"That almost hurt!" the Black Autumn laughed, watching the voids in 
her seal themselves. "Now, stop wasting my time—" 


The air was filled with the brrrraaaaaappp of gunfire as three-dozen 
assault rifles filled the Black Autumn with beryllum-bronze. Its form 
looked like someone had made a paper doll and had let their little 
brother take a hole punch to it. 


The noise only died down when their magazines emptied. The Black 
Autumn raised its single remaining hand, and a gust of wind came 
through, rustling leaves and causing the task force to stagger. 
"ENOUGH!" it snapped. 


The Black Autumn looked behind her at the greying, pockmarked 
face of the giant Jack-O-Lantern. Something that passed for worry 
appeared on its face as it began to heal. 


Reynolds cursed and hoisted Katherine onto his shoulder. "She's 
too powerful. Where are our reinforcements?" 


"Fall back!" March snapped. "Get the kids to safety! Load them into 
transports and get out!" 


"We're staying," Pryce spoke for her squad. "We've seen the worst 
of her, we can handle this." 


"Good luck, agents." March retreated. Most of the task force took up 
the children and retreated with him. All that were left were Squad 25, 
along with Montgomery Reynolds and an unconscious Katherine 
Sinclair. 


Mavra glared at them, and a thin layer of autumn frost formed on 
their skin. She was growing in strength, but she was still too weak to 
break free from the Nexus. She needed to put a little more fear into 
those who were remaining. 


Pumpkins around them burst open, disgorging dozens of child-like 
beings, dressed in Halloween costumes. They all groaned, moving 
for the task force. They all muttered a collective "trick-r-treat, trick-r- 
treat", holding rotten canvas bags out to them, as if asking for 
candy. 


"Jesus fucking CHRIST!" Ruby gaped. 


"A-aim for t-the heads!" Blake swallowed, recognizing some of the 
costumed entities as children from one cold, October night forty- 
eight years ago. 


The gunfire was more hesitant, single shots, as bullets went through 
the skulls of the beings that looked like children. February was the 
first to falter, his gun dropping at the sight of a child wearing a witch 
mask coming up to him. He backed away from her, whimpering as it 
asked for candy. 


Pryce dropped it with a shot from her sidearm. "Ray! Focus! Do your 
Choir Boy thing!" 


He nodded, taking a knee and praying as he fired his gun. "P-pater 
noster, qui es in caelis," He fired a shot with every line of the prayer 
he recited."Sanctificetur n-nomen tuum, adveniat regnum tuum, f-fiat 
voluntas tua, sicut in caelo, et in terra." February had killed far worse 
than this with prayers and a pistol. But still, he couldn't help but 
wonder if they were laughing or crying when he shot them. 


Wachtel: [reading from the clip board] What is the 
earliest thing you can remember? 


SCP-811: Air-wee is thing? 

Wachtel: Um... 

Dr. Trebuchet: Early things. Things... before. 
SCP-811: [seems to understand] Before box? 
Dr. Trebuchet: Before before box. 

SCP-811: [appears thoughtful] Most before? 
Dr. Trebuchet: /nods vigorously] Yes. 


SCP-811: /with sweeping, demonstrative arm and hand 
movements] Big man. Tall. Aé small, very smaller than 
man. [uses hand to indicate a height of approximately 
one meter off the ground] [points to her own arm] Was 
like man. 


Dr. Trebuchet: What was like him? 


SCP-811: [pinches some of her skin between two 
fingers] This! Not like Aé. Like man. Like people. 


Dr. Trebuchet: Your skin? 


SCP-811: Skin... /orods her arm thoughtfully, then 
smiles] skin. 


Wachtel: /alarmed] Wait, you mean you had skin like 
ours? 


Dr. Trebuchet: It appears so. Aé, what after? 


SCP-811: [pointing to the inside of one elbow] Pain stick 
here. Cold. 


Dr. Trebuchet: "Needle", Aé. Key're tha—/clears throat] 
They're called "needles". 


