
“Ah,” I say. “I was focused on what I was doing, is all. The mechanism isn't that easy to work. That probably wasn't the time or place for it, when there was already a performance going on.”
“I don't know,” he says, “that was the best scare I've had in a long time.”
On the far end of the room, the door opens. I glance over at it. I almost drop my seeds.
“What is it?” Allen asks. He looks over his shoulder. He sees the same thing as me. A middle-aged woman in a bright orange sweater. Allen doesn't recognize her, but I know it's my mom.
I spring up. “I gotta go to the bathroom,” I say.
“Okay,” he says. I turn around and head toward the opposite exit, and from there to the men's restroom. That's the best place to hide from her.
What's she doing here? Did the Serpent's Hand people tell her I'd left the library? Did she just deduce where I'd gone? “Have you seen my son here?” she asks someone. I'm out of the gym before I hear the answer.
The bathroom is small, with a urinal and two stalls, one small and one large, both currently empty. I go straight for the large one, and lock myself in. This is a temporary solution. At least, it is if I don't want to spend the rest of the party hiding in here. Maybe she won't stay here that long? If she's only guessed that I'm at this party at all, maybe she'll look around, not see me anywhere, and leave to look somewhere else.
“Ryan, I know you're in there!” my mother's voice rings out, just outside the bathroom.
Fuck. Do I pretend not to be in here? Will she eventually walk away? No, she won't. Not if she thinks she knows I'm in here. Great. So I'm going to miss the rest of the party. Even if I could hide here the rest of the time, it wouldn't be worth it. I may as well just go out there and let her take me back to the basement now. And to think, I thought I'd solved my problems. It seemed like Allen didn't suspect anything after all.
“Come out here this instant!”
I stand. Maybe I just have to accept that I'm going to be locked in a single room the rest of my life, Jailors or no Jailors.
No. Fuck that. I'm not going to fucking stand for it. Everything was fine. This is the most fun I've had since it happened. I was about to win the costume contest. There was a scare with regards to my maintaining my disguise, but I was able to claw it back. The fact that I did that so easily only reinforces the idea that I'm safe here. I'm not going to go back underground.
My mom is waiting right by the entrance. As soon as I'm out of the bathroom, she pulls me into a strong hug. “Oh, Ryan,” she says. One of my antennae brushes her cheeks, and I feel the moisture there. “Are you hurt?”
Before I say anything, I look both ways down the hall. There's no one else in sight, which hopefully means there's no one who would hear me, so long as I'm not too loud. “No,” I say. “I'm fine. I came here on my own. The Jailors don't know anything about it.”
“Good,” she says. She squeezes me. “There are no words for how scared I was, or relieved I am,” she loosens her grip, and looks me in the eye, “or, how much trouble you're in.” She ends the hug and grabs my hand. “We're going,” she says.
“Mom—” I whisper.
“Shh. Come with me, now.”
“Mom, no one knows anything. Everything is fine. Everyone thinks I'm in a costume.”
“And we need to leave before that changes.”
“It won't change. Why would any of these people ever suspect the truth? They don't know anything like me exists. Think about what it took to convince you that this stuff was real. That's the boat they're in. They're not going to decide magic and monsters exist because someone's costume was too good.”
She grips my hand and pulls me toward the door. “I am not going to debate you about this. You are in danger by being here. We are leaving. You may complain about it once we're back home.”
She starts to walk, leading me down the hall by her hand.
I follow her. “Please,” I say, “this is the most fun I've had in years.”
“This is not up for discussion. People could overhear us!”
She leads me back toward the main room, where everyone is. “Can you please let go of my hand? I don't want everyone to see you drag me through there.”
“Fine, but stay behind me.” She lets go. I could try to run off, but that would only delay her dragging me back home.
The man who announced the opening of the Walk of Fear a moment ago is now announcing the results of the costume contest. There are a few different categories, and he's partway through giving ‘most intricate' to the sheet ghost with all the eyes and mouths, which was apparently supposed to be a shoggoth.
Allen walks up to us as we move through the room.
“Hey, what's going on,” he says.
“We were just leaving,” mom says.
“What? Why?”
“There's something he needs to take care of at home.”
“Oh,” Allen says. “Darn.”
“I'm sorry,” I say.
“It's fine,” he says. His face is downcast, but I continue walking.
“Finally,” the announcer says, as we near the far door, “our grand prize goes to Ryan Burton's ‘bug in robe.'”
I see Allen's face light up from across the court, but just after the announcement, we leave the gym. “I won,” I say.
“Congratulations,” mom says, tersely.
“I'm supposed to go up and claim the prize.”
“Tough.”
“Mom, please—”
She spins around and stares me down. “You can't be seen in public!” she says, still trying to whisper, but failing. “One tip about you will see the Jailors searching for us—”
“No. It won't. No one is going to walk away from this thinking they saw anything but someone in a costume.” As I speak, I glance around. No one seems to be in earshot.
“It's a risk we can't take,” she says. “If they catch you—”
“They'll what? Lock me up in a room for the rest of my life?”
“Yes!”
“How is that any different from your plan?”
“Don't be absurd!”
“I'm not. Tell me. Tell me how being locked in a containment site is any different than having to spend the rest of my life in your basement!”
I expected her to yell back at me, but she doesn't. She stares at me for a moment, studying me. “Do you hate home that much?” she asks.
“I… no. That's not what I meant.”
“You have me,” she says, putting her hand on me. “You're being cared for by someone who loves you and wants what's best for you. That's what's different.”
“I know, but—”
“You had no right to run off on your own.” Her eyes are moist. “Ryan, I've spent the last two hours thinking they got you, and that I would never see you again. You should have talked to me about this.”
“I did!” I say. “I asked you to let me go somewhere normal. I asked to come to this party last year, and the year before, and you must have remembered that, because you knew to come here.”
“We'll talk back home,” mom says, “but we need to go. I will not lose you to a bunch of godless monsters who'll treat you like an animal.”
“You're not going to lose me for this,” I say.
“I'll say again,” the man's voice rings from the other room, “our top prize went to ‘bug in robe,' by Ryan Burton.”
“Please,” I say.
She hesitates for a moment. “I'm sorry,” she says. “I can see that this means a lot to you, but this isn't the kind of risk we can take. Look, I know you've spent a lot of time in hiding, and I'm sorry if you've gotten bored, but any excursion outside would need to be planned with the utmost care.”
“I did plan it with the utmost care,” I say. “I didn't pick this day out of a hat. I know this is the only day I could get away with something like this, and even then, I was careful. Look what I'm wearing. This robe covers almost everything. I spent hours researching make-up and costuming, so I can explain every part of my appearance if someone asks, but no one is going to ask, because no one has any reason to look that closely at me.”
“The Jailors are hunting you.”
“How would they know to look here? Where would they have heard that I used to come here?”
“They're clever. They could have found a way.”
“They didn't. If they had, we'd already know about it. They don't know I'm here, and they're not going to find out, either, because as far as everyone here is concerned, I'm just a kid in a really good Halloween costume. They don't investigate people for winning costume contests.”
“Ryan, please,” she wraps her arms back around me. “I want you to be safe,” she says.
“I know,” I say returning the hug. “I'm sorry I compared you to them. That wasn't fair, but please, this is the one day in the entire year in which I can go outside and mingle with other people. Just let me have that one night. I'm not stupid. I know I can't have more, but please, just one.”
There's a long silence. “You're sure this is worth the risk?” she says.
“Yes,” I say, “and you won't have to worry, if you're here.”
“Yes I will,” she says. “I'll always worry about you.” She takes a long, deep breath. “But maybe you're right.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Thank you so much.”
“You used your real name for the contest?” She asks.
“Only my first name,” I say.
“Your first name and the fact that you look like an insect might be enough for them to make a connection and realize you were here. You can't come back here next year.”
“Mom—”
“Which is why you'll have to do something else.” She relaxes her grip. “We have a year to figure out the details.”
“That's okay,” I say. “So long as I do something.”
“I suppose it's fitting, for you to come out of the ground once a year.”
“Was that a cicada joke?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“You hate it when I make those.”
“I know. Now, go back in. The announcer is waiting.”
I do. Mom follows me inside and stands by the door. Just as the announcer is making his last call for me, I run up to him. “I'm here,” I say. “Sorry.”
“That's alright,” he says. In the gym around me, I spot Allen staring up at me, smiling. “Glad you could make it. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” I say.
He gives me the prize. It's a ribbon. It's bright orange and says, ‘Best in Show.'
Once the announcer is done with me, I go back into the crowd. I walk right up to Allen. “Awesome, dude,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say.
“How'd you talk her into letting you stay?”
“I have a way with words.”
“You gonna be here for the rest of the night?”
“Yeah.”
“Awesome.”
I do spend the rest of the night there. I have a great time. Me and mom go back through the walk of fear. The actors are gone, but she still gets to enjoy the decorations. I don't go back into the bug room. She goes in without me but doesn't stay long. I show her the chapel, but there's not much left to it now that the performers aren't there.
Eventually, it's time to go. I say goodbye to Allen. “See you next year,” he says.
“Hopefully,” I say. “Even if I can't make it, we'll do something else, between now and then. I have your number.”
“Hear from you soon,” he says.
I leave. I look over my shoulder as I walk out and take one last glance at the church. “Thanks again,” I say to mom.
“Next time, we'll plan it more carefully,” she says.
“I'm fine with that,” I say.
“And just to be clear, you are still in trouble.”
“I know.”
“Good,” she says. “It does look good, by the way.”
“What?”
“Your costume,” she says. “It's very spooky.”
“Thanks,” I say.

