hidden between groves of tall and cumbersome pine trees was Salem’s oldest and most glorious cemetery—the Skelemoanian. So grand and elaborate was the Skelemoanian that it was more than a cemetery; it was a necropolis, a city of the dead, littered with towering tombs, ornately carved mausoleums, and elaborate underground crypts. It had been built centuries earlier by Skelen Moania, an ostentatious zombie who believed that in life, death, and the afterlife, one ought never hold back. Therefore, traditional understated headstones were few and far between at the Skelemoanian. Those that did exist had been worn down by years of rain and heavy foot traffic and were now mere nubs peeping through the grass.

Shrouded in shadows both day and night, the Skelemoanian was as creepy as it was spectacular. A design flaw in Skelen Moania’s own family mausoleum had resulted in a faint but eerie whistle. Although it was merely the noise of wind passing through cracks in the marble structure, it sounded like someone whispering—or, when the wind was strong, wailing.

On the night of the fateful Dance of the Delightfully Dead, the wind was light, creating only the faintest hiss. So feeble was the sound that it was rather annoying, like a fly buzzing in one’s ear.

The trek from campus through the dense pine forest was as uncomfortable as it was tense. Robecca, Venus, Rochelle, and Cy not only had to navigate through branches, birds, and a wide variety of insects while dressed in werewolf costumes (lifted from the Wolfler on the Roof production), but they had to do so without being noticed. For if they were to be caught now, on the precipice of taking down Miss Flapper, all would truly be lost. There was no safety net to protect them or the town of Salem should they fail. Of this fact they were all painfully aware—none more so than Rochelle.

As a gargoyle, Rochelle prided herself on calm, calculated thinking that allowed her to assess every possible outcome of a scenario. This was an ability she had always relished, as she believed it kept her and those around her safe. On this night, however, Rochelle would have liked nothing more than to be lost in naive optimism, heading into battle without the consequences of failure so clear in her mind. But alas, such naïveté was impossible. Rochelle was a gargoyle, a creature burdened with both a heavy body and a heavy mind.

“Rochelle, can you try to walk a little more softly?” Venus whispered, clearly worried that the gargoyle’s gait would attract attention.

“Zut, I am trying, but tiptoeing is not something that comes naturally to gargoyles. There is a reason we are often said to have two lead feet.”

“Use your wings!”

“They make even more noise!” Rochelle hissed.

From behind Venus a large cloud of steam passed by, the product of Robecca’s frazzled nerves.

“Deary me, I can’t seem to calm down. I’m like a bat on a hot tin roof back here!”

“I hear singing! Quick, duck!” Venus whispered as she pulled Robecca to the ground with her.

For once, everyone was grateful for the relentless crooning of the pumpkin heads. Dressed in their finest attire, the posse of orange-headed creatures jovially made their way through the dense woods. Once the high-pitched voices had disappeared into the night, Cy started to pick himself up off the ground, but Venus grabbed his arm and shook her head. Cy didn’t hear anything. As a matter of fact, no one—including Venus—heard anything. She had, however, picked up the faint smell of body odor mixed with cologne and hair product. This could mean only one thing—trolls.

Within minutes, the sound of their craggily clawed feet marching in formation could be heard and even felt. So it was hardly a surprise when a troop of ten stomped past, but it was terribly shocking to see Miss Sue Nami among them, dressed in the same navy-and-red uniform as the others. While never their friend, she had been a reliable and stable presence during their short time at Monster High, and seeing her devoid of her normal biting individuality was nothing short of disheartening.

By the time Rochelle, Venus, Robecca, and Cy had made it through the forest to the edge of the cemetery, they were all a frizzy-furred mess from both Robecca’s steam and the assault of tree branches they had endured. Whatever lingering illusions they held that this undertaking would be either easy or fast dissipated at the sight of the elaborate security surrounding the Skelemoanian. So impressive was the line of defense that one might have been forgiven for thinking that Gillary Clinton or some other head of state was in attendance.

The perimeter was a literal wall of trolls, each facing outward, looking for possible agitators or enemies of the Flap.

“Heavens to Betsy!” Robecca squealed at the sight of the trolls. “However are we going to sneak past them?”

