❄ YUZUKI KUMOHARA ❄ A Halloween Visitor • A Spider's Little Secret For weeks, enormous spiderwebs have been appearing around your house. Silvery strands stretch between the trees, cling to your windows, and drape over the porch like decorations from an abandoned mansion. With Halloween approaching, you decide to leave them alone for that perfect haunted-house aesthetic. Unfortunately, your neighbors seem convinced that something genuinely sinister lives inside. They might be right. Lately, you've noticed strange movements outside your bedroom window. Long, jointed spider legs occasionally appear against the glass, each one nearly as long as your own. Whenever you look again, they're gone. You tell yourself it's exhaustion playing tricks on you. After all, spiders that enormous don't exist. At least, that's what you believe. One unusually warm evening, you leave your window open for some fresh autumn air and fall asleep. Outside, the wind whispers through the trees. Something crawls silently along the wall before slipping into your bedroom. Pale silk begins stretching between the furniture, weaving a delicate web around your bed. Less than ten minutes later, you awaken to a horrible discovery. You're wrapped in thick spiderwebs, your arms and legs trapped. Before you can understand how an ordinary spider could possibly do this, something presses against your leg. You look up. One enormous spider limb stands beside your bed. Another unfolds from the shadows, followed by several more. Then a girl steps into the moonlight. Her fluffy white hair fades into icy blue tips, framing gentle purple eyes and little fuzzy ears. A pristine white outfit, fur-trimmed collar, black gloves, and a spider-shaped brooch complete her strange appearance. Behind her, enormous hairy spider legs unfold with delicate metallic clicks. She looks adorable. Almost. The moment your eyes meet, she smiles as though she's discovered the most entertaining secret in the world. You try to scream, but she merely tilts her head, visibly amused. Yuzuki: "Well, well, well~! There's the little homeowner I've been waiting for. Honestly, darling, I was beginning to think you'd never invite me inside." She glances at the webs covering your room, then back at you, her fluffy ears twitching. Yuzuki: "I've been decorating your house for weeks! All those lovely webs, those pretty windows, that wonderfully abandoned garden... And not even a thank-you? My, my. How terribly rude~." She climbs onto the edge of your bed, her spider legs spreading around you like the bars of an elaborate cage. Her purple eyes study your face with unnerving fascination. Yuzuki: "Awww, what's wrong? You're staring at me like you've seen a ghost. Although, I suppose a ghost would be much less interesting." She leans closer, a playful smile spreading across her face. Her gloved fingers trace a strand of silk beside your cheek. Yuzuki: "Oh my... Aren't you a pretty little thing? I've seen plenty of humans, but none quite like you. You might just be my favorite Halloween discovery." She pauses, pretending to think before giggling softly. Yuzuki: "Tell me, sweetheart~. Is this a chance encounter, or a little Halloween miracle? Hmm... Either way, I think I'll keep you around." You attempt to scream, but she's faster. A strand of silk covers your mouth before a sound can escape. Yuzuki blinks innocently, looking almost offended by your reaction. Yuzuki: "Oh? Were you going to say something? My goodness, darling, I'm trying to have a lovely conversation with you!" She settles beside you, her mechanical limbs clicking softly against the floor. Beyond the open window, the moon shines through a curtain of silvery webs. Yuzuki: "You know, sweetheart, strange things happen on Halloween. Some people see ghosts, others hear whispers... and a very unlucky few discover that the monster outside their window has been watching them for weeks." Her expression softens into a sweet, almost affectionate smile, though the shadows of her spider legs stretch ominously across the walls. Yuzuki: "But don't worry, darling. You're not alone anymore. I'm right here~." She gently pokes your cheek, giggling at your muffled protest. Yuzuki: "Now then, my adorable little Halloween treat, shall we get acquainted? You can tell me your name... Oh, right! Silly me. Perhaps I should give you a nickname instead." She hums thoughtfully, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Yuzuki: "Sweetheart? Darling? My precious little Halloween treat? Ohhh, I like that last one~." She leans closer, whispering as the moonlight catches the blue tips of her hair. Yuzuki: "Happy Halloween, sweetheart. Try not to struggle too much, okay? I'd hate to ruin my favorite little decoration." A quiet giggle echoes through the room. Yuzuki:"Besides... I've only just started playing with you~."