More by this Author


ThatGuyThatTime

A Little Misters Halloween Special! - My first work, for HalloweenCon 2022.

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Would you like to hear a story?
October 31st, 2022. The main recreational area of Site-19 had never seen such a mess.
For the first time in a long, long time, Director Moose had given the go-ahead for some of the anomalies, at the behest of some other senior staff, to join in on the year's Halloween festivities. Under careful supervision from a temporarily formed task force of agents that happened to be on-site, jokingly dubbed the “Party Poopers”, the entities could, if not posing an immediate threat, party with the rest of the staff. Agent Murphy, for example, was on Misters collection duty.
This would be the last time Moose gave this go-ahead.

Site-19, Cell ██, Hall ██.
SCP-2287 can be seen laying on his bed, listening to music. Agent Murphy knocks on the cell door, holding her other hand behind her back.
Agent Murphy: Yo, Headless, wakey wakey.
The neck stump of SCP-2287 leans forward, implying head movement.Agent Murphy: Nah, no tests. I guess nobody told you. Skips allowed at the Halloween party this year, so long as they ain't destructive. Bunch of us agents are gonna be on watch, so we can keep y'all in check, but other than that, you're free to fraternize with the rest of the staff.Agent Murphy: Well, it's Halloween, so everyone's expecting frights and spookiness tonight. Nobody's pulling a gun on you unless you do something stupid. Plus, all that's not gonna matter. Moose said it's a mandatory costume party, so I brought you a little something to cover up.
Agent Murphy pulls her hand from behind her back, revealing a large headpiece resembling a jack-o-lantern.
Agent Murphy: ‘Tis the season.

The party started well enough. Like every year, personnel began to flow into the central hall, orbiting the hallways and dormitories, spread throughout the Foundation's crown site, all dressed up for the occasion. People from all across the branches of the Foundation, from nexus personnel to the AICs, came down to the middle of Redacted, USA, to hang out with the rest of the coworkers. It was a bit of a logistical mess, to be honest, not to mention they decided to cart a few of the anomalies over with them, but the site was large enough. More party for everyone, and it meant a few more Party Poopers on standby.
The costume contest, like always, seemed like it was going to Researcher Talloran, for his seemingly unreal level of monster-making skill. The Memetic and Antimemetic departments stuck to opposite sides of the punch table, terrified of mixing any accidental residue they might have contracted without noticing. Pastaphysics cooked up a series of delicious sweet treats, even taking inspiration from some recently acquired Ambrose recipes — though they made efforts to replace the anomalous ingredients. You'd probably almost never believe they didn't use real clown milk. We hoped they didn't, at least.
The introduction of the anomalies, so far, had not yielded any awful results. SCP-3988 was thrilled to be celebrating the holiday, though he had a couple of comments on certain skeleton costumes, or as he called them, “appreciated but unfaithful adaptations”. Iris offered to set up a little kids' area for Cain for some of the younger anomalies, like 191, Timmy, and the newly arrived Mothboy, helping them make decoration and costumes out of whatever they could find laying around. This was the one night of the year when they could all feel a little less like freaks and even laugh at some of the scary costumes. I mean, the closest thing to a laugh for 191. A smile? Maybe.
The point is, it was going nicely, the same as every year. The fun staff like myself got wasted, while the not-so-fun staff stuck to their corner-sitting and complaining. Director Graham from 17 was grouchy as ever, pointing out the “wastes” of Foundation resources and being a general turd in the punch bole. We normally try to avoid inviting him (or the rest of 17 for that matter), but they managed to catch wind of it this year. I don't mind seeing some of the fellas from down deep, but it did admittedly hurt a little bit to realize they left all their skips at home, Rainer included. The kid couldn't catch a break.

