Chapter 1

From A to Zed

The librarian handed me back my card. “Zed. What an interesting name.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I chose it myself.” I lifted my hands to my chin and grinned like I was posing for a picture.

She laughed, and I knew she was cool.

You see, I wasn’t born with the name Zed.

My pronouns are they/them, and that’s an issue for some people.

But for Jan (that’s what the librarian’s name tag read), clearly not a problem.

One more reason to love your local library.

“The computers are over there,” Jan said.

I bowed, gave my best cheesy smile, pocketed the card, turned around . . .

And froze.

Someone was sitting at the computer. My computer.

It was summer, and I’m only allowed time on the family computer for homework.

No school. No homework. No computer.

Also, no smartphone. Mom and Dad have a strict rule: “No screen until you’re sixteen.”

But of course, the library has computers—which is why I was there.

I looked up at the clock. Computer time was assigned in thirty-minute chunks, and the clock read 3:01.

And some kid was still sitting there, typing away.

Grrrrr.

I marched up behind the time thief and coughed. “Ahem.”

No movement.

I coughed louder. “AHEM.”

Nothing.

I growled and tapped the kid on the shoulder.

Finally, he turned around, and I think he was looking at me, but it was hard to tell with all the hair covering his eyes.

I pointed at the clock, tapping my foot impatiently.

His mop of hair was also hiding a set of headphones, which he pushed off his ears. I caught only a quick snippet before he muted whatever he was listening to—it sounded like a cat being tortured. Or maybe more like a loooooong, loud Bride of Frankenstein scream.

“Oh, hey, Zed,” he said in a low voice.

Eek! We knew each other? My mind scanned for recognition.

Gale?

Abe?

I took a stab. “Hey, Dave.”

He blinked. “Gabe.”

Gabe. Right. Darn. “Sorry. Gabe.”

He shrugged. “It’s all good. You waiting for this?”

I nodded. Argh. My brain had blipped again. I hated that. Gabe was in my school, and he lived . . . three houses away? We’d never been friends, but I felt like I should have at least remembered his name. I couldn’t even remember us having a conversation of more than five words.

“I mean, you can call me Dave if you want to.”

“What?” I asked, distracted.

He swiveled in the chair and closed whatever he was working on. Judging by the screaming I’d just heard, it was probably some heavy metal chat room. He stood up, and I quickly jumped into the chair.

“Um, bye?” he said.

I gave a quick wave over my shoulder and got to work.

The keyboard wobbled a bit, and I noticed that someone had put a thick book under it to make it higher. I pulled the book out and turned to ask Gabe if it was his, but he had gone. I set it aside.

I looked at the clock. 3:03. I had twenty-seven minutes left to work on my secret project.

A website now filled the computer screen. It read, “Inside The Monster’s Castle: A fandom site for the greatest book never published.”

About a year ago, I’d come across an article called “The Internet’s Weirdest Literary Conspiracy Theories.” Number eleven was the story of someone named H.K. Taylor. That article led me to this site.

My fingers tingled. I logged on.

USERNAME: @TheFabulousZW

PASSWORD: VampireLove22

A twisted iron gate emerged from a thick fog. I clicked.

The gate creaked open (I quickly hit mute) and revealed a block of text, scrolling like the opening of Star Wars. Even though I’d read the page a thousand times, it still gave me a thrill.

The Monster’s Castle.

A book written by H.K. Taylor.

A book buried by H.K. Taylor.

A book the world could not accept.

I mean, who wouldn’t be hooked already?! But the rest of the story was even cooler.

It all started with a fan letter. It all ended with hurtful words and hate.

Many years ago, an unknown writer named H.K. Taylor sent a fan letter to noted playwright Tremaine Williams.

In the letter, Taylor described the idea for a revolutionary novel.

The Monster’s Castle would be a Gothic romance featuring a vampire and a werewolf, alongside a host of other monsters. Its themes—alienation and fear, love and hope—would speak to those troubled times.

Williams was blown away. “I’ve never seen such a unique and refined voice,” he declared, “and with such a deep understanding of both beauty and horror.”

He immediately arranged a contract with his own publisher, Anderson & Hanson. They paid a huge advance for the time: $100,000.

The publishing world was abuzz. “Nothing is as hot as unknown potential,” A&H said in announcing the deal. “Taylor’s work will amaze the reader!”

But when Taylor delivered the manuscript, there was a problem.

The lovestruck vampire and the werewolf were both men. Another character, a witch, was friends with an anti-American British zombie. The book’s editor demanded a rewrite. “The book, as written, will never sell,” he wrote.

He returned the manuscript with a stack of letters he’d solicited from other editors and writers, who declared the book “degenerate,” “sad,” “scandalous” and, finally, “unreadable.”

Hurt and saddened, Taylor never responded.

Instead, a few months later, a package with no return address arrived on Williams’s desk.

The package contained four sample chapters, a cryptic poem, three dried blue rose petals and a note that simply said, “Thank you for all you have done for me. Perhaps, one day, the world will be ready. Until then, I have buried all my beautiful monsters, my hopes and, as you once called it, my ‘rich promise.’ The root of all is hidden here. Signed, H.K. Taylor.”

Taylor was never heard from again. The world forgot about the book.

A&H went out of business.

When Williams died, years later, the package was discovered tucked in the back of a safe in his office. On the brown kraft paper package, he’d scribbled these words: “The book exists. It is out there, somewhere, if I could only crack the code to find the root.”

The code remains unbroken.

The time has come.

The world is ready.

We are the Taylor legion. And our quest is to search for and find The Monster’s Castle.

Those four surviving chapters—wow, they were awesome!

Each focused on a different monster—vampire, werewolf, witch, zombie—who all seemed real to me.

There were epic battles between monsters and humans, but who won?

There was romance, but did the monsters ever find true love?

Since the chapters were only fragments of the manuscript, I had no idea. Finding that manuscript was the only way to get answers. What I did know, however, was that the chapters had already helped me answer questions about myself.

A menu popped up and invited me to “ENTER THE LAIR.”

I took a deep breath. And clicked.