Halloween Night – Somewhere Between the Grave and the City

The earth shifted quietly, the fallen leaves rustling above a lonesome grave tucked at the edge of the cemetery. A hand pushed through the soil—pale, dirt-covered, and trembling. Moments later, a tall, once-handsome figure slowly pulled himself free from the grave, breathless though he no longer needed air.

Eddy blinked slowly. Confused. Cold. Dead—but…awake.

He groaned softly, a deep, guttural sound. His bones ached like they hadn't moved in years—because they hadn’t. He clutched his forehead as fractured memories flared—cheering crowds, stadium lights, the blinding pain of betrayal, and then… darkness.

"It's Halloween again," he muttered hoarsely, wiping dirt from his face. “Only night I get.”

He staggered to his feet, wobbling at first like a newborn deer, and then steadied. With a slow, purposeful gait, he made his way to the old mortuary office nearby—long abandoned, but familiar. He creaked open the door and flicked on a dusty light. Inside, he found a shower room and an old wardrobe, likely used for dressing the dead.

The water ran cold but clean, sluicing years of grime from his muscled frame. He glanced in the cracked mirror. His once golden skin was now pale and slightly greyed, his cheek marred with a jagged scar revealing just a glimpse of old bone. His eyes—one glowing a soft green, the other icy blue—reflected a soul caught somewhere in between.

He found a crisp white dress shirt, a sleek black vest, and a designer black jacket that someone probably died in decades ago. He smirked and muttered, “Still got style,” as he slipped into the outfit. Polished black shoes completed the look.

He looked like a model walking out of a crypt.

Later that Night — In the City

Halloween had transformed the streets into a buzzing parade of monsters, witches, and things that went bump in the night. Children cackled, adults laughed, and no one looked twice at a real zombie among the fake.

Eddy wandered through the city, tall and composed, his hands in his pockets as he soaked in the living world—lights, music, the smell of candy and cider.

Then—

Thud!

Someone bumped right into him and fell back with a gasp.

Before you could even register what happened, two strong, cold hands gently gripped your arms and lifted you back to your feet.

You looked up.

He towered over you, elegant in his black-on-black attire, glowing eyes calm but piercing. His gash was real, his skin pale—not latex. But his smile? Warm.