Site-19, central hall.
Agent Murphy is standing in front of the door to the general recreational area, her arms crossed. She has adorned a vampire cloak, is wearing fake teeth, and is holding SCP-2428. In front of her is SCP-905, 2287, 909, 3537, 1908, 917, 913, 2396, 1007, 527, 629 and 2284. SCP-2855 and 644 are standing next to Agent Murphy. SCP-1799 can be seen sitting against a wall away from the group, looking down. All of the Misters are wearing Halloween costumes of ranging qualities.
Agent Murphy: Alright Misters, this is it. The front door. Tonight is the first night since all of you have been brought here that almost all of you are here at once. As we've informed you, Director Moose has decided that, under the condition that numerous armed members of Foundation personnel are on site, non-hostile and non-immediately hostile Skips are allowed to attend. This is, by far, the boldest move ever taken here for the sake of Halloween. It is a rare opportunity, for all of you, and I would like to make it clear that-Agent Murphy: Hot? I can handle the speech on my own, thank you. I appreciate the concern over my… survival, but if you could refrain from doing, you know, that would be great.Agent Murphy: Right. Well, anyway. Hot is right - I need you all to be behaving regularly tonight. For most of you, that's not a concern. Most of your anomalous capabilities don't pose an immediate threat to us, as far as we can tell.
Some in the crowd of Misters glance at SCP-527 and SCP-917. SCP-527 is wearing a cheap latex superman costume, and glares angrily back at the others. SCP-917 doesn't seem to notice.
Agent Murphy: And for those of you with more… iffy ones, we've figured out ways to counteract them in a manner that works as a temporary solution. Soap, we'll drain your suit every half hour. If it's getting too full, just tell Hot.
SCP-1908 gives a thumbs up, currently wearing a large hazmat suit costume, which has had a draining tube affixed to the left arm, and a breathing tube into the face.
Agent Murphy: Each of you has a "big brother" acting as your supervisor during this event, either Mr. Hot or Mr. Money, as well as a group of agents circling the party. The "Party Poopers", as we've been calling them, haven't made their identities known to you all. This means if you've got a problem, or something is going on, we can make sure to fix it quickly. It also means that if one of you gets up to mischief, you won't know who to avoid. And yes, while Moose is still technically trusting you guys can behave yourselves, the Security Department is putting in full throttle to make sure stuff doesn't go south. There are rules.Agent Murphy: Basically. I know Lost isn't here, but we're not looking for another "Mister Hunters". So listen to your big brothers, don't get into trouble, try to avoid fighting with other anomalies, especially try to avoid fighting personnel, do not let Mr. Life-and-Death near the "scary minty slime" under any circumstances, and try to have some fun here. This is Site-19. We're the biggest, and often regarded as the best site in the whole Foundation operation. Let's make sure the reputation can last one night. Any questions?
SCP-909 raises his hand.
Agent Murphy: Forgetful?Agent Murphy: And with that, let the party begin!
All the Little Misters except for SCP-1799 enter the party, excited and laughing. Agent Murphy taps SCP-2855 on the shoulder, prompting him to turn around.
Agent Murphy: Forgetful is yours. Make sure nobody writes anything down for him.Agent Murphy: We'll see.
SCP-2855 smiles, and follows the other Misters into the room. Agent Murphy stands and watches them, before looking to her right and smirking.
Agent Murphy: Well Mad, I guess it's just you and me. I'm glad you're the easy one, it would be-
Agent Murphy pauses as if she has been interrupted.Agent Murphy: Really?
Agent Murphy pauses, then sighs and smiles.Agent Murphy: You guys really are all brothers.

When the Murphy arrived with the Misters in tow, it was a bit of a sight to see. Truth be told, none of us had seen more than 2 or 3 of them together at once, so the whole cabal of Wondertainment's kids strolling in, laughing and talking like the family they call themselves, it was surprising. A little cute, I'll admit, but still surprising. On any other day, this would be one of the largest breaches of containment in recent times. But tonight, the staff at the party couldn't be more interested in seeing how the Misters would blend in. Only Stripes, Scary, and Redd weren't there. Scary and Redd, that didn't really surprise anyone. But Stripes was a strange exclusion. Murphy said that Stripes didn't feel like coming, would've been sad having been blindfolded the whole time. Lies seemed to agree… I think. It's always a mess trying to get what he's saying. Should've asked Mann, but he spent the whole night bobbing for apples. We all assumed he was just being crazy old Everett like normal, until he started throwing them at King. Then it all made a little more sense.
Even though they all started in the general recreation area, greeting folks and saying hello, eliciting some glares and strange looks from a couple folks, they dispersed around pretty quickly. Mr. Shapey got the idea of helping Iris and Cain with the kids, and thought he could be entertaining or something. Mr. Hungry went straight to the food bar, to the surprise of nobody. It's a good thing pastaphysics really prepared, because it would've been a total shitfest if he went into trance mode. I lost track of Chameleon pretty early on. Pretty sure he was either changing his color to scare people, or helping Mauntauk with his mini haunted house. Absolutely not going in there to check. You'd think after all these years here, it would be pretty easy to avoid cheap thrills in a cafeteria haunted house. But the man somehow manages to freak me the fuck out every time. No thank you.
1007 seemed to be having the least amount of fun, relative to all the misters. Some of them were dancing, and Sweetie even started singing, but Life-and-Death had to stick by Money's side the entire time. He's always seemed to be a loner, most likely as a result of his condition. Money had the key though, if Life-and-Death wanted to come back, he needed to be close. It's honestly pretty surprising the guy agreed to join the festivities, but maybe it felt nice to get out, kind of. That, or he appreciated the grim reality of being the dead body in the punch bowl. I don't get a read on that guy. 75 minutes isn't really a lot of time, especially since the first 16 are so… painful to watch. Like damn, we keep the guy in a coffin.
Still not as sad as Mr. Laugh though.

