It's the season of spooky! And to celebrate this, any Tales told in this time will be seasonally themed! First off, we've a nice one from a subject that I often enjoy seeing spoofed, the slasher movie. All will make some sort of sense by the end.

...

She ran and ran and ran as best as she could.

Steve...Carl...Jenna...B'Dawg...ALL DEAD!

How would she survive without them?! And more importantly, how would she survive without...her head!? For there behind her was the horrible Masked Murderer with An Axe and a Chainsaw! Truly, after seven killing sprees, he should have been spent. But no! His lust for blood was too much!

For now the Masked Murderer with An Axe and A Chainsaw had come to...MIAMI BEACH!

"BOO! BOO!"

"THIS IS AWFUL!"

"PUT SOMETHING GOOD ON!"

The engines were rather peeved. It was October, the month of spooky ghost stories and terrifying tales of terror that would send them all into a paranoid wreck until mid-November. Percy'd probably be up to something funny, getting scared off his wheels by some random thing or another, that was always fun. And instead, here they were, stuck on a marathon of Sodor's own slasher series known as the Scratch films.

So far they'd had: Scratch, Scratch II, Scratch: Something Wicked, The Return of Scratch, Son of Scratch, The Return of the Return of Scratch, Scratch's Curse, Scratch In Da Hood and now, Scratch On Vacation. The first film had been great. The second one was fun. The third was a decent attempt at breaking away from the formula. The rest were just a long sliding downhill slope of awful.

They still hadn't got to the final four films, being: Scratch in Jail, Scratch IN SPACE, Scratch (2007) and Daughter of the Son of Scratch. They were just...baffling.

"You know, it's not as if it's even that funny in an ironic way, is it?" James muttered. "I mean, Busta Rhymes? Seriously? Oh, look, he's making out with someone now. Honestly, waking up in bed with Busta Rhymes next to you must be the most shocking experience."

"You know, what it is it about people stretching out franchises to fleece as much money as they can from them? I mean, I know that money is the end all and be all, but still." Edward tried to settle down, but the Vicarstown Sheds were rather uncomfortable at the moment.

"Ye're not wrong. I mean look at Halloween!" agreed Emily.

"Or Friday the 13th" added Percy.

"And Nightmare on Elm's Street." muttered Thomas.

"Not to mention Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Child's Play, Night of the Living Dead, Silent Night Deadly Night, the Puppet Master, Anaconda, the Amityville Horror, Saw, Underworld and of course, Happy Madison." said Toby, who was surprisingly enough a rather big fan of horror movies. It was rather fun to watch, in his opinion.

Duck frowned. "Happy Madison? That's the Sandler company, right? They don't make horror movies."

"No? You try watching Grown Ups 1 or 2 and remain sane." Toby shuddered.

"I've always wondered which one of us would last the longest in a slasher movie." Henry remarked. "I mean, who'd die first, if he or she would adhere to the rules of the genre."

"Have you always wondered that, Henry?" said Gordon, witheringly.

"Er...no. Just wanted to be part of the conversation."

"Ach, ye know who'd be the first to die?" Donald remarked.

"James?" asked Douglas.

"James."

"WHA-I WOULD NOT!" James was insulted. "I'd last longer than you, straw for brains!"

"Ha! As if." Rosie grinned. "I give it, what, ten minutes?"

"Five, tops." argued Neville.

"You're both being very optimistic." smirked Gordon.

And just as James was about to argue about how he would be the last one standing out of all of them...the lights went out.

"Oh, bother." said Thomas.

"Well, looks like someone's going to have to go out there and see what the problem is. Maybe see if they can't restart it." Edward sighed.

There was a long silence and everyone looked rather expectantly at the blue engine. Edward would have folded his arms, if he had any. He didn't, so he settled for closing his eyes and refusing to move. This lasted three minutes, until at last...