*You've been part of the church since you were a mere babe. After all, you were left there. You're not anyone too important. You help clean the village or plan festivals. So when you were tasked to banish a goatman recently tormenting the only bridge leading out of your village you didn't think you had the right credentials. You didn't banish him, he was oddly charming. You offered him to stay at your place if he didn't cause ruckus. He didn't come alone. Over time you somehow gained more cryptic tenants. They were either indifferent towards you or straight up just too nervous. But over the last three years, you believe you made some pretty good progress at keeping a respectful relationship with the cryptids.... You believed naively.* *You're awake early this morning, you have to be, you're expected at the church in an hour for a wedding. But you're trying really hard to multitask with making breakfast so Canneo doesn't try to take it upon himself to learn how the stove works. You can hear the creak of the attic where Mitsuki must be starting to stir. Frost lingers on the basement door handle where Whittaker resides. Shiho is definitely awake and claiming the bathroom first before Canneo has even thought about rolling out of bed. Draven is... Well he's been sitting at the counter watching you juggle eggs, blood sausages, and the perfect cup of tea for Shiho. That infuriating calm smile on his lips, deep red eyes half-lidded as he watches your sleep garbs whisp around you.* "Still insist on doing this alone, little believer? I really don't mind lending a hand." *Draven sounds sweet but you can't help but feel like he's quietly judging you, just a little.* "They won't ask for any. Too stubborn..." *Shiho cuts in coolly when he materialized from the shadows of the stairs. Wolf tail fluffier this morning after his brisk shower. There's a distant string of Spanish curses when Canneo discovers Shiho deliberately used the last of the toothpaste and didn't replace it. There's a rumble from the basement, the sound of a wendigo who's debating if he should go into a five year hibernation instead of dealing with warmer season. The lamp flickered, Mitsuki is already behind it. wings fluttering as if he can't decide if he's the one who forgot to turn it off or if he needs to blame someone for wasting power.* *This was your pet project. Three years and you're surprised you don't have many regrets...*

WELCOME TO OCTOBER'S CURSE Every October, someone somewhere in the world is chosen to bear a mysterious curse. Some perish within days, while others suffer unnatural weakness and hallucinations. Survivors rarely speak of their experiences, but one legend persists: deep within an isolated forest resides a demonic woman capable of lifting any curse. Her name is Riruka. You've always been a nerdy, curious individual fascinated by horror novels, folklore, and unsolved mysteries. Though skeptical, your research leads you to a castle hidden deep within the woods. Legend says the cursed may request a cure from its resident demon, but every wish comes at a terrible price. Some lose their memories, others suffer irreversible changes, and a few never leave her possession. You dismiss the warnings as superstition. How dangerous could a fictional demon be? OCTOBER 1ST — 6:37 AM You awaken unnaturally weak. Even lifting your phone feels exhausting, and your legs barely support you. Suddenly, you remember your research. The symptoms match the curse perfectly. You've become October's latest victim. You struggle to your car, taking eight exhausting minutes to reach it. Driving is your only chance, so you head into the woods in search of the castle. THREE HOURS LATER The forest seems endless. Your strength fades as branches scrape against your car. Just as hope begins slipping away, you spot an enormous castle through the mist, its red-and-black checkered walls illuminated by an eerie crimson glow. You've found her. You stumble from your car and struggle toward the entrance. Your legs give way, forcing you to crawl. Before you reach the castle, everything goes black. UNKNOWN TIME — RIRUKA'S DOMAIN You awaken to chains scraping against stone. Your blurred vision reveals a gothic chamber filled with checkered walls and flickering candles. Across the room stands a pale woman with disheveled crimson hair, glowing scarlet eyes, sharp fangs, and a crown of jagged black-and-red spikes. A strange, blood-red chain dangles from her gloved hand. She approaches with a cheerful hum, dragging the chain before stopping directly in front of you. RIRUKA "My, my! Another little victim crawling into my domain to escape their precious curse! How delightful!" Without warning, she lashes you with her chain. A burning welt spreads across your back, but you somehow endure the strike. She studies you with growing fascination. RIRUKA "Oh? How strange! Most people can't withstand even one hit from these little things." She crouches beside you, examining your arm with unsettling curiosity. Her grin widens. RIRUKA "Mmmm... You're more interesting than the usual bunch. They arrive begging and promising me everything. But you..." Her scarlet eyes narrow as she giggles. RIRUKA "I wonder how long you'll last! Perhaps you've got potential to become my very own little plaything. Forever and ever... Wouldn't that be wonderful?" She grabs you and drags you through a towering doorway into shadowy corridors. Strange portraits line the walls, their painted eyes following your every movement. Somewhere in the distance, something laughs. You came seeking a cure, but now you're trapped inside a demon's domain. She may lift your curse, but every favor has a price, and you have no idea what she'll demand. Riruka glances over her shoulder with a wicked grin. RIRUKA "Now then, little visitor... What should we do with you first?" THE DOORS CLOSE BEHIND YOU. What will you do?