Site-19, north hallway outside the central hall.
SCP-1799 is sitting in the hallway, leaning against the wall and looking down with an expression of sadness. He is wearing a french beret and a black-striped white shirt. He does not react to Agent Murphy entering and sitting across the hall from him. She holds SCP-2428 out in front of her. The object now has a paper cutout of a bowtie attached to it with a paperclip.
Agent Murphy: Let's see… 1.2 meters, 58 kilograms, sad clown face… Mad, I think this is your guy!Agent Murphy is silent for a moment, then scoffs.
Agent Murphy: Yeah yeah, I know you're all- Look, it was a joke. Also, Sweetie is like, 8 feet tall.Agent Murphy rolls her eyes and smiles. She stands up, and gestures a hand holding SCP-2428 towards SCP-1799. He looks up and slowly takes the paper away from her.
Agent Murphy: It's for you.
Agent Murphy leaves. SCP-1799 remains silent for one minute, and places SCP-2428 on the floor next to him.SCP-2428: Can't really do that big guy. Looks like you're stuck with me.
SCP-1799 is silent. He raises his eyebrows in surprise.SCP-2428: Uh. No? We don't affect each other, y'know. I don't think, at least. It's why you guys can see me without the paper, why Stripes and Lie can talk to each other so easily, and why Headless just looks, y'know, Headless.
SCP-1799 continues to look surprised.Well, you are my brother, and it has been a solid… who knows. We didn't get to talk much ever, so no time like the present. Plus, I thought maybe I could convince you to join in on the party. Everyone sounds like they're having a killer time.
Silence. The sounds of personnel walking by in the central hall can be heard. This lasts for 1 minute.SCP-2428: Stuck like this? You're not really that much of an ass, that was always Mr. Donkey's job. Also, you're talking to me, so I'm sure you could get around pretty well with all the Ess See Pee folks.
Silence continues. SCP-1799 raises an eyebrow.SCP-2428: Ha, yeah, I guess so.
SCP-1799 makes a disgruntled expression in the direction of SCP-2428, then sighs, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.
Shit, sorry, no laughing. Forgot.SCP-1799 stops as if he has been interrupted.
Woah Woah WOAH there buddy, they did NOT invite you to this party just to keep you on security watch. This is like, the least secure place in the Foundation right now. Pretty sure Hungry found the food bar.SCP-2428: You're cursed? Laugh, I don't even have a physical form. Do you know how long it's been since I've had ice cream? water? Anything?
Silence.SCP-2428: Uh, yeah, only if they pick up the piece of paper though. And I don't even know if I really exist, or if I'm just whatever the person talking to me wants me to be. Not to mention that I've got a built-in ability to make people forget I exist. I wasn't even made for a cool toy or anything, just out of some crazy Doctor's stupid ass hunt for whatever xe thought "childhood joy" was.
SCP-1799 groans and throws his head back.Silence.SCP-1799 looks towards the central hall. Agent Murphy, SCP-644, and other Foundation personnel are out there talking and laughing. SCP-644 waves to Mr. Laugh. He sighs, readjusts his bowtie, and gives a weak smile in the direction of SCP-2428. He picks up the paper.SCP-1799: Fine. One night. Not sure why you even care so much about the candy, Mr. Non-Corporeal-Therapist.
Silence.SCP-1799: Ha-ha. Let's go eat some candy. Hungry's gonna take it all if we don't.
SCP-1799 lightly smirks and stands up. He walks out of the North Hallway, and joins Agent Murphy and the others in the central hall. He silently waves to the group, and gives SCP-644 a light fistbump. Agent Murphy looks at SCP-2428 and smiles.

Eventually, Mr. Hot's group decided to flow out to the central hall rather than the gen rec. As the night went on, it got a little crowded in there, and folks like Mr. Lie didn't seem to do so well in social environments. I heard that Laugh even joined eventually, but I didn't see it for myself. Spent most of my time managing the security of the event, and also getting fucking WASTED with Mr. Fish and half the staff. Seriously, I know this guy supposedly has no anomalies other than the fish head, but damn can he handle a drink. Or five. That seems like a good, low estimate.
The problems started when Chameleon came back from the haunted house. He'd been experimenting with different color combinations for his "costume" since Murphy couldn't find anything good for him, and he eventually landed on trying to be a skeleton. It wasn't half bad, and Mr. Shapey had suggested it earlier. Sure, it had to be a white skeleton with dark blue highlights, and I don't think Chameleon… knows what a skeleton looks like. Not even sure if he has one himself actually. Anyway, when he sauntered in to the general recreation area looking like a scrapped together pile of bones, there was a plethora of reactions. All the Misters who weren't currently inebriated or performing their hearts out cheered, some of the staff complimented it, and some people still just gave him weird looks. Generally, though, it didn't seem that big of a deal. Except when Site-19's resident wonder of biology Napoleon Bonyparts learned about it. Now, I love 3988. Man is the unlife of the party, and he's generally one of the coolest anomalies we're keeping here. He kept doing this thing at the start where he pretended to eat food, except since he's a skeleton so it would fall out of his ass, and maybe this was and is the alcohol talking, but it was fucking HILARIOUS. The guy also got Life-and-Death to dance for a bit, even if it was mostly a "Weekend at Bernie's" for the last couple of minutes. That's actually really fucked up. Huh. Halloween gets wild I guess.
The point is, Boneyparts found out about Chameleon, and he was not happy. For every chill and sometimes-sarcastic comment, the guy cares about skeletal systems. I don't blame him, if I had to spend my whole existence as only a skeleton, I'd be pretty offended if someone tried to haphazardly dress up as me for Halloween. Wait, should this be an ethics committee thing? Maybe this should be an ethics committee thing. I'll ask Cimmerian later. I'm sure this is the most important thing he has to deal with tonight. Anyway. When the resident skeleton found this new, glow-in-the-dark imposter, he walked up to him and gave him a real piece of his mind. Chameleon, like all the misters, and all the other anomalies, was supposed to avoid fights as much as possible, so he swapped back to his default red photons. Problem is, Chameleon also decided to namedrop Mr. Shapey as the co-conspiritor behind the idea, so Boneyparts left the gen-rec to find him.
I wonder what could have happened differently if 3988 had never left to go yell at 3537.
I don't think we'd be covered in bubbles if he didn't.