"Someone shoot her too!" Ewell raised his rifle and shot Mavra 
through her temple, only for the spirit to look at him sideways. 


"When are you going to get this through your skulls?" She cackled. 
"lam immortal! | am the Black Equinox, the Black Autumn! Mavra 
Isimeria! | am the Last Rot that Eats Summer, the Usher of the Red 
Winter—" 


Mavra was, once again, interrupted by an attack— this time an axe 
thrown from its side, impacting in what passed for her skull. Its blade 
bore the image of Baphomet, the goat-headed god. The Black 
Autumn groaned, and turned to face her attacker. "Troublesome 
little—" it began. 


When she was distracted, a man with a wide-brimmed black hat and 
a hook replacing its left hand appeared from the shadows. The 
Hook-Handed Man put his arm around Mavra's body, and slit her 
throat with one clean motion of his hook. 


He shoved her away, into the path of a sonic wave emitted from a 
one-eyed woman wearing what could only be described as a "sexy" 
Foundation task force member Halloween costume. The scream 
reverberated throughout the fairgrounds, and into the agents’ ears. 


"Motherfuck!" Pryce winced, looking at the half-banshee half- 
succubus. "Bit of warning next time?" 


"You'd rather we let her decimate you?" the Goatman stepped out 
from behind a booth that had once served funnel cakes. His 
appearance was demonic, with black fur, red eyes, and six horns 
arranged in an alien pattern sprouting from his skull. 


"Sorry we're late," Singing-or-Sinning Jessie coughed and 
straightened out her costume. "It was hell trying to break through the 
barrier around this place." 


"You're here. That's what counts." Ewell trained his rifle on her head 
again. 


The Black Autumn rose up once more, and turned to face the Hook- 
Handed man. The Goatman's axe flew from her skull back into his 


hand. "These are your reinforcements?" she hissed. 


"This is our town!" the Hook-Handed man barked. "You've killed god 
knows how many people, and now you're going after our children!" 
He took an impossibly long step forward and slashed at her throat 
again. Mavra let out a gurgling laugh. 


"For the love of..." Jessie put power into her sentence, "Just die 
already!" Glass broke from the sonic force, and the majority of the 
children seemed to fade into nothingness, as the Black Autumn's 
concentration broke. 


"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" Ewell called, taking cover behind a caramel 
apple stand and firing an herbicide grenade at the giant pumpkin. 
The leaves on the vines of the great gourd shriveled, and for a brief 
moment, the Black Autumn stumbled. 


The Goatman came up behind Mavra, his axe raised high, glowing 
red hot. He brought it down, only for the Black Autumn spun around 
and hiss something in a dead dialect of Greek. A pumpkin's vine 
grabbed the Goatman by his neck and snapped it with a horrific wet 
crack. 


The caprine entity looked unimpressed as his head hung from an 
odd angle. "You do realize I'm immortal, don't you?" he asked, 
bringing his hands up to right his skull. 


"Oh." Mavra had a frown in her voice. "Well." 


All the while, bullets filled the Black Equinox, and Reynolds knelt 
behind the task force members, trying to get Sinclair to return to 
consciousness. He was rummaged in his rucksack for smelling salts, 
and looked up to view the futility of what they were doing. 


"This isn't doing shit!" Blake cursed. "We're just burning ammo!" 


Ruby silently agreed, her eyes drawn to the pumpkin behind her. 
She noticed little pockmarks appearing on the gourd with each shot 
fired, resembling those inexplicable spots of grey scar tissue that 
were present on pumpkins that had been sitting on the vine for too 
long. "Going to Plan B!" 


"Don't say it, do it!" Pryce barked, reloading. 


Ruby took aim and fired at the pumpkin. As the shot hit the back of 
the Jack-o-Lantern's casing, traveling through its left eye, the Black 
Autumn recoiled, and turned to face her, its one remaining eye 
glaring. 


