Listening to Wydowna’s boots knock against the wooden floor resigned Rochelle and Venus to their fate. There was simply no way around it; the spider ghoul was about to lift the curtain. And once she did, it would only be a matter of time until Miss Flapper was informed and the search for Headmistress Bloodgood grew even more complex.

“There you are! You silly ghoul!” Wydowna gushed, her voice now overflowing with warmth and affection.

Seconds later, a soft buzzing sound filled the air as two translucent wings flapped past Rochelle and Venus. It came as quite a surprise since neither ghoul had noticed a cat-size fly with a red bow atop its head and a shiny rhinestone collar around its neck when they inspected the room. And frankly, that’s a hard thing to miss. But, in their defense, flies were rather adept at hiding in rafters and other hard-to-reach places.

“What were you doing up in the corner, Shoo? Playing hide-and-screech by yourself again?” Wydowna asked, cradling the creature in her arms. “What’s the matter? Why are you shaking?”

However illogical, both Venus and Rochelle momentarily worried that they might be able to communicate nonverbally with each other, and that Shoo could convey their presence to Wydowna telepathically. But of course, neither one of the ghouls knew very much about spiders or flies, a fact that greatly bothered Rochelle. As a gargoyle, she found lacking knowledge to be a most irksome state of mind.

“Did Miss Flapper stop by again? I know how she scares you,” Wydowna said as she dropped her pet fly into the hammock and began weaving something. “Just a minute, Shoo, I’m almost done. Although, why you insist on fresh pajamas nightly I’ll never understand.”

Watching from beneath the meshlike curtain, Rochelle once again felt pangs of awe. Not for the ghoul herself, but for her talent. After all, it was hardly a secret that Rochelle yearned to be able to create her own couture clothing. In fact, the mere thought of it gave her granite skin goose bumps. Instantly enraptured in a fashionable reverie, Rochelle didn’t even notice Venus’s deep frown over Shoo’s wastefulness. Never mind that spider webs were biodegradable; Venus believed it set an environmentally reckless precedent to wear new pajamas every night.

“Good night, Shoo,” Wydowna cooed as she joined her pet fly in the hammock.

Unbeknownst to Venus and Rochelle, spiders took a very long time to fall asleep. But then again, maneuvering eight limbs into a comfortable position was quite an undertaking. Toss, turn, move arm one, turn again, rotate arm three, toss once more, adjust arm four, and on and on it went. So lengthy was the process that Rochelle and Venus had almost fallen asleep by the time they heard the telltale sounds of slumber. Eager to leave, the ghouls quickly crawled out from beneath the curtain, stood up, and started for the exit. Only a few steps in, Venus got the distinct sensation that she was being watched. Her leaves instantly stood on end and her pollens began to pump as she turned slowly toward the hammock.

Two small and beady eyes, the color of mustard, met Venus’s gaze. Worried Shoo might try to wake Wydowna, Venus quickly pushed Rochelle through the sheaths and into the stairwell.

Once out of the attic, the bleary-eyed ghouls engaged in some serious stretching. Remaining perfectly still for so many hours had left them rather stiff. Venus and Rochelle then looked at their watches, their eyes widening in disbelief. It was six AM. Suddenly eager to find their friends, the two quickly hurried down the steps.

“I’m sure glad they weren’t up all night worrying about us,” Venus remarked playfully at the sight of Cy and Robecca slouched over, fast asleep, halfway down the stairs.

“If it makes you feel better, I doubt they’re well rested. You soft-bodied monsters lack the durability to sleep soundly on stone,” Rochelle explained, bending down to tap Robecca on the shoulder.

“What time is it? What time is it?” Robecca rambled, still half asleep. “Where’s Penny? What is this place? Have I been sleepwalking again?”

“We’re in the stairwell to the attic. We came here late last night to see the spider ghoul,” Cy reminded Robecca as he wiped the sleep from his eye.

“Oh yes, that’s right; we found out her name is Wydowna and that she’s serving someone,” Robecca said with a knowing look, before turning toward Rochelle and Venus. “Sorry we nodded off. Are you okay? You both look seriously tired. I’m guessing that means you weren’t able to grab any shut-eye while hiding in the attic.”

“Not a wink,” Venus responded gruffly.

“Technically speaking, that is not accurate. We did in fact experience quite a few winks, however, we were awake for them,” Rochelle clarified before raising one eyebrow. “Like all gargoyles, I yearn for the day that misleading colloquialisms are outlawed.”

