Fortunately for Venus, she wasn’t alone for long.
“Eating alone in the Creepateria? Deary me! Whatever is the matter?” Robecca asked as she, Skelita, and Rochelle approached the table.
“Nothing. I’m just nursing my wounds after a visit from Toralei. She’s trying to close down the compost pile; she’s started a petition and everything.”
“Que nada, chica. Toralei doesn’t have enough friends to get the required number of signatures. I might be new, but even I can see that,” Skelita said as she sat down next to Robecca.
“Skelita, I couldn’t help but notice your incredible crocheted shrug. Is that from Hexico?” Rochelle asked, admiring the delicate material.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Skelita agreed while looking at her own shrug. “Senorita Flapper loaned it to me. She’s such a wonderful dragon. And have you seen her wardrobe? It’s all couture. The ghouls in Hexico would die if they saw it!”
“She’s definitely stylish, I’ll give her that,” Venus said through gritted teeth.
“And so helpful as well. She’s becoming like a hermana mayor, a big sister, to Jinafire and me.”
“A big sister? Wow, she’s clearly won you over. And in such a short amount of time too,” Venus assessed while shooting Robecca and Rochelle suspicious looks.
“I know. Usually it takes me ages to feel close to someone, but with Senorita Flapper, it’s happened so quickly for both Jinafire and me.”
“Yeah, it’s almost like she’s cast a spell on you,” Venus said before Rochelle and Robecca broke in with forced laughter.
“She’s kidding! Obviously,” Robecca babbled uncomfortably to the calaca.
“I know,” Skelita said with a smile. “I think more than anything the friendship has developed because Senorita Flapper has really taken the time to get to know me. Like last night, she stayed up super late talking to Jinafire and me about our families. She even managed to make me feel better about spending Day of the Dad away from my father,” Skelita said sincerely.
“I’ve never been to a Hexican Day of the Dad celebration, but I imagine it’s fangtastique,” Rochelle interjected.
“Oh yes, we have a huge fiesta, complete with a mariachi band and everything,” Skelita explained as small bursts of steam exited Robecca’s eyes.
“Are you okay, ma chérie?” Rochelle inquired compassionately.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately. Ever since that first day in the catacombs, I can’t stop thinking about my father. He was such a swell guy. I think you ghouls would really like him. And of course he’d like you too!”
Rochelle and Venus grabbed hold of Robecca’s copper hands and squeezed tightly, helping her weather the emotional storm.
Just then a high-pitched shriek ripped through the Creepateria, instantly alarming all within earshot.
Eyes darted frenetically around the room, searching for the origin of the scream, until Frankie Stein slowly rose from her chair. The mint-green ghoul’s delicate hands were clasped over her mouth as the students followed her gaze to the ceiling, where an albino bat quietly flapped its wings. Stark white and approximately the size of a house cat, the creature appeared rather angelic, at least to the unmonstrous eye. For just as monsters viewed white cats as omens of bad, terrible, horrendous luck, white bats were also bad signs.
Gasps, whispers, and cries tore through the room as ghouls and boys alike fretted that they might never make it out of the Creepateria alive.
“What’s coming? What terrible thing is going to happen to us?” Frankie babbled as Robecca and Venus exchanged a nervous look. Although both loathed admitting it to the ever-logical Rochelle, they too believed that white cats and bats were omens of bad luck.
“Absolutely nothing is going to happen! Rien! Or if something does happen, it will have nothing to do with a bat!” Rochelle stated firmly, having stood up on her chair to make sure everyone could hear her. “There is unquestionably no truth to this legend of white cats and bats bringing bad luck. It’s all just superstitious nonsense!”
Voices of dissent quickly sprang up all over the Creepateria, much to Rochelle’s surprise.
“What does she know? She’s just a gargoyle.”
“Poor kid, she has her head stuck so far in the gravel, she doesn’t even know what’s happening.”
“Bad luck will probably strike her first, then her pet griffin.”
“What a stone head!”
“S’il ghoul plaît, think about this logically,” Rochelle pleaded from atop her perch, which was now creaking loudly under her weight.