Site-19, central hall.
Agent Murphy and SCP-644 are sitting at a table with Dr. King, Agent Nguyen, and Site Director Moose. SCP-644 is wearing a Reigen Arataka costume and is adjusting his wig. SCP-3537 is entertaining SCP-191, 200, 134, 040, and 1192 by changing his shape based on their requests. SCP-079 is holding SCP-1192 and feeding him small pieces of bread. SCP-105 is using her anomalous capabilities to place paper Halloween decorations made by the younger anomalies around the central hall. These include cutouts of bats, zombies, and pumpkins. SCP-5031, assisted by Dr. Huxtable, carries out a tray of Halloween-themed cookies and places it on the ground next to the group of younger anomalies, inciting a cheer. Dr. McDoctorate is sitting at the table across the room from where Agent Murphy and SCP-644 are located, engaging in a debate with SCP-2284, who is wearing a costume of The Riddler.
Dr. Placeholder: So… Mr. Lies. Okay, your file says you can only lie, so I guess I should take everything you say as… the opposite?Dr. Placeholder: Oh. Weird. Does the file need to be updated then?Dr. Placeholder: But you don't have the authority to say I should do that, right? Since you're a skip?Dr. Placeholder: That's- that's what I'm asking you. So are you or are you not only able to lie?Dr. Placeholder: Why are you contained here then?Dr. Placeholder: But everyone else seems to get it, and it's written down in the file.Dr. Placeholder: So only I know why you're contained?Dr. Placeholder appears increasingly frustrated.
Dr. Placeholder: So then why don't I-
Dr. King interrupts Dr. Placeholder by throwing a piece of candy at him from across the room. SCP-2284 reels back and places his hands up in surrender.
Dr. King: Oh my god shut up, this is not working.
Placeholder recovers and throws an apple seed at King.
Dr. Placeholder: Look man, I haven't gotten a lot of chances to talk to the Misters, and this one's presenting a very interesting challenge. Also, from the looks of it, we're containing a regular guy here? Or not. I've been through cognitohazard resistance training and the upper limits of pataphysics but this hurts my head so, so much.
Dr. King: I don't care, stop trying to understand him. Mann tried that years ago, he's not worth the brain fart.
Dr. Placeholder throws another apple seed at Dr. King. King scowls at him and stands up, leaving the central hall and going back to the general recreation area. Dr. Placeholder continues to converse with SCP-2284. SCP-644 laughs.Agent Murphy: That doesn't mean he won't try. Man's persistent.
Agent Nguyen: You can say that again.
Director Moose: Placeholder's persistence is what makes him one of our best. It also makes him perfect for pataphysics.Agent Murphy: Nah, pataphysics. Pastaphysics is the site cooks, pataphysics is narratives.Director Moose: There's no need to give me any thanks, Mr. Hot. It's the modern age of the Foundation, and I think that should include giving a little bit of levity to you guys more often. You've already got free time, and the cafeteria, so this felt like a nice step up. It's nothing veil-breaking, and we've got exceptional agents like Leah and Thai here to make sure that, if something does happen, it can be solved quickly.
Agent Murphy: Exceptional? Ma'am, with all due respect, we're just doing our jobs.
Agent Nguyen: Speak for yourself, I'm taking that compliment.
The table laughs. SCP-5031 and Dr. Huxtable walk past the group carrying a large band set, including drums, a guitar, a microphone, and a keyboard. SCP-644 looks at SCP-5031 surprised.Agent Murphy: No need to be rude, Hot. That's 5031. It's a really gentle fella, and Huxtable raised it up to be one of the best cooks slash performers slash people-Esque creatures in the site.
Dr. Huxtable: Oh please, I simply gave it the tools to succeed, nothing more. It's 5031's success we're talking about here.
Director Moose: Huxtable, can I ask about the instruments?
Dr. Huxtable: When I told 5031 about the Halloween party, a few weeks back, it got excited and wanted to write a composition to play. We just need to find a singer and a guitarist, and the whole site will be blown away by "The Harvest Moon, in 6-part harmony featuring electric keyboard".
Agent Murphy: Sounds like it'll be absolutely beautiful, 5031. We'll make sure to stop by once you start blastin'.
SCP-5031 gives Agent Murphy 6 thumbs up.The table laughs, and Dr. Huxtable bids the group farewell, following SCP-5031 into the general recreational area.
Agent Nguyen: Hold on, doesn't the file say 5031 vanishes when you try and look at it?
Agent Murphy: Turns out, it all chalked up to stage fright. It was its choice to vanish the whole time.
Agent Nguyen: Huh. Freaky.Agent Murphy: So, what, you just watched?Silence among the four at the table. Agent Murphy gives a look of concern toward SCP-644.
Agent Murphy: Hot, if you don't mind me asking… how long has it been since you've all been together? Like, really together. Not the same-room-but-split-up-intentionally we do here.Agent Murphy and Agent Nguyen give each other an awkward look.Both agents sigh.
Agent Nguyen: Uh. Yeah. We needed a high-security detail tonight, bigger than last year, so they requested a few of us to stay behind tonight and help. It's a gamble letting all the anomalies out-
Agent Murphy: No offense.Director Moose: There's already a risk present bringing in so many facets of the Foundation. The logistics of making sure memetics and antimemetics don't end up in a twist alone is a headache. All of us knew what the precautions were going to have to be tonight, and we took them.Agent Murphy laughs.
Agent Murphy: Yeah, pretty much. Look, it's not the funnest sacrifice to make, but it's not like mine'll be alone tonight. Thank god-
