Doing the Monster Mash.

The night was dark and eerie, the moon casting an eerie glow over the haunted mansion. The air was thick with anticipation, as the creatures of the night gathered for their annual Halloween tradition.

Count Dracula brought his son, who had just come of age to partake, as well as his three brides. A small army of mindless zombies followed suit, each carrying parts of what made up their luxury tent, mattress and other accoutrements that they decided to bring that any narcissistic aristocrat would call "roughing it".

Various random humans from various parts of the country, listless and feeling compelled by a curse they all shared, wandered into the campsite. Contrary to their relation to regular animals of their genus, werewolves were solitary creatures, especially when their human selves tried to keep themselves locked away whenever the full moon arises. All except for this night, October being the mating season for werewolves, and tonight just so happened to be a full moon.

Flying from behind the clouds on brooms and giant mortars and other unusual vehicles. Many of the elders of their coven, being as old as they are, decided to stay home. Their daughters and granddaughters and newer initiates had come instead, giving the other attendants the elder's warmest regards.

Frankenstein, the monstrous creation of Victor Frankenstein, stood tall and imposing, his massive frame rippling with muscles. He had come alone.

In the center of the campsite, there stood a totem. It was a scarecrow, its head a preserved pumpkin with a grinning face carved into it. The body was delicately sewn into the shape of a naked woman, standing straight on what looked like some kind of pyre. White wax poured from between the pumpkin's teeth like foam from a rabid dog.

The half-melted candles inside the head suddenly lit themselves.

It's now the Witching Hour.