“Rochelle? I think you need to step down,” Venus instructed her friend as Skelita slipped away, hiding behind a nearby garbage can.
“But I must try to reason with our classmates. It’s my duty as a gargoyle,” Rochelle proclaimed seriously.
“Okay, but we’re pretty sure the chair’s going to collapse any second now,” Robecca interjected, instantly prompting Rochelle to step down.
“Now that I think about it, I can reason just as well from down here as from up there,” Rochelle said as she surveyed the many frightened faces in the crowd.
“Non-adult entities,” Miss Sue Nami roared as she jumped up from the lunch monitors’ table. “Step to the back of the Creepateria and wait for the appropriate authorities to arrive and handle the intruder.”
“Appropriate authorities? Intruder?” Rochelle repeated in shock. “It’s a bat! There are a thousand of them living in the corridors. The only difference is this one’s white. Can’t you see? It’s discrimination, plain and simple.”
But alas no one listened to Rochelle; they merely continued to whisper, whimper, and whine about the loathsome bat.
“That’s it! I’m going to handle this situation myself,” Rochelle proclaimed to Robecca and Venus.
“What in the name of the flea’s sneeze are you going to do?” Robecca asked Rochelle as small traces of steam exited her ears.
“I am going to humanely capture the creature, using one of my trusted accessories,” Rochelle said as she pulled a new Scaremès scarf from her bag. “Now I just need to find a ladder.”
However, as Rochelle started toward the supply cupboard, the Creepateria doors flew open, smashing thunderously against the wall.
“Has anyone seen a white bat?” Henry Hunchback shrieked hysterically.
Covered head to toe in a thick white residue, similar to the consistency of maple syrup, Henry looked as though he’d been dunked in paint. After momentarily pausing to take in the boy’s odd appearance, the students silently pointed to the bat flapping quietly in the corner.
“Non-adult entity, you have a lot of explaining to do. As you can imagine, the arrival of a white bat has caused a great deal of anxiety in the students,” Miss Sue Nami bellowed, before beginning an epic shake all over Henry. But seeing as he was covered head to toe in white goo, he hardly minded.
“It all started when I was in Mad Science class. I wasn’t really paying attention when Mr. Hack explained the experiment. Instead, I was thinking about what Coach Igor had said about improving my Casketball game—”
“This explanation is taking too long. Get to the point, or you will have detention in the dungeon, or as I call it the no-fungeon,” Miss Sue Nami interrupted.
“I messed up the experiment, so I had to stay in at lunch to redo it. Only, I messed it up again, and this time it exploded all over me and the bat!”
“Okay, non-adult entity, but that still doesn’t explain how the bat got in here.”
“I thought it would be funny to leave the little guy in my dorm room as a joke, to mess with my roommate, Cy. But as you can see, he got away from me….”
As the Creepateria erupted in laughter, Robecca, Venus, and Rochelle looked at one another and smiled.
“Honestly, ghouls, you mustn’t believe in superstition, only cold, hard facts,” Rochelle lectured her friends.
“Oh? You mean like the fact that Miss Flapper is
planning something with someone, and we still don’t have a clue about any of it?” Venus quipped.
“Yes, exactly,” Rochelle said, clearly deflated by Venus’s reminder.
venus awoke to a gray and overcast sky devoid of even the faintest hint of blue. The absence of the sun always left the ghoul feeling rather gloomy; she was a plant, after all. Pushing back her mummy-gauze and werewolf-fur sheets, the green ghoul crept out of bed, grabbed the watering can, and gave Chewy his morning shower. As the droplets dribbled down her pet plant’s leaves, Venus turned her gaze toward the fledgling compost pile.
In the nine hours since Venus had last looked out her dormitory window, the small recycling area for biodegradable substances had been vandalized. A slew of hand-painted signs proclaiming THERE’S NO ROOM FOR TRASH AT MONSTER HIGH now surrounded the perimeter of the compost pile. Her physical reaction was instantaneous: Her temperature rose, her nose twitched, and her eyes watered. Venus’s anger grew exponentially as she thought of Toralei, 100 percent certain the werecat was responsible for the defacement.