“We’re covered head to toe in werewolf fur. We’re more likely to be noticed sneaking in than just walking through the main entrance,” Venus assessed. “But you’re going to have to do your best to control the steam, because it’s pretty much a dead giveaway.”

“We’d better get started,” Rochelle said, pulling a small glass jar from her bag.

The thin gray-and-yellow snake slept peacefully in the container, totally unaware of the fate that awaited it.

“I must admit, I feel rather guilty zombifying this creature without its permission. I don’t imagine that such behavior is condoned by the Gargoyle Code of Ethics.”

“Here, hand me the vial. Cyclopes don’t have a code of ethics,” Cy said as he took a thin glass tube filled with green fluid and small balls of Camembert cheese from Rochelle. “And the lighter?” Cy held the flame to the glass until the cheese balls had melted and the liquid was bubbling furiously. “Let’s hope this snake has a good sense of smell.”

The one-eyed boy then slowly lowered a dropper into the reptile’s jar. Utterly uninterested, the yellow-and-gray snake did not so much as move its head.

“It’s probably lactose intolerant and hates cheese!” Venus huffed.

“No, wait! Look!” Robecca said as the snake abruptly whipped its head back and attempted to drink from the dropper.

Having emptied the entire contents of the vial into the snake’s mouth, the four students waited anxiously for any sign of zombification.

“How are we supposed to tell if it’s moving slower if it’s not moving at all?” Rochelle wondered rationally.

“Its skin—it’s turning dull and ashen. And look at its eyes! They’re all bloodshot,” Cy said excitedly.

“Should we check its pulse, just to make sure?” Robecca pondered aloud.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Venus declared. “It’s time. We need to move.”

At exactly 11:50 PM, the quartet approached the main entrance, next to which stood a large limestone statue of Skelen Moania. Rather disturbingly, the sculpture was adorned in a floor-length pink Scaremès gown, a pair of delicately crafted wings, and a red wig in Miss Flapper’s honor.

“What a shameful waste of couture,” Rochelle grumbled as she came upon the first group of uniform-clad trolls.

“Remember, if anyone asks, we’re Clawdeen’s cousins from the poorly groomed side of the family,” Venus muttered under her breath to the others.

The sensation of being watched weighed heavily on each of them as they passed through the channel of trolls. Venus and Rochelle were able to control their anxiety, but Cy and Robecca could not. The boy suddenly felt itchy, as if his skin were battling against the oppressive werewolf costume. And though he was able to stop himself from scratching, the suppression of the urge resulted in terrible shaking. Why, it almost appeared as though the boy were having a seizure!

Next to him, the wisps of steam exiting Robecca’s nose intensified, growing stronger by the second. Unfortunately, the harder she tried to calm down, the tenser she became, in turn causing more steam to escape.

“What wrong you?” a troll grunted at a visibly shaking Cy.

“Oh, him? He’s just nervous he won’t be chosen Scream King because of his grubby fur,” Venus joked, looping her arm through Cy’s.

“What in your nose?” The troll pointed at Robecca.

“In the name of the flea’s sneeze, I do believe I’ve ruined it all,” she muttered quietly to herself as she fought the urge to cry.

“Call the Nami,” the troll instructed a nearby comrade.

“No. It normal for werewolf,” the other troll replied, waving them on.

When Venus looked back at him in surprise, she recognized her friend with the red nose.

The Dance of the Delightfully Dead was nothing like what they’d expected, not that any of them really knew what to expect. Instead of music and laughter, a literal wave of whispers washed over their ears. The sound was just as Cy had described it: akin to the hissing of a thousand snakes. Huddled between moss-covered mausoleums and crypts, monsters were devotedly whispering in one another’s ears. The foursome wandered through the crowds, carefully avoiding eye contact for fear of being recognized. Near the middle of the Skelemoanian, they discovered an elaborately built gold stage on which Miss Flapper stood like a queen greeting the masses. Dressed in a fabulous handcrafted black-and-gold frock, she was undeniably beautiful.

“Time check?” Venus asked Rochelle quietly.

The gargoyle swiftly pulled out her iCoffin. “Three minutes and twenty-two seconds until midnight.”

“Remember, as long as we do not diverge from the plan, we have at least a fifty percent chance of success,” Venus said stoically.

“I put us closer to forty-three point five percent,” Rochelle corrected her.

“Deary me, that is hardly a confidence boost!”

