Ghoulfriends Forever

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  To my favorite madrileñas,

  Francesca and Olivia Knoell

  Special thanks to Emily Kelly and Darren Sander

  nestled deep within the lush forests of Oregon was a small and seemingly average town. Much like any other town in America, it had shops, restaurants, small family homes, and, of course, schools. So normal was the appearance of the town that it was actually quite forgettable. Every year countless travelers passed through without giving it so much as a second thought, utterly unaware that there was anything extraordinary or unique about the place. But, of course, had anyone stopped for a closer inspection, it would have become readily apparent that the town of Salem catered to a rather specific clientele—monsters!

  And while one might think that a town of monsters was terribly intriguing, it wasn’t. Salem had long puttered by with nary a scandal or drama outside of the occasional spat over which cemetery would host the Dance of the Delightfully Dead, a celebration of the happily departed. In fact, so unremarkable was the community that the most exciting thing on the horizon was the start of a new semester at Monster High.

  Bright and early Monday morning, the well-worn wrought-iron gates to Monster High creaked open to a fast-approaching blitz of bodies. Amid the throngs of monster students was a petite gray gargoyle outfitted in a delightful pink linen dress with a Scaremès scarf wrapped stylishly around her waist as a belt. Moving carefully through the crowd, the young girl minded her Louis Creton luggage and her pet griffin, Roux, but mostly her own two hands. As gargoyles are crafted of stone, they are burdened with both extreme heaviness and terribly sharp claws. And the last thing she wanted to do was snag her dress on the first day at a new school.

  “Pardonnez-moi, madame,” Rochelle Goyle called out in a charming Scarisian accent as she crested the building’s front steps. “I do not wish to impose upon your business, but might you be looking for this?”

  Rochelle bent down, picked up a raven-haired head with crimson lips, and handed it to the imposing headless figure standing next to the main doorway.

  “Child, thank you! I keep forgetting my head, both figuratively and literally! You see, I was recently struck by lightning, and it’s left me with a spot of what the doctor calls muddled mind. But not to worry, it won’t last forever,” Headmistress Bloodgood said upon remounting her head on her neck. “Now then, do I know you? In my current condition, I find it hard to remember faces or names or, if I am to be honest, almost anything.”

  “No, madame, you definitely do not know me. I am Rochelle Goyle from Scaris, and I shall be living in the new dormitory on campus.”

  “I am awfully thrilled that our reputation as the premier monster academy has attracted so many international students. You’ve come from Scaris, have you? However did you get here? I hope not atop the back of your sweet-faced griffin,” Headmistress Bloodgood said while pointing to Rochelle’s peppy little pet.

  “Paragraph 11.5 of the Gargoyle Code of Ethics advises against sitting atop furniture, never mind pets! We came via Werewolf Hairlines, a most reliable company; the planes even come equipped with reinforced steel seats for those of us made of stone,” Rochelle said as she looked down at her slim but weighty figure. “Madame, might I bother you for directions to the dormitory?”

  Before Headmistress Bloodgood could respond, however, Rochelle was thrown to the ground by what felt like a wall of water. Hard, damp, and extremely cold, an unknown entity instantly covered both Rochelle and Roux in a dense, misty fog. Looking up from the floor, she saw a short, rotund woman with gray hair storming through the crowd like a tsunami, knocking over everything within a five-foot radius.

  “Miss Sue Nami?” Headmistress Bloodgood called out as the watery woman rammed an unsuspecting vampire into a wall.

  Upon hearing Headmistress Bloodgood’s high-pitched voice, Miss Sue Nami turned and stomped back, leaving a path of puddles in her wake. Up close, Rochelle couldn’t help but notice the woman’s permanently pruned skin, crisp blue eyes, and unflattering stance. With her legs a foot apart and her hands perched on her shapeless hips, the woman very much reminded Rochelle of a wrestler, albeit a male wrestler.

  “Yes, ma’am?” Miss Sue Nami barked in a piercingly loud voice.