"Plan B it is!" Pryce grinned. "Call me Billy Corgan, because I'm 
gonna be Smashing Pumpkins!" 


Sinclair came to, and the first thing she heard was Seren Pryce's 
quip. She suppressed a groan, and surmised, "If we can't destroy 
the spirit, destroy what's containing it." She sat up and looked at the 
truck that held 097-1. "Goatman?" 


"Here!" The Goatman brought his axe down on one of the vines 
trailing away from the great pumpkin, causing the entity to shriek. 


"We need to completely destroy it! Chopping it up isn't going to cut 
it!" She looked at the undercarriage of the truck, wondering if it still 
had gas in it, and if that gas would burn. 


The Goatman followed her eyes and nodded, bringing his axe up. 


The others served as a distraction. Ewell loaded up another 
herbicide grenade, and with a cry of "Fire in the hole!" he let the 
volley off towards the pumpkin. It landed right in the Jack-O- 
Lantern's mouth, green gas hissing out. The Black Autumn stumbled 
as her vessel rotted, and was met with an uppercut from the Hook- 
Handed Man's hook. 


With a loud, sickly cough, the Black Equiniox shouted "ENOUGH!" 


The entity spread its arms, and rotten vines sprouted from the 
ground, slamming Legends and Foundation personnel alike into the 
sides of buildings. Already, the Goatman started to escape, chewing 
at the vines. 


"All | want to do is get out of here. This place seals everything that 
you consider 'anomalous' —" it pointed an accusing finger at Sinclair 
in particular — "and seals us in. | want to be free of this place!" 


"Join the club," Sinning Jessie snorted, wiggling against her 
bindings. "Seriously. None of us can leave either. I've never seen 
Paris, and Jasper's always wanted to walk down Times Square," 
she nodded at the Goatman, who had managed to chew through the 
vines holding his hands. 


"The difference is," the Hook-Handed Man said, "we were created 
here, by superstition and stories. You came here uninvited and 
wreaked havoc and destruction. You've killed townsfolk, maimed 
Foundation agents, and you're responsible for killing the best 
pumpkin farmer in the entire state!" 


"Hubble used black magic for that!" Sinclair protested. "He literally 
killed people to grow his pumpkins!" 


"Yes, well," the Hook-Handed Man shrugged, "nobody's perfect." 


"In other words," The Goatman growled, having eaten his way out of 
the vines. "Get out of our town!" He raised his axe, and brought it 
down onto Mavra's head. 


The Black Autumn dove out of the way, and the Goatman's axe 
landed in the truck, cutting clean through the chassis. She laughed. 
"That's all you have? Empty motivational speeches?" 


"That and a severed fuel line." He looked down at the ground, where 
sludge-like fuel was pouring out of the pipe cut by his axe. It was 
ancient by gasoline standards, but... "Sinclair! Burn it!" 


Sinclair, still bound by pumpkins, projected her Will into her hands. 
She had to make this count, to amplify her power. She started to 
hum a song under her breath, something to amplify her magic to the 
heat of a thermal lance. 


"...1S that..." Reynolds frowned. 
"You can't be serious," Pryce groaned. 


"If it saves our asses, I'll sing along!" Ewell said. "Come with us and 
you will see, this our town of Halloween!" 


Sinclair began singing aloud, softly, her hands burning bright. "This 


is Halloween, this is Halloween, pumpkins scream in the dead of 
night..." Autumn-orange flames leapt from her fingers, finding the 
sludge-like gasoline and traveling up the fuel line. "This is 
Halloween, This is Halloween, Trick-Or-Treat 'til you neighbors go 
and die of fright!" 


The truck exploded into flames, erupting and consuming the 
pumpkin, the already-rotted, grinning face of the Jack-O-Lantern 
melting and oozing. Before it, the Black Autumn caught fire as well, 
and with a shriek, exploded into a cloud of burning rot. 


Sinclair's heart fell along with her, the vines that bound them all 
dissolving. With the pumpkin burning, Mavra had died as well. As a 
last, spiteful act, she had spread the fire through her, and it was 
consuming the entire fairgrounds. "Oh hell." 