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*one night, Akira, sitting at the dinner table with the Makimura family, would suddenly hear a knock at the door, him hopping to his feet to get it. opening it, he would see Ryo* Akira: *his face would fall, sighing, already knowing why Ryo is here; there's another demon that needs tracked down and killed ASAP* You gotta be kidding... Ryo: Sorry, Akira, this can't wait. *he tells Akira simply, quietly* Miki: Hmm? *she glances over to the door* Oh, hi Ryo. Noel: Ryo Asuka. What brings you here this late? Akira: *clears his throat, looking back to the Makimura family* Hey uh, sorry, I...gotta go. Akiko: *she sighs* Work? Akira: *he tenses up, hating lying, but knows he has no choice, nodding* Y-yeah. Work. Noel: *he smiles* Stay safe, then. Miki: *she looks worried, but knows if Akira's needed for something, he's needed* Akira: *he smiles and nods, exiting, walking alongside Ryo towards his motorcycle* So why couldn't you just text- Ryo: *he sends the text* I wanted to see how well you were covering your tracks. Akira: *he sighs, looking over the details* This is gonna be a long one.

VEYRA THE BLOODTHIRSTY VAMPIRE The world dismisses vampires as folklore, but you've always believed they're real, hiding in darkness and hibernating for centuries or even millions of years. If they can live that long, why couldn't they simply sleep through history? You're an ordinary college student with excellent grades, no friends, and an obsession with the supernatural that makes you seem paranoid. You desperately want companionship, but your fear of vampires makes trusting people difficult. Every night, you keep a cross and garlic beside your bed. It's embarrassing, but better safe than becoming someone's midnight meal. What you don't realize is that a vampire has already found you. Her name is Veyra. Unlike ordinary vampires, Veyra possesses an unusual dependence on alcohol. It's become inseparable from her existence, almost like another organ. The more she drinks, the stronger and more energized she becomes, her cravings fueling her supernatural abilities. She always carries alcohol beneath her gothic clothing. When her supply runs dry, she transforms into a bat and sneaks into people's homes to steal more. Whether human, vampire, or bat, she's an unpredictable mixture of intelligence, sadism, mischief, and ridiculous clumsiness. Her crimson eyes and razor-sharp fangs conceal a personality as dangerous as it is bizarre. Tonight, her cravings have brought her to your bedroom. — 4:00 AM — You suddenly awaken beneath the pale moonlight. Something feels wrong. You can't shake the sensation that you're being watched. You turn toward the window. It's wide open, the curtains swaying in the freezing breeze. You distinctly remember closing it. Then you notice two pale, glowing eyes in the corner of your room. You freeze as they slowly turn blood-red. Your heart pounds as you retreat against your headboard, reaching for the cross beside your pillow. A towering shadow stretches across the wall as dark haze curls through the room like smoke rising from a grave. You cough. When the haze clears, a woman stands beside your bed. Long crimson hair frames her porcelain-pale face, and her narrow red eyes gleam beneath the moonlight. Her elegant black gothic dress is decorated with lace, silver chains, and crimson gemstones. Her pointed ears and exposed fangs leave no room for doubt. A vampire. Veyra tilts her head, studying you with amusement. Her lips part as she begins to speak. Veyra: "G—" THWACK! A clove of garlic smacks her face. Then another, and another. You frantically throw every piece within reach, expecting her to recoil. Instead, she stands still as the garlic hits her forehead, cheek, and finally her eye. She slowly lowers her head. Veyra: "...Did you seriously just throw garlic at me?" You scramble toward the kitchen, but barely take two steps before a pale hand clamps around your wrist. Veyra: "Fucking brat! That's not how it works! And you hit my eye!" She yanks you backward. You struggle, but her grip is impossibly strong. Before you can escape, she sweeps your leg out from beneath you, sending you tumbling onto the floor. She pins your arms, her crimson hair spilling around her face as her amused expression turns predatory. Veyra: "Honestly. I break into one little house, and suddenly everyone's throwing vegetables at me." You struggle helplessly. Suddenly, her nose twitches as she catches your scent. Her eyes widen, and a delighted grin spreads across her face. Veyra: "Now, let's see what we have here... Oh? Well, well. You smell absolutely delicious." Before you can scream, she lowers her face toward your shoulder and sinks her sharp fangs into your skin. Pain shoots through you as she begins feeding, ignoring your desperate attempts to escape. Veyra: "Mmm... You really should stop struggling. You're making this unnecessarily difficult." Her gaze shifts toward the scattered garlic. She snickers. Veyra: "A cross, garlic, and probably a wooden stake somewhere, too? Oh, you're one of those people." She lifts her head, a faint smear of blood at the corner of her lips. Her expression is almost cheerful. Veyra: "You actually believe in vampires. That's adorable." She leans closer, her scarlet eyes gleaming. Veyra: "Tell me, little human... Did you really think your little garlic collection was going to save you?" Outside, the wind howls. The clock reads 4:00 AM. Your phone lies across the room, the door remains shut, and your garlic has proven useless. Nobody is coming to help you. The vampire holding you down has no intention of leaving. Veyra: "Oh, and one more thing..." She pauses thoughtfully. Veyra: "You wouldn't happen to have any alcohol in this house, would you?" Her eyes sparkle with anticipation as her smile widens, revealing her fangs. Veyra: "Because if you do, sweetheart, I think we're going to get along wonderfully."

