How are you gentlemen? Halloween is in less than a week, and that means its time for a countdown to something dark and monstrous for the season! I'm going to be posting one part of the story per day until Halloween, when I post the whole thing at once. Until the 31st, I'll be leaving it a bit... ambiguous... what's going to happen.

The fun, after all, is in guessing.

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The only car on the road was an old van going eighty miles down the highway with the windows open, blasting music out into the air.

♪He picks up a bus and he throws it back down
As he wades through the buildings toward the center of town
Oh, no, they say he's got to go...♪

Click

The hippo in the passenger's seat jabbed a finger into the stop button.

“Yeah, sorry Sierra, this car ride is long enough without being subjected to your taste in music,” the hippo said.

“Bitch it's my car I'll play what I want!” the poodle didn't look up from driving as she swore.

“Why the hell were we listening to an eighty year old song, anyway?” a tiger from the middle seats said.

“It's not eighty years old!” the bat sat next to him was quick to argue.

“It's more than half a century, I don't CARE,” the tiger shut down.

“Sanje, pussycat, maybe we shouldn't antagonize the person responsible for us not crashing and dying?” a black bear spoke up from the very back.

“Maybe YOU clowns would die, the almighty Peter would never go down so easily!” the passenger stated.

The bat spoke again. “...You would not go down to literal tons of screaming metal going eighty miles an hour.”

“Baby, that's just called warm up lifting!” Peter countered.

The driver slammed on the breaks.

“Okay! Everybody shut the hell up! I'm doing y'all a pretty big favor just by being the one to drive especially since you're TECHNICALLY the competition so y'all need to shut up and get comfy while I put the CD back on. And yes, it's a CD, it's an old car, old cars are bigger, it's why we have to take MY piece of shit and I'm stuck escorting children! Sanje, you're a pretentious neophile dick. Peter, you're an egotistical shit. Laura, you just straight up have to fight everything. Tyrone, you're alright but you're still a pussy. We all hate each other. We all argue constantly. It's all pointing out overwhelmingly obvious shit and there's no new ground to tread so just shut up while I get us the rest of the way to Orb Harbor! One more word and I'm charging you for the trip!”

“Damn. Roid rage. Girls aren't supposed to take those, you know,” Sanje said.

“Nah, she's just losing it because she hasn't sucked a cock for over four hours. Wanna try some road head?” Peter said.

“I always feel really bad about my choice of hobby around you guys...” Tyrone said.

“OH MY GOD!”




Eventually, the car pulled into Orb Harbor. It was a small town, but nonetheless it was the site of this year's Mr. Tough Guy. Beach bodybuilding competitions weren't exactly news, but few of them were held in October. The contest attracted contestants from around the country who wanted to prove they weren't just big, they were badass.

The inhabitants of this particular car weren't especially badass; but the fact that Mr. Tough Guy was coed and notoriously lax about checking ages was all the reason they needed to still try. The inhabitants of the old van had the rather questionable combination of an average age of 17... and an average weight of 300 pounds. A downright unhealthy bodyweight made so much worse by the severe lack of body fat on every one of the males.

When they finally found parking that didn't set off any weight alarms, they were all quite sick of each others' company. The doors shot open, almost bursting off their hinges, and in a rush they filed out.

Sanje, the tiger, made a show of being the fastest, rushing out and towards the hotel before anybody could get a word in edgewise.

Laura, the bat, stretched her wings and made a show of moving every car down the row just a bit with only a few flaps... that still couldn't lift her own massive bulk.

Peter, the hippo, slammed the doors hard enough to knock the van entirely out of its space and started posing in the direction of the nearest townsperson, hoping to heaven they'd comment on his twenty inch arms so he could correct their measurements by actually flexing.

Tyrone, the bear, gathered up everybody's luggage and held it up off the ground, already resigned to carrying five weight kits up to the hotel.

Sierra, the poodle, quietly packed her keys away and sighed before lifting her van up and placing it back in the space.

None of them were wearing shirts.

All of them were wearing grins.

They hadn't choreographed that entrance, they didn't have to. Bodies like theirs simply came up with their own methods to impress. Laura spotted a bull in a dumbbell-print tank top ducking into a side cafe out of inadequacy and smiled to herself. They were going to run this town.

One by one, they filed into the hotel lobby only to be surprised upon entering. To the side of the door, almost as if waiting for them, a silver dragon every bit as large and shirtless as they were waited for them.

“Sorry, kids, you're going to want to get out of town,” the dragon said.

“Kids? Do we look little to you?” Sierra countered, puffing out her chest.

“Everybody looks little after seeing the disasters we've got going on here. Some irresponsible company... WHICH IS NOT MINE BY THE WAY,” the dragon shouted up at the ceiling for no discernable reason, “has had a rather dramatic accident on the beach. Terrible for the wildlife, terrible for swimmers, you know the drill.”

“...Is the contest off, then?” Tyrone asked, looking crestfallen.

“Technically no, everybody who could cancel it is already off. Hell, the beach isn't even closed off because it's late bloody October. I know you think you're tough, but trust me, you do not want to be here.”

“I think we'll take our chances, grandma. Quit trying to scare us just so you can walk away with the gold!” Peter interjected.

“Oh, I always walk away with silver regardless, and I'm not trying to scare you... but if you insist, it's really none of my business. Just be sure to say at the end that Sarah told you so.”

“Loser,” Peter said, and the teens around him all nodded quietly. With that note, the closest to camaraderie they had come on this trip, all five went to the kiosk proudly displaying information for the contest; thoughts of how they'd spend the 24 hours before the contest proper melting away their stress from the trip.