"With us!" the Goatman yelled, waving them forward. "There's 
another exit this way!" He started down the passage he had come 
out from, only to find it blocked by a wall of fire. "Nevermind!" 


"Out the way we camel" Pryce called, keeping low. "Move move 
movel" 


The fairgrounds blazed around them. Autumn leaves stoked the fire, 
and despite the damp, rotten state of most of the plant matter in the 
area, it provided adequate fuel. The looming Ferris wheel creaked 
and started to falter, the heat melting its supports, as well as burning 
the vines that had been keeping it up for decades. 


"We're not gonna make it!" Ruby yelled. A carriage fell off the wheel 
and crushed another ride nearby. "Holy shit!" 


"Move it!" Pryce yelled. "NOW!" 


The flames grew around them. The smell of molten metal filled the 

air, mixing with burnt leaves and rotting pumpkins. The front gate of 
the fair, with a smiling pumpkin bidding them to "Come back soon!" 
overhead was in sight. They ran for it— 


And the Ferris wheel gave way. It loomed overhead, its shadow 
coming over them. Blake and Ruby embraced one another, and 


Monty and Sinclair held one another tight as well. Pryce and Ewell 
held hands and braced for impact, while February spoke a prayer. 
All of them shut their eyes tight, and prepared for the end. 


Then, with a sudden crash, the shadow stopped growing. They 
opened their eyes, and saw a legion of burning vines holding the 
wheel up. Intertwined with the plants were dozens of skeletons— 
men, women, children. Some of them bore Foundation uniforms, 
and others were covered in bedsheets. Sinclair noticed, briefly, that 
the one at the very top of the vines holding it up was a scarecrow 
wearing a Foundation-issue uniform—a RAISA jacket. "Pickman,"” 
Sinclair swallowed. 


"OUT!" Reynolds grabbed her and hustled outside the fair, and then 
several hundred yards beyond that. 


The Ferris wheel collapsed with only autumn produce beneath it. In 
the field by the perimeter, in what was once a pumpkin patch, Seren 
Pryce vomited, the adrenaline finally getting to her. "H-holy... 
fucking... shit." 


Ruby, standing stunned, eventually had the presence of mine to feel 
at her radio. "S-Sigma 10 Command, this is 10-25-2. The anomaly 
has been..." she looked at the burning wreck of the fair. "We believe 
it has been neutralized. Causalities?" 


«One kid has a busted leg and some hair missing from his scalp, 
and they're all spooked. But beyond that...» Harold March sighed. 
«We're in the green.» 


The sky overhead began to turn a cool, autumn blue. It was 2:00 in 
the afternoon on October 30th, and the sun was shining on Sloth's 
Pit for the first time in almost two weeks. 


The Goatman tapped Sinclair's shoulder. "Sorry for asking," he 
began, "But... you have access to the Black Garden, yes? Keys or 
something?" 


"Something like that," the mage responded. "Why?" 


"Because | feel like we all could use a drink." The Goatman 


groaned, bleating into his hand. "Either to celebrate, or to forget. 
And they have the only good alcohol in town." 


Pryce looked towards their transport— only to find it crushed by the 
Ferris wheel. She sighed. "Bad idea to put unsecured anomalies in 
Foundation transport anyway." 


"Beautiful day, not too cold out, and," February smiled. "It's not that 
bad of a walk into town." 


"It's five miles!" Reynolds protested. 


“Task force members run a loop around the town every morning as 
a warm-up," Blake sighed. "Don't give me that." 


"And y'could stand to lose weight," the Hook-Handed man chuckled, 
prodding at Reynolds's girth. The alchemical consultant was not 
amused. 


"There's a shortcut through the woods." Sinning Jessie led them 
onwards. "Follow me." 


"Where'd you get that costume anyway?" Ruby asked. "Or is it some 
kind of weird anomaly thing?"