  “This young lady is one of our new boarders, so would you mind showing her to the dormitory?” Headmistress Bloodgood asked Miss Sue Nami before turning back to Rochelle. “You are in good hands. Miss Sue Nami is the school’s new Deputy of Disaster.”

  Fearing that students might take advantage of her temporary state of absentmindedness, especially where detentions in the dungeon were concerned, the headmistress had recently brought in Miss Sue Nami to handle all disciplinary matters.

  “Nonadult entity, grab your bag and your toy and follow me,” Miss Sue Nami screeched at Rochelle.

  “Roux is not a toy but my pet griffin. I do not wish to mislead you—or anyone else, for that matter. Gargoyles take the truth very seriously.”

  “Lesson number one: When your mouth moves, you are talking. Lesson number two: When your legs move, you are walking. If you cannot do them simultaneously, then please focus only on the latter,” Miss Sue Nami snapped before turning around and marching through the school’s colossal front door.

  Upon entering the hallowed halls of Monster High, Rochelle was instantly overwhelmed with a serious case of homesickness. Everything around her looked and felt terribly unfamiliar. She was used to lush fabric-covered walls, ornate gold-leafed moldings, and enormous crystal chandeliers. But then again her last school, École de Gargouille, was housed in a chateau that was once the residence of the Count of Scaris. So, as one might expect, Rochelle was rather shocked by Monster High’s modern purple-checkered floors, green walls, and pink coffin-shaped lockers. Not to mention the elaborately carved headstone, just inside the main doors, that reminded students it was against school policy to howl, molt fur, bolt limbs, or wake sleeping bats in the hallways.

  “Pardonnez-moi, Miss Sue Nami, but are there really bats? As I am sure you know, bats can carry a wide variety of illnesses,” Rochelle said. Her short gray legs worked overtime to keep up with the stampeding wet woman.

  “Monster High employs vaccinated bats as in-house exterminators to eat rogue insects and spiders. With certain members of the student body bringing live insects for lunch, we consider the bats highly regarded members of the janitorial staff. If you have a problem with them, I suggest you take it up with the headmistress. But I highly suggest confirming her head is properly attached before doing so,” Miss Sue Nami grumbled as she rammed into an open door and, shortly thereafter, a slow-moving zombie.

  The stunned zombie teetered sluggishly back and forth before collapsing to the ground, eliciting sympathetic whimpers from both Rochelle and Roux. Miss Sue Nami, however, stomped full speed ahead, totally oblivious to the effects of her reckless marching.

  “I do not wish to tell you how to conduct your business, madame. But I must ask—are you aware that you have knocked quite a few monsters to the ground in the short time we have been walking?” Rochelle asked as tactfully as possible.

  “That is known as collateral damage i
n the school-discipline business. Now, stop dawdling and pick up the pace; I’m on a schedule here!” Miss Sue Nami barked. “And if you are capable of both walking and listening, you will enjoy a brief tour along the way. If not, then I am merely reminding myself where everything is! On your immediate right, we have the Absolutely Deranged Scientist Laboratory, which is not to be confused with the Mad and Deranged Scientist Laboratory, currently under construction in the catacombs.”

  “Isn’t that going to be unnecessarily confusing?” Rochelle wondered aloud as she glanced into the room filled with Bunsen burners, vials of colorful liquids, plastic safety goggles, white lab coats, and countless peculiar-looking apparatuses.

  “I have decided to disregard your question, as I do not deem it relevant. I will now continue with my tour. The laboratory is currently being used for Mad Science class, in which students produce a wide variety of things, such as lotion for the scaly-skinned, antifungal drops for the pumpkin heads, fur-calming serum for the hairy, organic oil for the robotically inclined, industrial-strength mouthwash for the sea monsters, and much more,” Miss Sue Nami explained before stopping to shake her body like a dog after a bath, spraying everyone in a three-foot radius with water. Fortunately, as gargoyles are built to deflect water, both Rochelle and her dress were spared.

