Rumours Spread

By the time they’d hiked back to the standing stones and made it to the common room, the whole school was buzzing with news of another disappearance. Devon hadn’t turned up anywhere. Madam Garcia had rounded up every child and had them searching every nook and cranny of the citadel. Miss Brimstone had even flown around the valley in case she had slipped and was lying forlornly at the bottom of a crevice. In the end, Madam Garcia had reassured everybody that Devon had probably got fed up with Colin and Xavier ignoring her and had headed back to the school. No doubt she would be found alive and well soon enough.

None of the monsters believed her. “It’s definitely the pishtaco,” was the word on everyone’s lips (and fangs).

That afternoon’s class was Ancient History with a young minotaur. “My name is Señor Puntiagudo,” he said in a gruff, almost animal-like, voice when they had all taken their seats. They were all sat on long benches that formed a horseshoe in the middle of the classroom. The half-bull-half-man strutted around in the middle like a circus performer. His heavy hooves kicked up sparks on the stones whenever he grew animated. “I am going to be teaching you all about Ancient History. Don’t worry if I sound a bit Greek, to begin with...” He trailed off and raised his eyebrows, seeming to wait for some sort of recognition from the class. “Never mind,” he continued, “you will get it in the end.”

The teacher strode to the front of the class, sparks threatened to set fire to the ornate tapestries with each step. “Monsters have been around since the dawn of time. When the first person stepped out of the trees and peered into the shadows, there was a monster there. Those first monsters were a bit small, though, so they probably ran away. We’re talking your fairies and sprites and probably a hobgoblin or two. Nothing like you get now.”

A few of the smaller, winged members of the class looked annoyed at this, but the teacher didn’t seem to notice. He was enjoying the sound of his own voice far too much.

“Why were they so small?” a werewolf asked.

“Monsters have always been human creations. The power of belief is very strong. If people believe in something enough, it can become real. It is what gives the gods their strength, and it is what created monsters in the beginning. Those first men had enough to fear from each other and the animals that hunted them. In time, they grew stronger, and soon all they feared was the shadows. And so they gave those shadows a name.”

“Is that really true?” Gloria asked. “Did humans really create monsters?”

“Honestly? I do not know. Much of ancient monsterlore is shrouded in myths and legends. Many human stories are filled with monsters and the terrible things that they did. Are they true, or are they just a way of explaining things that go bump in the night? We will never know. But it is important to always think about the power of belief. It is a very potent force. It can conjure evil from the past if you are not careful.”

“Like the pishtaco? It’s back, you know. We all saw it snatch Devon and fly away with her! It had horrible teeth and black, leathery wings,” said a squeaky vampire sat next to Gloria.

Gloria muttered something under her breath but kept quiet.

“The pishtaco is one of the darkest monsters in our history,” Señor Puntiagudo said solemnly. “The legend did not say when he took his first victim, but when the Conquistadors came to Peru in the 1500s, many people started to disappear. He was also known as the Kharisiri. Whatever name he went by, he would take our people and devour them and their souls. Many people think he came over on the Spanish ships, others say he came down from the mountains. We do not teach about this evil in school. Some shadows are too dark.”

“I told you he was real!” the hysterical vampire squealed.

“I never said he was real,” the minotaur said. “There are many legends that are nothing more than ways of explaining bad things that happen.”

“But he’s back. That means those poor monsters have been eaten!” The vampire’s friends were crowding around her, giving her the attention that Trixie secretly believed she’d been aiming for.

“You mustn’t say that,” Señor Puntiagudo shouted and kicked up another large spark. “Remember what I said about belief? Well, a rumour is as bad. What you need to do now is listen to your teachers and do as you are told. These children have gone home to avoid the trouble that we get every year at the Fiesta. If you want to be worried about anything, worry about those humans in the village who want to see this school closed.” He rested his fists on his hips and took a deep breath.

“Listen, the pishtaco is nothing more than a bedtime story to scare little monsters into doing what they are told,” Señor Puntiagudo continued, more calmly now. “He is not real. And he most certainly is not back to take children from this school. You aren’t in any danger, just do as you are told, and this will all die down once the Fiesta is over. Nobody else will disappear, I guarantee it.”

A loud knock on the door broke his spell over the class. A small boy, by the looks of it a goblin, raced bow-legged across the classroom and pressed a piece of paper into the minotaur’s hand. That simple task completed, he turned and scurried back out without saying a word. Señor Puntiagudo unfolded the note and read it under his breath. A mixture of confusion and anger spread across his face.

“Well,” he said, turning to face the class, “that is bad timing.” The colour drained from the minotaur’s face. “Oh, how foolish I am!” he wailed, inconsolably. Gloria and Maria put an arm around his shoulders and gently led him away to a corner to calm down. Colin and Xavier took the opportunity to read the note.

“Somebody else has been kidnapped!” Xavier said excitedly to Trixie.

She’d wandered over to the note with the two boys, figuring she’d be more useful there than trying to console their teacher. The rest of the class were buzzing around spreading definitely true information that they’d just heard from somebody else in the class who’d made it up entirely. So far, there were several pishtaco flying around above the mountains, and they’d all been seen drinking the blood of the poor first-years. Trixie had to admire the way a rumour could laugh in the face of logic and run laps around good honest truth.

“Does it say who?” she asked Xavier.

“No, but there is a ransom note. Tomorrow is the open day to the public, and the pishtaco wants it to be cancelled.”

“What’s the open day?”

“Well, the people in the villages are very scared of us. One day every year we put on a party for them to come and mix with us. We show them that we are only here to learn, that we can be trusted.”

“Do you think it will be cancelled? Will they listen to the ransom note?”

“I do not know,” Xavier said. “I hope not.”

“It must be nice to show everyone how nice you are,” Trixie said kindly.

“It’s not that,” Xavier said with a wide grin. “The food is amazing!”