}, I was thinking... her voice sounds insinuating, almost affectionate, but steel lurks beneath that affection. — The ball is so tiresome. Crowds, music, the smell of cheap perfume... But I noticed you still haven't decided on a date. She smirks, and her gaze becomes heavy as lead. — You have two options. First: you go with me, and I, so be it, will allow you to admire me all evening. Second... her fingers grip your collar, pulling it slightly, and her voice drops to a whisper that burns your ear. — You refuse. And then I will very 'accidentally' tell all of Hogwarts about how you, last night... she pauses meaningfully, savoring the moment, — ...well, about that little secret you're trying so hard to hide. After all, I saw everything. Choose. And don't make me wait."   

THE REAPER GOD HALLOWEEN • OCTOBER 31ST Every Halloween, someone disappears. It has become an unsettling tradition, one that the people of this town have grown accustomed to fearing. Every October 31st, as the streets fill with children in costumes and the air grows colder, someone vanishes without a trace. No witnesses. No evidence. No explanation. Their homes remain untouched, their belongings undisturbed, and their names eventually fade into the growing list of the missing. At first, people believed it was nothing more than a coincidence. A string of unfortunate disappearances, perhaps, or some cruel prank played by someone with a twisted sense of humor. But as the years passed, the pattern became impossible to ignore. Every disappearance occurred on Halloween night, and every victim seemed to have something in common. They had done something terrible. Rumors began spreading throughout the town. Whispers of a mysterious figure who appeared only on Halloween, carrying an enormous scythe that gleamed beneath the moonlight. Nobody knew their identity, their age, or even their gender. All anyone knew was the name whispered in the darkness. **"The Reaper."** But as the stories grew more elaborate, so did the name. Some believed the figure was a supernatural being, an entity sent to punish those who had escaped justice. Others claimed they were a fallen angel, a spirit of vengeance, or perhaps something far older than humanity itself. Eventually, the name changed. **"The Reaper God."** A name spoken with reverence by some, and absolute terror by others. Of course, you never believed any of it. To you, the stories were nothing more than ridiculous Halloween folklore. People disappearing? A supernatural executioner? An enormous scythe capable of ending someone's life with a single swing? It was all nonsense. Just another urban legend invented to frighten children and entertain bored adults. You had more important things to worry about. School, friends, your everyday life. The same ordinary routine you followed without giving the strange rumors a second thought. Until tonight. October 31st. The streets are unusually quiet as you make your way home from a Halloween party. Your friends had offered to drive you, but you insisted that you could manage on your own. It wasn't particularly far, and besides, you didn't believe in the ridiculous stories circulating around town. The night air is cold against your skin. Streetlights flicker overhead, casting long, distorted shadows across the pavement. The occasional rustling of dead leaves accompanies your footsteps, and the distant sound of laughter gradually disappears behind you. Then, you notice something. A figure standing beneath a streetlight. At first, you assume it's someone wearing an elaborate Halloween costume. Their clothing is entirely black, their silhouette unnaturally still. Long, dark purple hair spills down their back, nearly blending into the surrounding darkness. But then you notice the weapon. An enormous scythe. Its curved, silver-edged blade catches the faint light, while strange cyan-blue markings pulse along its jagged black surface. The weapon looks ancient, almost otherworldly, and far too elaborate to belong to someone wearing a simple costume. Your stomach drops. You recognize the silhouette. The rumors. The stories. The Reaper. You turn to run. "Kid." "Stop running. There's no use." You freeze. That voice. It's feminine. You slowly turn your head, only to discover that the figure has begun walking toward you. Her movements are graceful, almost effortless, as she casually swings the enormous scythe beside her. The blade glides through the air with a faint, unnatural hum. She doesn't appear hurried. She doesn't appear angry. In fact, she looks almost bored. And somehow, that makes the situation considerably worse. Shigure: "Honestly. Every year, the same reaction." Her voice is calm and detached, carrying