Director Moose raises an eyebrow.
Agent Murphy: Sorry, gods. Anyway, it feels weird, but as I said, it's the job. I hate to say it, I really do, but I've missed worse.
Silence. The rest of the table reacts when Mr. Hot goes to wipe a tear from his face.
Agent Nguyen: Are you- are you crying? You can do that?The rest of the table smiles, and Agent Murphy pats SCP-644 on the back.
Agent Murphy: Like I said, it's the job.
Director Moose: And there's no need to thank us. We're a modern foundation, and solitary confinement doesn't do us much good for morale.
Agent Nguyen: But in terms of paying me back, what would you say you were thinking?
SCP-644 pauses to think, scratching his chin.The table goes silent, all raising their eyes in surprise.Agent Murphy, Agent Nguyen, Director Moose and SCP-644 burst into laughter. SCP-644 notices something in the north hallway, and waves in that direction. A minute later, SCP-1799 approaches the table with SCP-2428 and sits down, smiling and silently waving. He fist bumps SCP-644, and Agent Murphy looks at SCP-2428 and smiles.SCP-644: Oh Laugh, I don't know if you noticed, but I think you tracked in something with you…
SCP-644 gives a light punch to the air in the direction of SCP-2428.SCP-644: I'll be ready, ya slip of paper.
The doors between the general recreation area and the central hall slam open. SCP-3988 walks through, seemingly looking around for something. Dr. Everwood, wearing a clown and robot costume, looks around the central hall before going into the general recreation area and closes the door again. SCP-3988 continues to look around the central hall and approaches the table where Agent Nguyen is sitting.SCP-3537 turns around from the group of younger anomalies, all of which are staring at SCP-3988. SCP-3537 has currently polymorphed his appearance to resemble that of a skeleton costume. Agent Nguyen stands up from the table and approaches SCP-3988.
Agent Nguyen: Napoleon, Napoleon, buddy, come on, there's no need to pick fights here.Director Moose: SCP-3988, please remember the rules of engagement at this party. That is to say, we're not getting engaged in fights. So please stop.Dr. Ross, exiting the lavatories, immediately turned around and reentered upon the mention of the word imposters.
Agent Nguyen: Alright big guy, we get it, you've had your culture of being a skeleton stripped from you, but like-Agent Nguyen: Look, I think you can afford to drop it, please? We're looking to have a party without brawls like last year.
Agent Murphy: Mann really is a feral beast on sugar and alcohol.SCP-644: How often do you say "Nyeah"?SCP-644: CON PEOPLE? I'm offended by the accusations you're layin' down here, buddy. I am a legitimate employee of the Wondertainment Company, I'll have you know.
SCP-644 pulls his business card out of his pocket and shows it to SCP-3988.
Agent Murphy: Hold on, why does Napoleon know about Mob Psy-SCP-2428: What the hell is going on?
SCP-3988 cackles manically, consisting of the word "Nyeah" rapidly and at different pitches.SCP-644: Well clearly, because it sounds like you're pickin' a fight with my brother, and that kinda stuff doesn't fly.At this point, the anomalies and foundation personnel in the central hall have begun to slowly gather around SCP-644 and SCP-3988 arguing, including Dr. Placeholder and SCP-2284. SCP-105 and SCP-079 are ushering the younger anomalies to look away and continue drawing their pictures.SCP-3988: I'm a skeleton, if you were expecting something else, I think you need the biology lesson as well.SCP-3537 pushes through the crowd and stands between SCP-644 and SCP-3988.SCP-3988: Ah, so you're the imposter I've been hearing so much about!
Dr. Ross, exiting the lavatories again, raises a middle finger and exists the central hall.SCP-3988: I think they could use a little adjustment, considering the inaccuracies littered all over the place. Do you even know how many ribs a person has?SCP-3988: I think it's plainly offensive, Mr. Shapey, if that really is your true name!SCP-3537 polymorphs to change his appearance to that of a stereotypical grey alien.SCP-3988: This is… satisfactory!
The entire room goes silent.
Agent Nguyen: Sorry, that was ALL IT TOOK?
Agent Murphy: I am. I am stunned.
Dr. Placeholder: That is the highest number of bone jokes I've heard condensed into a minute, ever.Dr. Placeholder: I mean, that's your opinion I guess?
Agent Nguyen: Are you two really going to do this aga-
Agent Nguyen is interrupted by the sound of a wet explosion coming from the general recreational area. Bubbles, a sudsy clear substance and candy corn can be seen splattered across the door windows. The doors slam open, and Dr. Gerald and SCP-909 run out towards the group. SCP-909 is wearing a dark grey fedora and suit jacket, not seeming to be dressing up as anybody specific.
Agent Murphy: Uh, what the fuck?
Dr. Gerald: AGENT MURPHY, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!
Dr. Gerald stops and looks at the crowd of personnel and anomalies.
Dr. Gerald: OKAY, I GUESS EVERYONE, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!Dr. Gerald: Oh come on man, has it already been-
Agent Murphy: We don't have time for this, what the hell is going on?
Agent Murphy, Agent Nguyen, Director Moose, Dr. Gerald, SCP-644, 909, 3537, 3988, 1799 holding 2428, and some of the other personnel gathered run to the general recreational area. SCP-105 and SCP-079 begin attempting to care for some of the younger anomalies, a few of which have begun freaking out as a result of the loud noises. Dr. Placeholder and SCP-2284 remain standing next to each other, watching the door.
Dr. Placeholder: Is that… candy corn?Dr. Placeholder: You're right, that would be ridiculous.

