Lilliana, despite her petite size, finished the enormous apple pie in record time. She got up to accept her prize when, at the last moment, a caped figure leapt onstage and grabbed the trophy.

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.

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.

Winds whistled through the pines as Fannie and her Alaskan huskies made their way to town from the wooded, remote outskirts where they dwelled. Fannie didn’t care much for “the city,” as she called it, but today she and her curmudgeonly canines were making an exception.

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.

Waffles for breakfast were always a portender of something sinister.

“Ever been to a pig smash before?” the hobo said. “Like cockfighting but with swine.” Mabel nodded while looking down at her yellow shoes. She had learned so many things since leaving home but that didn’t prevent her from occasionally feeling fearful.

It was 6pm before the fog settled in over Petenwell Lake, one of Wisconsin's 15,000 bodies of water. The deserted cabin was devoid of people but full of outdated magazines and fast food wrappers. In the distance one could hear a freight train whistle.