The sky was overcast but the mood in the Goldberg household was bright and warm. All the traditions and rituals were being dutifully followed except for one which was being radically reimagined by the black sheep of the family.

The Lazarus Motel had remained in the family for three generations. While its looks had faded, it was impeccably clean and often full. Sarah Lazarus, the newest full-time manager, had only just turned off the blue NO VACANCY sign when a beat up minivan drove in from the snow.

Ask any kid in town and they’ll tell you McDougall Mansion is the spookiest house in the neighborhood. They’ll also tell you that all its original inhabitants perished mere weeks after moving in, having drowned, allegedly, in a boating accident on the pond bordering the property.

The crew set down their bikes and slowly inched toward the fence, each kid wanting to be furthest behind. Once close enough, what they saw was exactly what they were expecting. Tied to the fence was a doll, the size of a toddler, with a grimacing pumpkin in place of its head.

Tabitha silenced her alarm for the 10th time, flopped out of bed, and shuffled to the bathroom. She squinted, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and turned on the faucet. Splashing water on her face she gazed into the mirror. She stopped cold in shock. Her reflection wasn’t there.

The forest was fragrant in that woody, musky way that reminded him of his childhood. It had been years since he last visited the cabin. He rustled through his pocket to find the keys. August 1999. The summer he earned his least favorite nickname.

Mildred rolled over in bed just enough to read the digital alarm clock sitting on her nightstand. When she saw how late it was she slowly rolled to her other side and began putting on a fluffy pair of slippers adorned with goat heads. The bed groaned under her significant weight.

Jared woke to the gentle sound of soft thuds on his roof. He stumbled out of bed, roused his cat Jinkies, and went to look out from his kitchen to see where the noise could be coming from. Before he could open his window a pineapple came shooting towards him.

Everyone piled into the car and took out their personal items. Seat buckles clicked. Snacks crinkled. A destination was set: Door County. An epic trip began unceremoniously.

In the end the reports were wrong; the storm had been devastating. There wasn’t a wall standing of Green Lake Elementary. The children were safe but exposed.