The four friends then patted one another on the backs and split in three different directions. Because of Robecca’s notorious time issues, Cy accompanied her. Plus, he couldn’t have left her side in the midst of all these monstrous maniacs.

Consumed with unbridled terror and spurred by a rush of adrenaline, the friends took their positions at the sides of the stage. At this point, Robecca experienced a momentary understanding of time. For as she and Cy watched their iCoffins, waiting for the planned moment to strike, her mind did not wander for one second.

Rochelle was first to act, at exactly 11:59:30, climbing atop a crypt and then flinging her granite body onto the stage. As expected, this deed garnered her the attention of a nearby troll. Without a second to spare, she broke into a mad dash. Though she moved at her customary slow speed, she felt fast on her feet for the first time in her life. In reality, though, she was only an inch from being captured, when she thrust her body around Miss Flapper’s feet, anchoring the teacher to the platform.

The trolls, now in a flurry, swarmed around the four friends. Venus unleashed a sneeze attack, spraying the approaching trolls with thick orange pollen. Robecca employed a similar tactic and steamed the trolls, aiming her vapors up their noses, instantly bringing them to their knees.

“It’s time,” Venus hollered before flinging the snake around Miss Flapper’s thin ivory neck.

Robecca then quickly steamed the dainty dragon in the eye, prompting her to scream uproariously. At which point Cy simply dumped the teaspoon of ground Fernish Bush into Miss Flapper’s open mouth.

“Attack! Traitors!” Miss Flapper hollered, sending Fernish Bush flying everywhere.

“No! She’s losing powder,” Cy screamed while Venus’s tightly curled vines fought Miss Flapper’s delicate but strong hands.

Rochelle held on to Miss Flapper’s thin legs, her claws accidentally shredding the bottom of the deranged dragon lady’s couture dress. “I feel terrible—this fabric is fangtastique!” Rochelle was mumbling to herself when she suddenly noticed the strange sound of silence.

All activity in the cemetery had ground to a halt, the monsters and trolls standing eerily still, almost frozen. While gazing dumbstruck at the crowd, Rochelle slowly let go of the now stationary Miss Flapper and stood up.

“Regardez! Everything’s stopped,” Rochelle quietly pointed out to the others.

“What does this mean?” Robecca whispered anxiously, steam dribbling out of both her ears.

“Maybe we did something wrong,” Cy hypothesized as he surveyed the mass of motionless monsters, all sporting looks of deep confusion.

“Oh no! What did we do to them? Did we make it worse?” Venus wondered aloud, her vines quivering under the stress of the situation.

Just then a light wave of whispers began to cut through the crowd. The formerly still monsters started yawning, rubbing their eyes, and stretching.

“I think they’re waking up!” Rochelle proclaimed excitedly.

The whispering grew loud and boisterous as the bewildered crowd roused to consciousness.

“Where am I?”

“What’s happening?”

“How did I get here?”

“It worked!” Venus shouted, jumping up and down.

Not to be outdone by a bit of jumping, Robecca flipped on her boots and soared gloriously into the air. So spectacular and daring were her aerial maneuvers that the confused monsters were momentarily distracted. For a few seconds, they weren’t wondering why their brains felt fuzzy; they were merely marveling at the great talent of one of their own.

“In the name of the bee’s knees, I do believe we’re free!” Robecca shouted joyfully before her feet once again touched the ground.

“Free from what? I don’t understand what we’re all doing here,” Frankie Stein said, rubbing her tired green forehead.

“Hey, where’s Miss Flapper? We’re supposed to be on a date,” Mr. D’eath groaned with understandable disappointment.

Before Robecca, Venus, or Rochelle could answer, Cleo de Nile stormed through the crowd, seething with rage. “Wait a minute! Is this the Dance of the Delightfully Dead? Why am I dressed in such a hideous outfit? Is this some kind of joke?” the Egyptian princess whined while looking down at her brown corduroy dress with a ferret’s face embroidered on the front.

“Students,” Headmistress Bloodgood said calmly, “let me explain.”

“With all due respect, Headmistress, you can’t explain. You haven’t a clue what’s happened here,” Rochelle stated firmly.

“Well, I can’t say that surprises me. Perhaps we should ask Miss Sue Nami instead?”

