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A figure steps into the cold blue lights of the alleyway. Its face is framed by a familiar halo of white curls, but the face itself is unlike one Crowley has ever seen before. Sickly pale skin has stretched past the breaking point across it, exposing the muscles of its cheeks and chin. Its eyes are flat, black, unfocused orbs. It stretches its bloodless lips in what might be a smile and holds its arms out wide, and its arms expand longer and longer until its horribly-overgrown fingernails scrape the brick walls on either side of it. Crowley, mouth agape, steps back until his heel hits the empty bottle. “Shit.” It laughs, a throaty cackle, and walks slowly toward him. The gutters catch fire.

“What in God’s–”

It stops. “This–” the figure croaks, holding up its talons against its twisted face, “is… God–” And it lurches toward him.

After averting Armageddon, Crowley begins to have disturbing dreams. Easy fix: he’ll just stop sleeping. It goes well enough until Aziraphale invites him over for Halloween night.

I’m thrilled to say that folks who haven’t yet gotten their copy of A Big Spooky Fanzine yet can now read my Halloween fic here on AO3!

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