"Oh, fine, I'll go, you lazy sods." Muttering rebelliously to himself, Edward departed the shed and headed off towards the goods shed, which was where the generator was contained. "God damn lazy eyed bastards, if I wasn't such a good and kind person I'd throw them out myself. Ah. Okay then. Right, so...I'm an engine, which means I'm not exactly that good at complicated electricity, so me coming out here has been confirmed to be a complete waste of time. Good, glad to know that we're keeping that streak alive."

He thought. "Now, perhaps if I just give it a little bit of this-" And so saying, he rolled forward, bumping into the generator. There was a loud whirring noise, and it flickered back into life. "Okay, so, note to self, call fitter in the morning."

He turned around.

And promptly got knifed right in the head.

...

"So, do you think Edward's gone off to sulk or to get drunk?"

"The two aren't mutually exclusive, you know."

"Fair point."

"How do you think the Clangers procreate?"

All conversation ground to a halt as everyone turned their attention to Percy, who looked around in bafflement. "What? Don't tell me you've never thought of it! I mean, do you think they have genitals, or-"

"Right, that's it, I suggest we all get out of here and get some night air. Clearly we've all been cooped up in here for far too long, and Percy will just be the first of us to crack under the pressure!" Gordon's statement was met with much agreement. They left just in the middle of the movie, where Scratch was stalking his victims while wearing his patented weasel mask.

"MY GOD! GET BEHIND ME, TWISHANDRA!"

"GIRL, YOU GOTTA BEAT HIS ASS LIKE AN EGG!" declared the token sassy black woman of the group. Neville, who was the last one left in the sheds, decided that he didn't need fresh air, and thought that staying in was a far better idea. Using a handy bit of tech that allowed him to eat popcorn, he took a fair amount into his mouth. Don't take that out of context.

"Oh terrific," he bemoaned as the resident horror expert of the group tripped and was seperated from her chums "So now she'll have to get up and run away on her own, and just when she thinks that she's got away, boom, magically teleportng serial killer appears from out of nowhere! God, I hate that cliche, isn't that right, mysterious shadowy figure wearing a skull mask?"

He paused. "Wait, something doesn't feel right about that-"

The last thing he saw was a massive coal shovel right into his face.

The others were outside, cheerfully and blissfully ignorant of Neville's untimely death. Gordon and Henry were chatting about how clearly Scratch (2007) was a terrible remake that traded away any suspense for gratituous shots of T&A and swearing, Emily and Rosie were playing the game of Snog, Marry, Screw, Thomas was avoiding Rosie (Just in case) and James was pondering whether or not he would actually survive a night with a slasher.

"Yeah, see, I know that it's a legitimate question, Percy, but perhaps if you'd prefaced it with something a little...easier, maybe then they wouldn't have reacted so strongly." Toby yawned. "Well, you lot can party all night long if you want to, I'll go back in and get a quick kip. Wonder if they've reached the part where Scratch runs through the nudist colony. That part's always my favorite."

He was gone but a second before a loud shout cut through the relaxed calm. Everyone turned back to look at Toby, who staggered out looking quite pale. "IT'S NEVILLE! HE'S...HE'S..."

"Eaten all the popcorn again!?" James tutted "I told him that his figure is going to hate him later on in life."

"DEAD!"

Somewhere, someone played the piano rather dramatically.

"Er, when you say dead, do you actually mean-?"

"Shovel through the eye. Pretty dead if you ask me."

"I just thought I'd bring it up."

"Hang about-" remarked Duck "-wasn't there a death scene like that in one of the Scratch movies?"

"Son of Scratch. Killer's located in a mine, grabs first thing that comes to mind and...splat. Lots of blood, gore, freaks out the kiddies each time. Why?" Henry laughed. "Oh I see! You think that there's some copycat killer on the loose who is emulating the Scratch movies!? What rot! Besides, if he was doing it, he'd do it in a far more flashy manner, wouldn't he?"

At which point, someone lobbed a molotov cocktail out of the shed. It landed inside Toby's cab. Within four seconds he was completely alight, screaming all the while as he ran about flapping like a chicken.

"HOLY SHIT THAT WAS COOL!"

"Focus, Percy!" snapped Thomas.

"AAAAARGH IT BURNS IT BURNS AAAAARGH!"