Seething with rage, Venus could no longer control herself or her nose. The young ghoul exploded, quite literally, all over the glass. So loud and boisterous was the sneeze that it jolted both Rochelle and Robecca awake.
“C’est très interessant. It looks like a piece of modern art,” Rochelle mused as she gazed at the large orange splotches of pollen on the glass.
“Jeez Louise, that doesn’t speak very highly of modern art, does it?”
“Did you see what Toralei did to the compost pile? I have half a mind to tell Frankie and Draculaura at the next Frightingale Society meeting! I mean seriously, what is wrong with her? Why is she such a mully?” Venus raged, slamming her well-manicured feet against the floor.
“I loathe correcting you at a moment like this, but as you know, I have a duty. Mully is not a real word, and the simple act of saying it cannot make it one,” Rochelle clarified in a dry, almost academic tone.
Venus’s eyes suddenly pricked with water as her nose once again began to twitch.
“Rochelle, maybe now isn’t the best time to dissect the legitimacy of Venus’s vocabulary,” Robecca advised as she stepped out of the line of fire.
“But paragraph 11.3 of the Gargoyle Code of Ethics explicitly states that one must never allow poor timing to interfere with the truth.”
And with that, Venus released another sneeze, albeit smaller, all over Rochelle. Dusted in orange powder, the granite ghoul immediately broke into the most peculiar grin.
“Merci boo-coup, Venus! You’re absolutely right: Toralei is a mully. And as a matter of fact, I plan on announcing just that at our next Frightingale Society meeting,” Rochelle yammered, her eyes glazed over.
“Oh brother, this is not good,” Robecca said as she and Penny shook their heads judgmentally at Venus.
An hour later, looking as though she had engaged in an epic fake-tanning session, Rochelle made her way toward the elevator to the catacombs. While silently smarting over her orange glow, she felt something pull at her sweater, then her arm, then her leg, until small greasy hands were literally pulling her every which way. Surrounded by a mass of foul-smelling, greasy-haired, saliva-spewing trolls, Rochelle sighed loudly. Today just wasn’t her day.
“We no like homework,” one of the trolls grunted angrily in her face.
“No homework! You do it! We no do it!” another troll screamed while punching his fist dramatically in the air.
“S’il ghoul plaît, you must understand that homework is an essential part of learning, as it reinforces the ideas taught in class,” Rochelle explained warily as two of the trolls began wagging their crusty fingers in her face.
“Hey! Knock it off, trolls! That’s no way to treat a ghoul,” Deuce harshly reprimanded the stout beasts.
“Sorry, Dos,” the trolls muttered before lowering their heads and dispersing.
So romantic and chivalrous was the moment that Rochelle half expected Deuce to be on a horse with the sun setting behind him.
“Deuce! Merci boo-coup! That was so kind of you,” Rochelle gushed. “I had no idea homework would incite such hostility in the trolls.”
“I think they just like to be angry. Plus, they all have Napoleon complexes about their height,” Deuce teased as Cleo walked up behind them.
“I’m absolutely furious! I just checked my iCoffin, and you won’t believe what that wicked werecat said!” Cleo raged, pulling at her gold arm bandages in frustration.
The ill-tempered mummy then lightly kicked a nearby locker with her gold boot. It was at this exact moment that Cleo happened to glance up and see Toralei sashaying straight toward her.
“The Hex Factor is in less than three weeks, and in case you’ve forgotten, we’re cochairs, as in equal partners. So stop trying to boss me around,” Cleo seethed at Toralei.
“Equal partners? That’s rich. You told me to curtsy to you,” Toralei shot back.
“Only after you implied that werecats were more important than royal mummies in your creature hierarchy!”
“I don’t care what you say. We’re doing my ideas for the Hex Factor because they’re better. So do me a favor and climb back into whatever tomb you came from!”
“No way, cat lady! We’re either meeting in the middle, as in a compromise, or we’re not doing anything at all!” Cleo screeched.
“Cat lady? I’d be careful if I were you. I just sharpened my claws,” Toralei said pointedly as she twitched her ears.