“Ma’am,” the waterlogged woman barked loudly, “I am unfortunately incapable of remembering anything that has transpired. It’s all fuzzy and vague, like a dream I can’t quite recall.”

“Well, I must say, that is a surprise!” Headmistress Bloodgood exclaimed.

“My last clear memory is of storming through the main corridor in search of Miss Flapper,” Miss Sue Nami explained as she pulled at her tight military uniform.

“That’s weird. The last thing I can recall is Miss Flapper too,” Clawdeen muttered, inadvertently setting off a chain of Miss Flapper memories among the monsters. Soon all eyes had turned to the elegant teacher, who was still standing in the middle of the makeshift stage.

“What did you do to us?” Jackson Jekyll screamed angrily.

“This is too crazy! Ve need to take a nap,” Blanche Van Sangre moaned before she and her sister slipped into a nearby crypt.

“I’m so sorry, but I haven’t the faintest idea who any of you are or, for that matter, where we are,” Miss Flapper murmured emotionally.

“Well, isn’t that convenient?” Venus said, rolling her eyes.

Miss Sue Nami herded Sylphia Flapper, along with the rest of the students and faculty, into the Vampitheater so that Venus, Robecca, Rochelle, and Cy could explain the madness that had ensued in the prior weeks. Everyone gasped at the stories, and Miss Flapper collapsed into a heap of tears, the likes of which no one had ever seen. The dainty woman shook violently as she sobbed, clearly horrified by her actions. She claimed that she too had been under a spell that had forced her to act in such horrid ways.

Draculaura wiped away tears of empathy. “Poor Miss Flapper!”

“I know how painful it is not to be able to remember, and I can only imagine how painful it must be to not want to remember,” Headmistress Bloodgood said wisely.

“Ma’am, I need to advise against fraternizing with the enemy,” Miss Sue Nami stated bluntly before performing her signature shake-off all over the headmistress.

“Don’t be silly, Miss Sue Nami. Miss Flapper is as much a victim as any of us….”

But Robecca, Rochelle, and Venus weren’t so sure; the word victim rang in their ears, taunting them in their uncertainty over what had transpired.

In the days that followed, Monster High fell back into its normal routine, albeit with more homework. The era of whispering had left the students behind in their studies, forcing them to learn twice as much as usual just to catch up. Dr. Clamdestine, Mr. Hack, and the other teachers even took to offering study sessions on the weekends. And following an intense debate, Headmistress Bloodgood and Miss Sue Nami decided to keep the elderly trolls on, as they were rather good at maintaining order. Plus, there was nowhere else for them to go.

In the aftermath of the disturbing occurrence, there was a sincerely heartening development: The students and faculty pulled together, determined to get their lives and their school back to normal. However, in their determination to put the whispering incident behind them, no one voiced a vital question—a question that Robecca, Venus, and Rochelle couldn’t seem to get past. If Miss Flapper was, in fact, a victim like the rest of them, then who put her up to this? And, more important, why?

“I can’t believe it’s already time to pick our classes for next term,” Robecca groaned as she climbed beneath her mummy-gauze sheets with her pet penguin.

“Robecca, you seem to have tucked the wrong end of Penny into bed,” Rochelle said, pointing to the penguin’s small metal feet sticking out from beneath the covers.

“Deary me!” Robecca replied with a laugh.

“So, what are you guys thinking for next term? Should we take Miss Flapper’s Dragonomics class?” Venus asked the others provocatively.

“After watching our school fall under a spell and having to single-handedly rescue everyone, I am rather inclined to take it easy next term and avoid any areas of drama,” Rochelle responded.

With raised eyebrows, Venus inquired, “Does that mean you’re going to leave Mr. D’eath alone?”

“Of course not! I am a gargoyle; I cannot have an incomplete mission on my record! I will not rest until I see that man smile!”

“Well, thankfully, you still have a few years left at Monster High,” Robecca joked.

“I don’t need years; I have you guys,” Rochelle said seriously. “Haven’t you heard? Part of being ghoulfriends forever means we have to support one another, no matter what.”

“I couldn’t agree more! Ghoulfriends forever! I am absolutely thrilled to have a gargoyle as one of the founding members of Monster High’s compost heap!” Venus smirked.

“Venus, s’il ghoul plaît, let’s not get carried away….”