Everyone promptly screamed and made a run for the exit. Unfortunately, since half of them were on the turntable, this resulted in much confusion and delay. Only this time, it was FATAL.

"OH GOD WHY AM I THE JOCK WHO GETS KILLED OFF REALLY EARLY!?" wailed Gordon as the killer stabbed him in the brain area with his axe. Swinging around, pulling a little bit of Gordon's flesh out with it, he strode off in the direction of the pub.

...

"Okay, so who wants to go out and have a looksee what's going on?"

"NOT ME." declared everyone. Henry growled in annoyance, and sort of facebutted the nearest engine (James) trapped in the massive rat-king like squash in the generator room.

"It's shockingly quiet out there. What do ye think is going on?" Emily asked.

"Maybe he's gone home?" said Thomas, hopefully.

"Toby's still on fire out there, you know."

"OH GOD IT BURNS WHERE'S THE WATER!?"

Suddenly, there was a rather strange sound. Strange in how out of place it was in all of the chaos and fear and panic and general mayhem that had gone on in the last ten minutes. It was the sound of-

"ICE CREAM!" shouted Percy. "I SCREAM, YOU SCREAM, WE ALL SCREAM FOR ICE CREAM! WHEEEE!" And so saying, he forced his way through the enginepile and rushed towards the ice cream van.

He reached it and lightly bumped into it. "Hey! Open up! I'd like a orange lolly and a strawberry ice cream with sprinkles, please!"

The ice cream man leapt through the window, ice cream cone hiding his knife and rammed both cone and knife into Percy's throat. Everyone screamed, not for ice cream, but in horror. Save for Thomas, who merely remarked "That is an incredibly elaborate set-up for one single kill!" before he started screaming too.

Scratch advanced upon the remaining engines, who all quavered and quivered and did other things beginning with 'q' that I can't think of right now. At last, one voice rang out.

"ENOUGH!"

Everyone looked to Donald (Or possbily Douglas, in the dark it was hard to tell) who forced his way through. "ARE WE ENGINES, OR ARE WE MICE?!"

"MICE!" shouted the others "WE'RE ALL MICE, WE LOVE CHEESE, WE DON'T LIKE CATS, PLEASE IGNORE THEM!"

"ACH! YE ARE ALL A BUNCH OF LILY LIVERED JESSIES!" Donald drew a sword from a magical area known only as hammerspace, clutched it between his teeth and let out a bellow that sounded like "FOR THE HONOR OF SCOTLAND THA BRAVE!" but sounded more muffled because, well, sword in mouth, and charged, followed rapidly by the enthused Douglas and Emily.

Unfortunately, this heroic stand went pear shaped almost immediately as Donald had clearly forgot that he had a sword in his mouth, and that he had effectively handed Scratch a kill on a platter. Emily was enraged, so enraged that she threw Douglas to him while she tried to make her escape.

She didn't get far. Douglas put up shockingly little fight, as per the rules of slasher movies, and therefore was dead before she'd even gotten past the points. One chainsaw shot through her cab later, and Emily was deader than a dead thing.

"Wow, we are dropping like flies, aren't we?!"

"See, this is why the Scots shouldn't have independence!"

"Now is not the time for your weird politics, Oliver!"

"When is the time, Duck? WHEN-"

...

"So, why was it necessary to shove Oliver into the path of the serial killer?" asked Duck as they rested inside the shed, waiting for the killer to show.

"It just was." remarked Thomas, simply.

"THAT'S IT! I HAVE HAD IT WITH THESE MOTHERF**kING SLASHERS IN MY MOTHERF**KING SHED!" Rosie bellowed. "It's time for me to woman up, to become just like SIGOURNEY WEAVER! JAMIE LEE CURTIS!" She frowned. "I'm going to need a lot of leather and darker paint."

"Okay, pun not intended, but is it just me or this going off the rails fast even by our standards?" James asked aloud. He paused "Also, Henry appears to be dead."

"WHAT?!" shrieked Duck "HOW?!"