“You’re threatening me? How feral.”
“Toralei, why don’t you take the elevator to the catacombs first? I think it’s best you two travel separately,” Deuce said calmly while pulling Cleo away from her rival.
Despite the wide array of hissing and groaning, Toralei and Cleo consented to being separated, forgoing the impending mummy-versus-werecat smack-down.
Catacombing class began as it always did: with a lecture on the importance of wearing safety goggles and gloves while digging. And though neither Mr. Mummy nor Rochelle ever told anyone, this daily safety reminder had been her idea. She found that teenage monsters were too self-obsessed to remember much of anything outside themselves and, therefore, required frequent prompting.
“Remember, boys and ghouls, it’s always best to investigate with a steady hand and an open mind,” Mr. Mummy said as he motioned for the students to head into the tunnels and begin excavating.
“Okay, ghouls, grab your tools. Let’s get digging,” Robecca instructed while putting on her gloves and safety goggles.
“Tools? What do you think these are?” Rochelle said as she lifted up her well-manicured claws. “Even Trick and Treat think they’re better than any of the tools in here.”
“Trick and Treat,” Robecca repeated as she glanced over at the sour-faced trolls. “I would never say this in front of Penny, but there’s something about trolls that reminds me of her. I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“As you know, my code of conduct requires that I answer your question honestly. It’s Penny’s disagreeable facial expressions. She, like the trolls, always looks very unhappy, très grognon.”
“Abort, abort,” Venus whispered to Rochelle, having noted small wisps of steam descending from Robecca’s nostrils.
“You think Penny looks unhappy? Like she has a permanent bee in her bonnet?” Robecca inquired emotionally.
“Yes, of course she looks unhappy. That’s why Venus calls her Pouty Penny,” Rochelle replied candidly—perhaps too candidly.
“Seriously, Rochelle? Was that last tidbit really necessary?” Venus huffed.
“Do you think it’s me? Do you think I’m the reason Penny is so unhappy?” Robecca wondered aloud while suffering from a dreadful combination of guilt and self-doubt.
“Absolutely not. It’s just who she is, sort of like how Rochelle’s a gargoyle who cannot help but tell the truth even when it’s really inappropriate and super annoying,” Venus said, eyeing her stone-bodied friend.
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“Ghouls? Perhaps you didn’t realize it, but this is Catacombing class, not Chatting class. And in case you haven’t noticed, all your classmates have already begun digging,” Mr. Mummy said with both hands firmly attached to the lapels of his blue sweater-vest.
“Sorry, Mr. Mummy. We’ll get straight to digging,” Robecca mumbled as she started for the closest tunnel.
“I suspect most of the stations in there have already been taken. Why don’t you try another tunnel instead?” Mr. Mummy said, pointing toward one on the far side of the classroom.
The narrow, dimly lit passageway was rather austere, lacking both the skull carvings and the life-size portraits found elsewhere in the catacombs. A few wrought-iron sconces and the chain handrail were the only embellishments found in the tunnel. Located directly in the center of a hairpin turn was the lone digging station, and from the looks of it, it had not been in use for quite some time.
After the turn, the tunnel seemed to be closed off by overgrown tree roots. There was a crooked sign nailed to one of the roots that said WISHING WELL THIS WAY.
“I wonder where that goes,” said Robecca.
Rochelle, ever the eager student, dismissed it with a shrug and quickly broke ground with her teal-colored claws. “It’s not our assignment to investigate a wishing well.”
“I can’t believe we’re getting credit to play in the dirt. It’s like kindergarten all over again,” Venus commented while watching Rochelle sift through a small heap of soil.
“Please don’t mention kindergarten. I’ve always been a little jealous of ghouls who were able to actually grow up,” Robecca replied quietly. “As you know, my father built me, so this is how I came into the world.”
“Aha!” Rochelle squealed as she pulled an antique silver key from the ground.
“If it makes you feel any better, I think kindergarten is totally overrated,” Venus consoled Robecca.
“My dad always used to say that he didn’t see the point of kids going to school just to take naps and eat snacks. I really hope I get to see him again one day….” Robecca trailed off.