"Where is Newtown?" asked Scott, an old friend of yours.
You murmur an unintelligible response as you stir from your near-dozing state, stretching as you sit up in the passenger seat of Scott's car. Glancing out the window, you saw that it was still pitch black outside, the only light coming from the car's lone headlights. You'd both been driving for hours, taking turns at every other rest stop, but this road trip already felt like it was stretching on forever.
"What was that?" Scott chuckles, glancing over at you. He's a tall, thin man in his mid twenties, with short, dusty brown hair and glasses. He also seems to be the only one of your group who can drive this long without needing a coffee; you've had three over the whole trip and you still feel beat, while he's as fresh-faced and bright-eyed as always. Dana and Marcia in the backseat are sound asleep, and have been virtually since you four set off.
"Where is what, now?" you say, having regained enough mental faculties from near-sleep to more process his question.
"Newtown," Scott repeats, pointing to an upcoming road sign illuminated by the headlights. It's large, green, and fairly nondescript, reading 'Welcome to Newtown! New Town, New You!' "I don't recall seeing any place named Newtown on our road map. Want to pull over and switch?"
You really, really don't, still aching with a need for sleep, but it is time for your turn, you reason. Besides, maybe this Newtown place has some coffee to recharge you. You nod, and Scott pulls off of the highway and into the town.
"Weird slogan for a town," you comment as the car passes through the main street of what looks like a quaint middle America berg, almost like something out of a post card. None of the stores are names you recognize; this town must have a strict policy on local businesses only. The weirdest part, though, is that the slogan that was on the road sign is also everywhere else. Posters hang from the sides of buildings, banners stretch across the street, flyers attached to lampposts flap in the breeze of the late night. "They really seem to want you to know it, too. Are they planning for a town festival or something?"
"Beats me," Scott said, pulling into the parking lot of a small diner just off of the main street.
Mustering up your remaining strength, you unbuckle your seatbelt and exit the car alongside Scott. The lack of motion wakes Dana, another old friend of yours, who stretches and yawns, blinking sleepily. A rather short and petite girl around both your and Scott's age with long red hair, she asks, "Did we make it to the con?"
"Not yet," Scott chuckles. "Just stopping for a moment to switch drivers."
"And get some coffee," you add, heading into the diner, which is thankfully still lit up and open. Scott nods and heads inside as well, followed shortly after by Dana, leaving Marcia snoozing soundly in the backseat.
The inside of the diner is just as quaint and post card-esque as the rest of the town, complete with a counter, booths, and even a jukebox that looks like it was straight out of a nostalgic Hollywood version of the past. Weirdly enough, though, nobody seems to be in the building at all. No other customers, no wait staff, not even the sounds of chefs cooking or cleaning pots and pans in the back kitchen.
"Hello?" you call, arriving at the counter. "Anyone here?"
"Maybe they're all taking a coffee break," Scott jokes, though Dana looks a little unnerved, and you can tell why. There's an odd feeling about this place that grows more intense the longer you're here. "Anyway, what's on the menu? I'm feeling like a snack. Something sweet, maybe."
You're all startled as the jukebox sparks to life, lighting up and broadcasting some old swing music through a crackle of static. That is, until the dulcet voice of some bygone crooner quickly stops singing about the doo-wop at the sock-hop and says, "Welcome to Newtown! You must be the new residents. We, the City Council of Newtown, hope your trip was pleasant and that you're ready to start your new lives. Choose your new lives wisely, because there's no going back!"
"What the hell?!" Dana gasps, hastily backing away from the jukebox. You're inclined to do the same, until you spy Scott staring strangely at something on the counter.
Turning, you see him staring intently at a red-frosted cupcake on a small plate, something that definitely wasn't there a moment ago. Scott stares at the treat hungrily, his mouth slightly open, drooling.
"Scott, come on, we have to get out of here!" you hiss. "There's something wrong with this place!"