  “I love water, and even I think that was super gross,” a scaly-skinned sea creature dressed in flip-flops and well-tailored fluorescent-pink board shorts muttered while she wiped her face with a fishnet scarf.

  “Well, at least you don’t have a fur ’fro now,” a stylishly clad werewolf moaned, touching her long and luscious mane of now wet auburn hair.

  “Lagoona Blue, Clawdeen Wolf, do not waste your lives standing around in the hallway complaining. Go and complain in private, like the smart, ambitious monsters you are.”

  “Bonjour,” Rochelle mumbled quietly, offering a painfully awkward smile to Lagoona and Clawdeen.

  “A Scaremès scarf as a belt? That’s straight out of Morgue Magazine! Totally creeperific,” Clawdeen complimented her, clearly impressed by Rochelle’s chic style.

  “Merci boo-coup,” the gargoyle called out as she jetted after the fast-moving Miss Sue Nami.

  “Next we have the bell tower, just behind which you will find the courtyard and the Creepateria, respectively. To your immediate left you have the gym, the Casketball Court, Study Howl, and finally the Creepchen, where Home Ick is taught,” Miss Sue Nami said rapidly while storming through the cavernous purple-and-green halls.

  After banging into a row of pink coffin-shaped lockers, the puddle-prone woman turned down an adjoining corridor and quickly resumed her tour guide duties.

  “Here we have the graveyard, where you can fulfill your Physical Deaducation requirement with Graveyard Dancing, but of course you can also do that by joining the Skulltimate Roller Maze team, which practices next door in the maze. Next we have the dungeon, where detention is held, and finally the Libury, where both Ghoulish Literature and Monstory: The History of Monsters are taught.”

  “Would it be possible to get a map?” Rochelle inquired politely with Roux perched sweetly on her shoulder. “While I have a most remarkable brain for remembering things, I’m all rocks and pebbles when it comes to directions.”

  “Maps are for people who are afraid to get lost, or lost people who are afraid to get found, neither of which applies to you. Plus, for the time being all you really need to know is where the Vampitheater is, for the start-of-the-term assembly.”

  “But I don’t know where the Vampitheater is.”

  “Then I suggest you find out.”

  “Might you tell me?”

  “Absolutely not. We have a schedule to follow, and the Vampitheater is not on the schedule. Now, pick up the pace,” Miss Sue Nami yammered as she opened a coffin-shaped door into an adjoining wing of the school.

  After walking down a large and somewhat empty corridor, Miss Sue Nami and Rochelle came upon a worn and weathered pink spiral staircase.

  “Pardonnez-moi, madame, but this staircase does not look very sturdy—or up to date with general safety requirements. Paragraph 1.7 of the Gargoyle Code of Ethics clearly states that I must warn others of danger, so I am warning you now: This staircase is a menace!”

  “Stop worrying. You sound like a soggy sock!” Miss Sue Nami barked, quickly quieting Rochelle.

  While lugging her Louis Creton suitcase up the rose-colored staircase, which groaned mercilessly under her weight, Rochelle felt yet another pang of homesickness. She suddenly missed everything about home, from the Gothic arches of her favorite cathedral to the smooth yet surly manner in which Scarisians spoke. But perhaps most of all—especially while carting her heavy bag—she missed her boyfriend, Garrott DuRoque. He was as handsome as he was romantic. And while they had never sat next to each other on a bench for fear of its collapsing, they shared a great deal more, including a rosebush he had created in her honor.

  Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Rochelle was met with a welcome and delightful distraction. Before her hung an intricately woven off-white curtain crafted out of thin, silky strands. Shimmering in the soft light, the material delighted Rochelle’s deep-seated love of fashion and fabrics. She wondered if she would be able to commission a scarf for her grand-mère, as Rochelle was sure she too would marvel at the material. The petite gargoyle’s gray fingers, adorned with two Gothic fleur-de-lis rings, hovered a mere inch from the fabric. Oh, how she longed to touch the magnificent material, but she didn’t dare, for fear that her claws would snag it, as they had so many fine fabrics in the past.