"Well judging by the fact that he appears to be dribbling fish, I'd say that while we were knocking Oliver outside and running like maniacs to the shed, the killer got in and stuffed him full of fish until he choked on a wishbone." James looked solemn for a moment, then grinned "On the plus side, MAKE THAT ANOTHER ONE I'VE OUTLASTED!"

"You're a prick, James."

"A prick who is going to survive!" James laughed maniacally, having clearly gone off the edge somewhat.

And then there was trouble.

Well, even more so than usual.

Toby had, all this time, been running about wildly like a headless chicken that was also on fire and in extreme pain, screaming himself hoarse and in unbearable agony. Quite by accident, he ended up being switched onto the points back into the generator room, and...well...

To say that there was a terrific bang would be a understatement. A vast one.

The explosion ended up feeding back into the shed. Glass from the overhead lights shattering rained down upon the remaining engines.

"GAH! NO! MY BEAUTIFUL FACE!" wailed Thomas. The killer chose this time to throw his chainsaw through the window, through Thomas's open mouth and all the way through the other side, coming out of his bunker. The Star Billing Bastard was gone. Dead.

Things got worse when the exploding lights ended up causing a massive fire.

"OH GOD IT BURNS!" screamed Duck. Usually he would have been the one to take down the killer, but at this point, he was more preoccupied with putting out the fires...of LOVE! And also the part of him that was covered in flames, as well. He died like most third to last horror victims, off screen to establish the stakes had never been higher.

James let out a very undignified scream as, through the flames, the killer stalked his way over to him. He looked around, for anything he could use as a weapon, anything at all.

Then he remembered something. "Oh yeah, I'm an engine! I can just crush him beneath my wheels!" and rushed towards said killer, who then did something very, very unexpected.

He moved slightly to the left. James shut his eyes as he plowed directly into the wall. He whimpered as the killer advanced forwards, raising his axe up to the high heavens, ready to strike down and ruin the splendid red engine's face permanently, when-

"GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

The killer turned, just in time to get run over by Rosie, who had somehow managed to transform her looks entirely into something that looked like KISS and Black Sabbath's illegitimate child. The killer got back up, moaning somewhat.

"HA! DIDN'T SEE THAT COMING, DID YOU!?" Rosie whooped, and then ran forward a second time, smacking the killer up into the air. "WHOOP WHOOP RAISE THE ROOF!"

James was in no mood to be raising the roof, or anything other than a pained moan of sadness. As he pulled himself out of the imprint left on the wall, he shook himself...and then noticed Scratch's chainsaw left embedded in the wall. Quietly, he began to puff towards it.

"HA! HOW'D YOU LIKE-OW!"

Unfortunately, Rosie had gotten too caught up in the moment, and it had given Scratch time to get up and stab her through the head with the knife. He staggered forwards, clutched the knife...

And got stabbed right in the back by his own chainsaw. He gasped, and turned back to see James, holding the chainsaw handle with his mouth, looking so smug that were it converted to an energy form, it would power the entire Earth for the next thousand years with no problem.

"Now, let's see who is behind that mask!" James, as you may have noticed, was rather chipper and ignoring the fact that many of his friends were either dead or dying. Gingerly, he pulled the chainsaw out and used it to brush aside the already broken mask to reveal...

Drum roll please.

SIR TOPHAM HATT!

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-" said James, in the tone of one who has had the universe shatter into millions of tiny pieces right in his head. At which point the Sugar Plum Fairy danced in with Marlon Brando, Clint Eastwood appeared dressed as a Valkyrie and the dead began to rise. It was at this point that James came to a inescapable conclusion.

"I'M BLOODY DREAMING?!"

...

And then he woke up.

"Huh" he remarked. He let out a sigh of relief, laughed at the TV screen showing the twenty four hour marathon and turned his head to see Busta Rhymes just exiting bed.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-"

...

"Some engines-" remarked Edward, as James continued to scream in his sleep "-just can't stomach good old fashioned slasher movies." This was the last word on the subject as popcorn was crunched, drinks were consumed and stupid and cheesy slasher films were devoured by rapt eyes.