"It looks delicious," Scott says, licking his lips, as if in a trance. "I want to leave, too, to follow you out... But I can't resist that sugary smell... I'm so hungry for something sweet..."
"Scott, don't!" Dana shouts, but it's too late.
Scott leans down and inhales the sugary scent of the cupcake as if it's the most wonderful thing he's ever smelled. As he does so, both you and Dana gasp as Scott's short, sandy brown hair rapidly grows longer, creeping down to frame his face, cascading down his shoulders, some of it splaying over onto his chest, and finally reaching all the way to his mid-back, deepening to a flashy crimson as it does so. Scott picks up the cupcake, raises it to his mouth, and takes a bite.
The moment his mouth closes down on the bite, his thin lips plumpen and acquire a crimson sheen of their own. His rather average face softens, the skin paling, cheeks pushing out and rounding as if an invisible hand were shaping his flesh like dough, and then adding a spatter of red sprinkles in the form of a dusting of freckles. Scott closes his eyes with a jubilant expression, as if the cupcake were the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. His eyelashes darkened, thickened, and extended as he did so, and he let out a deeply satisfied "Mmmm," that rose in pitch until it was unmistakably a womanly contralto. When next Scott opened his eyes, they had shifted from a dull brown to a bright emerald.
"Scott, stop eating it!" you gasp, but he takes another bite.
"I can't help it," Scott mumbles through a mouthful of cupcake. "It's so good, but I feel so weird... Like my thoughts are changing... Oh, this is so delicious! I love baking sweets like this!"
Baking? Scott couldn't fix a decent meal to save his life!
With the second bite, another chunk of Scott's body transformed as well. His arms thinned rapidly, hands shrinking, nails lengthening and acquiring another deep crimson look. His tall, lank form fell down at least a foot, leaving him rather short. All of that excess mass seemed to have pushed out into his chest, which inflated into two large, full breasts. His clothes tightened and reknit themselves into a form-fitting chef's uniform, the top unbuttoned to show some cleavage.
"What's happening to me?" Scott asked as he took another bite. "Why can't I stop? Why is this so delicious? My mind... Baking recipes... Best chef in town... Kissing my husband after work... What?!"
Scott couldn't stop himself, and soon he took the final bite of the cupcake. His hips pushed apart, taking his legs with them, his thighs filling with soft flesh, as did his ballooning rear. His jeans reshaped into a pair of tight black pants, and you watched in horror as what was left of the bulge in the front of those pants pushed back and disappeared as Scott let loose a girlish squeal of delight. A chef's hat popped into existence on Scott's head, a wooden spoon with icing materializing in her hand, and a name tag appearing on her ample bosom, reading 'Margaret.'
"Scott?" you ask as the changes seem to have stopped. "Is that you? Are you still in there?"
"Don't you worry your pretty little head, silly, I'm still me," said the woman who had once been Scott, her voice high and squeaky, almost sickly sweet as she cracked a wide, toothy grin. "I can remember being Scott, my childhood, being your best friend, and that we were going to one of those 'convention' things. But I can't feel that way anymore. I know I'm thinking differently, but I can't help it. Each time I try to think of myself as 'Scott,' or a man, or a bad cook, it doesn't feel right, like putting the wrong ingredient into the mix. I keep thinking of myself as Margaret. 'Mae' to my friends, and my hubby. I have a husband? I guess I do! He's so sweet! It feels like it should feel weird to say that, and I know it should, but it doesn't. I love him, and I'm Margaret, the best baker in town!"
"Welcome to your new life, Margaret," the jukebox says in that crackly crooner's voice. "The rest of you new residents, feel free to explore Newtown, but be sure you investigate the right places, because that'll determine your new personas. You'll still be you... Just new versions of you!"
"I want to leave," Dana whimpers, and you agree, both rushing out of the diner. You can't believe you're leaving Scott--Margaret--behind, but she looks happy, and waves you all goodbye.
"Don't try to leave," the crooner's voice calls. "Once you enter Newtown, you're a resident for life!"