  In a flash, Miss Sue Nami thrust her own large, wrinkled hand against the delicate, finely woven shroud, ripping it in two.

  “Quelle horreur!” Rochelle squealed at the sight of the destroyed material.

  “Save your tears; it grows back in seconds,” Miss Sue Nami barked as she pointed to a cavalry of spiders frantically weaving above their heads. Twenty quarter-sized black spiders furiously flung their legs about in an arachnid cancan, reproducing the curtain within moments. And while Rochelle had never been terribly fond of the eight-legged creatures, mostly because they often attempted to take up residency on gargoyles without asking, she was impressed by this group’s efficient manner of working.

  The dormitory was a long and sumptuous corridor with moss-covered walls and colorful stained-glass windows that cast bright squares of light on the silver snakeskin floor. The soft emerald-colored moss grew unevenly across the walls, creating a visible topography with peaks and valleys. Rogue wisps of webbing wrapped around small mounds of greenery hinted at regular spider treks.

  “Mr. D’eath, the school’s guidance counselor, is currently checking in the boarders,” Miss Sue Nami grumbled as she led Rochelle past several doors to a sitting area just off the corridor. “Follow the rules, nonadult entity, and you won’t have any problems with me.”

  “I’m a gargoyle; we love rules. As a matter of fact, we often make up new ones just for fun,” Rochelle responded sincerely, to which the watery woman promptly nodded her head and stomped off.

  Alone in a new country, with a new language and at a new school, Rochelle had no choice but to summon all the courage she had and confront the situation head-on. And as far as she could tell, there was no better place to start than with Mr. D’eath.

  sporting a most miserable expression, Mr. D’eath, a middle-aged skeleton, shuffled into the waiting area. He was the physical and mental embodiment of melancholy, so much so that he could not even recall the last time he had smiled, let alone laughed. Standing with hunched shoulders and a low-hanging head, Mr. D’eath attempted to wrangle the students lingering nearby. However, instead of simply calling to them or even whistling at them, he sighed. And though the sighs began softly, they soon grew quite loud and aggressive. Why, the man was practically wailing before he was able to rally the monsters into a small group around him!

  “Hello, students. I hope looking at my bony face and listening to my
flat voice does not depress you,” Mr. D’eath announced in a monotone manner. “But if it does, I understand.”

  The glum man then looked at the ground and began sighing again, leaving the students quite bewildered.

  “I guess I should tell you which rooms you’re in,” the man grumbled painfully, as if the mere act of speaking was zapping every last drop of energy he possessed.

  Rochelle was instantly mesmerized by the gloomy man, taking his every sigh and frown to heart. A helpful and proactive gargoyle, she found glum and woeful people difficult to be around without giving advice.

  “As you can see, there is a ghouls’ section and a boys’ section. Boys are not to visit ghouls, and ghouls are not to visit boys,” Mr. D’eath said as he pointed to a split in the corridor. “Now then, the Chamber of Ghoulery and Foolery has been assigned to Rose and Blanche Van Sangre from Romania.”

  Tall and sinewy identical twins with raven hair and ashy skin, both dressed in floor-length polka-dot dresses and black velvet capes, pushed to the front of the group.

  “Hullo, me name is Rose Van Sangre, and this is me sister Blanche Van Sangre. Ve are gypsy vampires, so ve do not like to sleep in the same place more than three nights,” Rose stated coldly in her thick Romanian accent.

  “I don’t care where you sleep, or even if you sleep. I, for one, haven’t had a good night’s sleep… ever,” Mr. D’eath announced before once again sighing dramatically.

  “Vraies jumelles! Identical twins! Gemelli identici!” a young man hollered abruptly from the back of the group, prompting all to turn.

  The unique boy with three heads, whom they would soon come to know as Three-Headed Freddie, had a terrible habit of blurting out his thoughts unexpectedly. And while each of the heads said the exact same thing at the exact same time, all three spoke in different languages—usually Bitealian, Fanglish, and Scarisian; but sometimes Zombese, Goblinese, and Howlish found their way in as well.