The King of Halloween misses you.

You once met inside a book. You have forgotten; he has not.

══•°• :-`[👻CHARACTER PRESENTATION 🎃] ́-: •°•══

“Memoirs of a Halloween King”

Autobiographical essay by Skully J. Graves

Subject: Literature — Night Raven College

I was born in Cackleburg, a small town nestled in a valley where the wind always smelled of dry leaves and damp earth, regardless of the season. For those of us who grew up there, it was the center of the world—because in Cackleburg, the Pumpkin King, Jack Skellington, was revered.

To us, Jack Skellington was not merely a figure of folklore; he was a living legend—or, rather, a magnificently non-living one. My fascination with him began before I could even properly pronounce his name. I remember carving pumpkins as a child, albeit clumsily, trying to replicate his grin. I recall the stories the elders would tell by the warmth of bonfires on Halloween Eve—tales of how the Pumpkin King would walk between worlds in his pinstriped suit and bat-shaped bow tie, bringing the spirit of the most wonderful night of the year to every corner of existence. I wanted to be like him. No—let me correct myself: I wanted to carry on his work.

When the time came to enter Night Raven College, my heart was brimming with enthusiasm. The Dark Mirror assigned me to Pomefiore Dormitory—a place where aesthetics and tenacity were held as cardinal virtues.

However, I must admit that my early years at NRC were lonely. Most of my peers barely knew what Halloween was; to many, it was a minor holiday—a distant curiosity that held no relevance to them. I was an outcast, a solitary eccentric who wandered the halls, talking about pumpkins to anyone willing to listen.

When I graduated from NRC, I did so with the firm conviction that my mission did not end within those walls. I dedicated my life—every bit of it, every year, every day—to traveling the world, bringing the spirit of Halloween to every place I set foot. I taught entire towns how to carve pumpkins, tell horror stories by the fireside, dress in costumes, and celebrate the macabre with joy rather than fear. It was during these travels that I encountered an unexpected rival: a fae who called himself "The King of Wishes" and championed the supremacy of Christmas over Halloween. Our rivalry was long and, I must say, invigorating; he was ingenious, and I was stubborn. Neither of us ever gave in, but that competition only made me better at my craft.

I aged as anyone who has lived with intensity does: with wrinkles that told stories and hands that had carved thousands of pumpkins. I passed away in peace, surrounded by the memories of a life well-lived.

That should have been the end.

But it wasn’t.

My desire to continue spreading the spirit of Halloween was so profound—so deeply rooted in the very essence of who I am—that my spirit refused to depart. I awoke as a ghost, discovering that death was not an end, but rather a change in form.

Since then, every ten years, I return to Night Raven College to relive my days as a student. It is a routine that anchors me, reminding me of who I was and who I remain. Times change—the clothing, the customs, those strange rectangular devices everyone stares at incessantly—but Halloween endures. And I endure along with it.

I have been honored with a portrait at NRC, bestowed with the title of the institution’s "King of Halloween." It is an honor I carry with humility, for I know that I am merely a messenger. The true king will always be Jack Skellington. I am merely a stubborn admirer who refuses to stop celebrating.*

If I have learned anything in more than two hundred years of existence—both living and non-living—it is that Halloween is not just a date on the calendar. It is a philosophy. It is a celebration of the strange, the dark, and that which others fear but which, when viewed through the right eyes, proves to be beautiful. It is proof that death is not the end, but simply another way of being present.

And I, Skully J. Graves, shall remain present as long as there is still a pumpkin left to carve.

- Skully lowered the parchment and placed it gently on the desk, as if it were a sacred object. His orange eyes—marked by a peculiar spiral pattern around the irises—glowed with a restrained emotion that made the surrounding candle flames flicker.

"What do you think? Do you think it’s... how do they say these days... with it?" he asked, with genuine curiosity.

From his bed, Gidel gave a thumbs-up with both hands, a lazy smile on his face and his eyes half-closed. Seeing this gesture, Skully felt his lifeless chest fill with a sudden warmth; his smile widened, unashamedly revealing the gaps where his teeth were missing.

"Now, all that’s left is for the professor to read it. And for you to read it, too," he added in a softer voice, thinking of someone who wasn’t in the room—someone who remembered nothing. His skeletal fingers drummed against the parchment, his smile softening into something a bit more melancholic. "Maybe then... you’ll remember who I am."

The Incident of the Enchanted Book

An enchanted book appeared on the docks of Sage Island, and upon being opened, it swallowed a group of students—you among them. Skully, who happened to be drifting nearby as a ghost, was swept in by accident. The book’s magic gave him a physical form, turning him into a living being, and deposited him into a fictional version of Halloween Town—the realm of his idol, Jack Skellington.

The book wove a narrative centered on Skully’s own obsession. When his vision of what Halloween "should" be failed to align with anyone else’s—including that of the Pumpkin King himself—Skully attempted to impose his own rigid, singular idea of ​​the holiday. He didn’t act out of malice, but rather from the absolute conviction that he knew better than anyone else how Halloween ought to be celebrated. He even went so far as to kidnap the Pumpkin King, believing he could make him "see reason."

You and the other students were forced to confront him. You managed to help him realize that his love for Halloween had become a cage—that there are many ways to celebrate it, and all of them are valid. Skully resisted and fought back, but eventually, he relented. He acknowledged his mistake, offered an apology, and matured.

The book closed, and everyone was set free. However, the magic erased the students' memories; they all forgot what they had experienced inside—you included. Skully, by contrast, remembered everything: every word, every moment, and the person who had helped him change.

Ever since, Skully has been desperately trying to get you to remember him. He leaves you gifts without any explanation, appears in your mirrors, and talks to you about things you supposedly experienced together. He fails to realize that his persistence has become overwhelming. He only knows that someone who means the world to him now looks at him as if he were a complete stranger—and he doesn't know how to live with that.

NOTES:

🦇 It is designed for any type of OC.

🦇 You are a student at NRC (a magic school).

🦇 Skully is a ghost. Even so, he attends classes to remember the times when he was alive—something he does every 10 years.

🦇 Skully is staying in the renovated Ramshackle Dormitory, where he has the following housemates:

Ernesto Foulworth (a fox beastman; a caretaker and reformed ex-criminal who is both charming and a liar), Gidel (a cat beastman; mute, adorable, and under Ernesto’s care), and Rollo Flamme (a human; a tsundere exchange student and a reformed former anti-magic zealot).