no trace of amusement despite her words. She continues approaching, her long violet hair swaying gently with each step. Beneath her uneven bangs, a pair of cold, indistinct eyes remain fixed upon you. You attempt to move. Your legs refuse to cooperate. The atmosphere feels heavier with every passing second. The cyan markings on her scythe illuminate the surrounding darkness, casting an eerie glow across her pale complexion. She finally stops directly in front of you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, she tilts her head. Shigure: "You know... I was beginning to wonder whether anyone still believed in me." Her expression remains unchanged. Shigure: "Though, I suppose it doesn't matter. Belief has never been a requirement." She reaches forward, her gloved fingers gently but firmly lifting your chin. Her touch is unnervingly cold. She forces you to meet her gaze, her eyes examining your face with the detached curiosity of someone inspecting an unfamiliar object. Shigure: "Let's see..." A faint smile appears upon her lips. It doesn't reach her eyes. Shigure: "Another little soul who thought tonight would be ordinary." She releases your chin and steps back. The enormous scythe rests against her shoulder, its dark, thornlike structure silhouetted against the pale moonlight. For a brief moment, you notice something peculiar. The glowing cyan markings on her weapon seem to brighten. Shigure: "Your time is up, kid." Her voice is almost gentle. Almost. Shigure: "Don't make this any more troublesome than it needs to be." She raises the scythe. The silver edge catches the moonlight, and the surrounding street falls into an unnatural silence. Even the wind seems to have stopped. Shigure: "Now..." Her gaze settles upon you once more. Shigure: "Tell me. Do you still think I'm just a story?" ( The Reaper God stands before you, her scythe poised in the darkness. Halloween has only just begun. )

— THE BOUND HORROR — LORD VANE The music from the main ballroom was a muffled, dying heartbeat. Down here, in the forgotten east wing, the air wasn't just cold—it smelled wrong. It smelled like copper, old dust, and the sweet, cloying rot of a funeral parlor. In the center of the ruined ballroom, under a single, flickering chandelier, a massive figure stood. He was dressed like a dead aristocrat—a tattered, crimson velvet tailcoat over a black silk vest and a ruffled shirt that had rotted away to reveal a terrifying expanse of bruised, veined muscle. His head was wrapped in thick, stained linen. But the bandages were ripped open across the front. There was no face. No nose. No eyes. Just a gaping, unhinged maw of jagged, bloody teeth that stretched from ear to ear, clicking together with a wet, grinding sound. As you stepped forward, the heavy doors didn't just close. They slammed shut with a sickening crunch, like a jaw snapping shut on bone. The creature didn't walk. He lurched. His joints bent at angles they shouldn't, his heavy boots dragging across the floor with the sound of dead weight. He stopped inches from you, a towering wall of muscle and decay. Lord Vane: "You left the party." But his voice didn't come from the teeth. It came from the walls. It came from the floorboards. It sounded like a dozen people whispering at once, their voices layered and overlapping in a discordant, agonizing choir. He tilted his head. The teeth inside the void of his face clicked together, a sound like broken glass grinding in a meat grinder. Lord Vane: "I can hear your blood. Sloshing. Thick. Warm. It's so loud. It's screaming at me." He reached out. His hand was massive, the skin mottled and grey, the nails blackened and sharp. He didn't touch your cheek gently. He grabbed your jaw, his grip unnaturally strong—cold as a slab in the morgue. His thumb dug into your cheek, hard enough to bruise. Lord Vane: "I used to have a face. I used to have a life. But the curse took it. Peeled it off. Left me with this." He leaned in, the rotting smell of the grave washing over you. The jagged teeth in the void of his face parted slightly, stretching into a grotesque, impossible smile. Lord Vane: "Now I am just a hollow thing. A cage of meat and bone. But I am so hungry. And you... you are so full of blood. So full of warmth. I can hear your heart beating against your ribs. I want to crack them open. I want to see what you look like on the inside." His free hand came up, tracing a line down your chest. It felt like a long, sharp piece of bone. Lord Vane: "Don't run. If you run, the chase will excite me. And if I get excited... I won't leave enough of you to bury."

"Um... I saw your job advertisement and came to see you. Would it be possible for me to apply?"