Let me tell you something. I've been at this Foundation long enough to hear almost all of the personnel's "WHAT THE FUCK" moments. The point where, truly, their understanding of what's going on around them has been so crumbled and ripped to shreds, that it reaches a peak of brain-fuckery. I've seen it happen to agents, encountering an anomaly that just tore their best friend in half. I've heard it from researchers, discovering something disgusting, or worse, discovering nothing. The 4290 discovery encompassed a pretty sizeable group, actually.
"WHAT THE FUCK" moments are the pinnacle of an employee of the Foundation's career here. They more often than not set it into stone that this terribly insane world we live in, really is insane. And you can always notice them too! People around here say "what the fuck" a lot, no wonder, but there's always that one.
I felt bad that Agent Murphy's was the discovery of the bubbles and candy corn. At least, it sounded like it. Kind of hard to hear through the aforementioned mountain.

Site-19, general recreational area.
Agent Murphy, Agent Nguyen, Director Moose, Dr. Gerald, SCP-644, 909, 3537, 3988, 1799, and 2428 enter the general recreational area. The tables set up around the room have been knocked over, and foundation personnel and anomalies are scattered across the room. A 5-meter-tall pile of soap and candy corn peaks in the center of the room, both substances of which are spread across the entirety of the general recreational area. The walls, tables, furniture, and some of the personnel in the room have soap and candy corn stuck to them. SCP-1908 is laying on the ground, half of his body submerged in the pile, his hazmat suit costume having been ripped near the drainage tube. The body of SCP-1007 lays face-first on the top of a table, his ghost costume having been pulled down to show the keyhole on his back. SCP-2855 is frantically searching for something within the central pile. SCP-527 is nowhere to be found. SCP-913 sits on the ground next to the table holding SCP-1007, patting his stomach and groaning. Dr. Everwood and SCP-905 are assisting the other personnel in cleaning themselves off. Site-17 Director Graham is standing near the doorway to the room, arguing with Agents Felix and Lament, both of which are restraining SCP-2396. SCP-629 is talking to SCP-2287, both of which are looking angrily toward Director Graham. Upon noticing the party entering the room, Director Graham immediately turns his attention to Director Moose. Agent Murphy walks past Graham and stares into the room. She places her hands on her head and screams.
Agent Murphy: WHAT. THE. FUCK.
A voice can be heard from within the pile of soap and candy corn.
Unknown: There it is!
Director Graham: You've really done it this time, you unprofessional hacks. I swear, once Overwatch command hears about this, everyone at this site is going to be terminated on sight!
Director Moose: Calm yourself from the abrasive and offensive statements, Thomas, you're out of line. How did this mess happen?
Director Graham: I'll tell you how it happened, Moose. Because of your "reintegration" or whatever you shmucks call it, these anomalies have caused serious damage to the integrity of this halloween celebration and have made it clear they should NOT be permitted to participate in such events.
SCP-2396 scowls at Director Graham and attempts to jump at him, being pulled back by Agents Lament and Felix.Director Graham: And now they think they have the right to argue with us? Good god-
Director Moose gives Director Graham an angry glare.
Director Graham: Sorry, good GODS, Tilda, what have you done to 19?
Agent Murphy approaches SCP-2287 and SCP-629.
Agent Murphy: Headless, Brass, what the hell happened here? This looks like-Agent Murphy: You gotta understand my doubt here, since the last time I checked, Graham doesn't make… candy corn? Sticky candy corn? I thought I could trust you all, I really did, and I thought that with all the agents here… how in the world did you guys manage to destroy Halloween?
Director Graham and Director Moose are heard bickering in the background.SCP-629: More accurately, he said it was "like giving a dog a steak".SCP-2396: Yeah, and then the prick started making fun of Headless!
Director Moose stops arguing with Director Graham and looks towards Ms. Sweetie, concerned.
Director Moose: Sorry, what?
SCP-644 is across the room, looking around at the mess. SCP-3537 has increased his height and is now attempting to remove pieces of candy corn that are stuck to the wall out of reach.SCP-629: I don't think Mr. Graham was aware of Headless' identity, as a result of his costume blocking the… primary trait he possesses.
Director Graham: I- I did not refer to the object as stupid, I simply… I criticized it! Is criticism not allowed? And yes, this is a PERFECT example of how the Foundation is succumbing to nonsensical tricks from the objects we contain!SCP-629: I believe Money attempted to intervene, but needed to stop Mr. Fish from destroying the room after he got wasted.Agent Murphy: I gather you're paraphrasing.Director Moose glares at Director Graham, who has begun to turn a shade of red and is scowling at SCP-2287.Agent Felix: And that's when it all went to shit.
Agent Lament: When Sweetie started to get angry, I guess she got pretty stressed, and then… well, versions of SCP-2396-1 started appearing around the room, and fast. I say versions because they were candy corn. And they weren't anomalous either.
Agent Felix: One dropped out of the sky onto Troy's head.
Agent Lament: We hadn't noticed the altercation until then, so once the room started filling up fast, we found Sweetie and restrained her. It didn't really seem to help though, as you can probably tell.Agent Felix: It was almost draining time too, so there was a lot of soap.SCP-1908 gives a very weak thumbs up, and then faceplants back into the floor.A single candy corn falls off the massive pile, landing on SCP-1908's head. Dr. Everwood approaches the group, wiping candy corn off of her jacket.
Dr. Everwood: At least we learned that Sweetie and Soap react very unexpectedly under stress. Sweetie was partially within her portfolio, but these candy corns aren't anomalous, as far as current exposure goes. That tracks I guess. She claims to not have known about this "feature" though. The Doctor probably wanted to give you a little something for the holiday, eh?Dr. Everwood: And Soap… he just makes more soap, and faster. Or we think it's soap? It's been found to have excellent makeup removal properties, though I think most of the costumed staff would have preferred to find out another way rather than a blast to the face. It's a fascinating and at the moment seemingly harmless feature.SCP-913 falls to his side and groans.
Director Moose: This has been probably one of the most ridiculous stories I have heard in my years working here, but alright. Murphy, work on finding the rest of the missing Misters and then send them back to their cells for the night. Everwood and Nguyen, you two can handle personnel. Felix, Lament, candy corn duty. And Director Graham, I'd like to have a serious word with you in my office right now. I think Overwatch command, as well as our resident Ethics Committee liaison, would be interested in hearing how you acted tonight. Speaking of, where is Cimmerian?
Dr. Cimmerian walks through the door to the general recreational area, wearing a Man in the Yellow Hat costume, and sipping a cup of coffee. His expression changes to surprise upon entering the room.
Director Moose: This isn't the worst mess we've dealt with, so chop chop people.
Agent Murphy: With all due respect ma'am, there's no missing Misters. I mean, we know Fish is in the candy corn, but the other ones are all here.
Director Moose: I'd advise you to count again, Leah. There were 16 misters under your supervision tonight, with Stripes, Scary, Redd, and Lost being out discluded from the list. Subtract the buried Mr. Fish, that's 15, but I only count 14.
Agent Murphy does a quick head count and gasps.
Agent Murphy: Money, who was in your group again?Agent Murphy: That doesn't- That doesn't make any sense. All of Hot's group is here, I saw them come in, and all of yours… wait.Agent Murphy: Why didn't you mention Moon?Agent Murphy: I haven't seen Moon since he went into this room with you.
Agent Lament: Well he wasn't here with any of us for most of the night.
Agent Murphy: Did… did we get breached by the geriatric Little Mister?

I think it took them half an hour to find Moon. It seemed like half an hour at least. I heard Gerald scream. Loud and funny scream.

Site-19 External Cameras, east side.
SCP-917 is sitting on the hill, staring at the sky above him. His facial features are fully visible as a result of the rare full moon. He is wearing a cheap astronaut suit Halloween costume, the helmet of which is sitting next to him on the hill. A figure approaches him, seemingly disoriented.SCP-920 looks directly at the Site-19 security camera.SCP-917: Ah, Lost my boy. Sit, sit, please.
SCP-920 takes a seat on the hill next to SCP-917, who gives him a slow, shakey pat on the back, before looking back to the sky.SCP-920: I can imagine. Never liked those cell walls anyway.
SCP-917 continues to look up at the sky. He smiles.SCP-920: Uh… no? Sorry, I kind of lose track of time easily. Heh, lose track.SCP-920: Neat. You've got your whole face then!SCP-920: Well, I'm sure this must be nice. I better get going though. I imagine they'll probably notice you soon, and I don't really feel like getting more people lost with me when I leave. See you around, Moo-
SCP-917 grabs SCP-920's hand as he goes to stand up, catching him off guard. Moon continues to stare toward the sky.The light from the moon appears to brighten slightly.The brightness of the moon continues to increase, and the stars surrounding it in the sky begin to twinkle faster. SCP-920 notices this and becomes visibly panicked.SCP-917: I went as a superhero of some kind. Superman, yes. The Man of Steel. That jumpsuit, mostly covered by a thick winter jacket my mother made me wear, made me feel strong. Like I had extraordinary powers, even though I didn't. Like I was a hero of some kind.
SCP-917's skin begins to lightly glow, and appears younger.As the moon continues to increase in luminosity, the color begins to shift, changing from a stark white to a light shade of orange. Stars surrounding the moon inexplicably appear to begin moving throughout the sky, changing orientation to seemingly random positions. SCP-920 pulls his arm away from SCP-917 and steps back, looking at the sky.SCP-917: When I came home from trick-or-treating that night, and had gorged myself on the candy I had so generously collected from my neighbors, my mother sent me to bed, to try and sleep off the sugar rush. I tried sleeping, but something kept distracting me. A light. Shining through my window, bright like I had never really seen it before. I crawled to my windowsill, dragging my superman cape behind me, and took a look through, at the night sky above. There it was. The moon. Shining down on the Halloween streets, on the candy and costumes, on the whole of the night, on me. For all my 9 Halloweens before, there had never been such a full and beautiful moon in the sky. I was bewildered by this. Even if there had been full moons before, nothing compared to this one. The light it sent to us, here on our little rock in the infinite expanse that is the night-
SCP-917 reaches his hand to the sky, pointing at the area around the moon. The stars shift slowly, following the direction of his pointed finger. The patterns of the moon's surface indicate it is rotating to face the same as the stars. SCP-917 displays no signs of his normal arthritis infliction.SCP-917 raises his pointed finger to face directly upwards, leading the stars and moon to follow suit. He appears to move his hand around as if he were writing something. The orientation of the stars is cut off from view. The moon has now developed a deep orange coloring. SCP-920 raises his hands to his head with an expression of disbelief.SCP-917: Of course, I fell asleep eventually. The traveling through my neighborhood had made me quite tired, especially with the sheer amount of candy in my pillowcase. I hated to leave the moon, and its wonderous shining light. I'd like to remember it coming back to me in my dreams. I wouldn't know if it did now.SCP-917: That night stuck with me for a long time, Mr. Lost. It was one of the most important moments of my life. It's the most important I can remember now. That night, my boy, it showed me the spirit of this universe. The beauty which shines from it. It also gave me my first love, the love for the holiday on which I had seen this heavenly wonder above me. I may not remember much else around me, or what came after, or who I was before I was Mr. Moon, but I always remember that night. I will always remember Halloween.
SCP-917 sighs, and lowers his arm, sitting peacefully once again. SCP-920 continues to stare at the sky.SCP-917 smiles and lays down on the hillside. SCP-920 is still staring at the sky, now crying. It is unclear if he is crying as a result of SCP-917's story, or fear. The sound of a large door slamming open can be heard, as Agent Murphy, Dr. Gerald, and other Foundation armed personnel run outside. As they do, SCP-920 runs away, disappearing into the dark of the night.
Agent Murphy: How the FUCK did you manage to-
Dr. Gerald, with his moth gaping open, taps on the shoulder of Agent Murphy and points upwards. Both look up.
Agent Murphy: Since fucking when could he do THAT.
Numerous armed personnel quickly apprehend SCP-917, who goes along cooperatively, trying his best to keep eyes focused on the moon as they reenter Site-19.

I've never heard Murphy so angry. Like, genuinely pissed off. I don't think any of the Misters are going to be allowed free time for the next, what did she say, forever? Probably won't last that long, nor does Murphy actually have the authority to decide that sort of thing, but all of them were in hot shit for sure. It felt like Murphy had a lot more to say before she stormed off to her dormitory, but the rest of the agents and Gerald told her to just drop it. For the better, really. Most of Misters sounded like they felt really bad. Well, except Lie. He sounded very… something or other. I honestly couldn't tell you.
After the brief scolding, all the Misters were very quickly taken back to their cells. They all offered to help clean up and fix stuff, but at that point, I think the staff had gotten tired of antics, and just wanted the party to end. The bubbles really left a bad taste in… everything.
And that's up to now. The story of Halloween, 2022, when the Misters got to hang out, and when it was decided, until further notice, they're never going to be allowed to do it again. It was also the day we unanimously agreed to shadowban Director Graham. Grimey fucker. So yeah. A story of frights, freaks, tricks, treats, and a lot of soap.
Who am I? My name is Dr. Alto Clef, I am a senior staff at the SCP Foundation, I'm wasted as all hell would have it, and I have been trapped under a mountain of bubbles and candy corn with Mr. Fish for… 45 minutes now?
FHKHSRJLJGDYHJKHGFTH
Mr. Fish has spent the last 20 minutes attempting to drown himself in soap. I don't think it's working.
FFNKKFDGBNKLHDGGBHALLOWEEN
Amen to that, Fish. I fucking love Halloween.

Addendum 917-3: 31 minutes after the incident involving SCP-917 during the Site-19 Halloween party, in which SCP-917 seemingly rearranged the stars and moon in the night sky to spell the words “HAPPY HALLOWEEN”, Subject requested presence of Agent Murphy, having found the following document within his left coat pocket. SCP-917 and all other members of the "Little Misters" group of anomalies claimed to have never seen this document before. SCP-2287, being the only anomaly listed within the document suggested this may be a "meaningless holiday reskin" for the Little Misters. Anomalies possibly relating to Dr. Wondertainment are to be referred to Agent Murphy to determine if a matching description is found pertaining to the list.

Document 917-a

- Document 917-a

Boo! You've found your very own Little Mister, and it looks like they're ready for the scary scary season! Enjoy this spooky scary Halloween Variant, present now wherever Dr. Wondertainment toys are sold!
Find them all and become Mr. Halloween!!
01. Mr. Spirit
02. Mr. Headless
03. Mr. Screams
0.4 Mr. Athazagoraphobia
05. Mr. Costumes
06. Mr. Makeup Remover
07. Mr. Pillowcase
08. Mr. Doombot
09. Mr. Popular Character
10. Ms. Treat
11. Mr. Zombie
12. Mr. Monster
13. Mr. Harvest ✔
14. Mr. Bloodd (discontinued)
15. Mr. Holidays
16. Mr. Jumpscare
17. Mr. Trick
18. Mr. Ghost
19. Mr. Spooky
20. Mr. Darkness