“But what about free speech?” Robecca asked.

“What about it? There’s nothing free about confusing and occasionally even deceptive sayings,” Rochelle retorted.

“Ghouls, I’m sorry, but the free-speech discussion is going to have to wait. We need to head over to the main corridor and see what’s happening,” Venus asserted as she started down the stone steps.

The purple checkered floor and pink coffin-shaped lockers in the main hall were barely visible because of the dense crowd of monsters crammed into the space. Parents, teachers, and students swarmed an unidentified man and woman, above whom a sea of bats slept peacefully in the rafters, blissfully unaware of the pandemonium below.

“I think it’s trés important that we identify the people at the center of this commotion tout de suite,” Rochelle stated, turning toward Venus. “So in the name of efficiency, please use your innate pushiness to get us to the front of the crowd.”

“Excuse me, but I am not pushy,” Venus clarified.

“Boo-la-la, Venus, ce n’est pas un secret. Everyone knows that you’re pushy. There’s no point denying it.”

“Sorry, Rochelle, but you’re wrong about this one. Right, Becs?” Venus implored her copper-plated friend.

“Talk about being stuck between a plant and a hard place,” Robecca prattled, her eyes flitting back and forth between her two ghoulfriends.

“May I remind you that paragraph 12.3 of the Gargoyle Code of Ethics states that true friendship requires honesty?”

“Venus is pushy,” Robecca muttered quickly, her eyes trained on the floor.

“You ghouls are just overly sensitive. Cy knows—” Venus said, turning toward the quiet one-eyed boy.

“You’re pushy,” Cy interrupted, eager to bring the debate to an end. “And I hope you can forgive me for saying as much.”

“Yes, me too, Venus. You know how much I adore you—all of you, even your pushiness,” Rochelle added.

“Fine, but for future reference I prefer the term assertive,” Venus remarked as she forcibly inserted herself into the crowd.

The assembled group of concerned parents, unnerved teachers, and confused students emitted a collective air of hysteria. Furrowed brows, sweaty palms, and chattering fangs swept through the crowd as everyone struggled to come to terms with a missing headmistress and a potential normie threat.

“Move it, please,” Venus said as she pushed past a monster drinking a Croak-a-Cola. “It’s kind of early for soda, isn’t it? Oh, and don’t forget to recycle the can when you’re done.”

“I think excuse me is a more appropriate phrase than move it, n’est-ce pas?” Rochelle whispered to Cy and Robecca.

“I wouldn’t say anything if I were you. You know how grumpy plants are when they haven’t slept,” Cy advised Rochelle as they came to the center of the crowd.

A row of filthy-faced trolls, each greasier and more unattractive than the next, stood guard over a zombie and a mummy, both of whom had their backs pressed against the wall.

“I recognize them from the local paper. The zombie’s Scariff Fred Onarrival and the mummy is Skultastic Superintendent Petra Fied,” Rochelle leaned in and whispered to the others.

Scariff Fred was a stout zombie with an ample belly, bloodshot eyes, and a receding hairline. While by no means attractive, the scariff exuded an air of power and control. As did the tall and stern-looking mummy standing next to him, Superintendent Petra.

“Excuse me, may we have your attention?” Scariff Fred said, speaking into a special bullhorn that translated Zombese into English.

The trolls standing before the scariff and superintendent then stepped threateningly toward the crowd.

“You listen now! No talk! Only listen!” the trolls screamed while wagging their dirty sausage-shaped fingers at the mass of students, parents, and teachers.

“Quelle horreur,” Rochelle lamented at the sight of the stout beasts’ filthy hands. “I will never understand why hygiene remains such a foreign concept to them.”

“Thank you, trolls, that’s quite enough,” Scariff Fred said as he looked out at the sea of concerned faces. “Superintendent Petra and I would like you all to know that we’re doing everything in our power to keep the students safe and bring Headmistress Bloodgood home. And while these bullies, the normies, may think they can intimidate us into walling ourselves off—they’re wrong, dead wrong.”

Venus’s vines quivered, Robecca’s rivets rattled, and Rochelle’s claws rapped as they reflected on the scariff’s unsettling comments. They simply could not understand why everyone so easily accepted the letter at face value. Surely the scariff knew that dubious forces often used forgery as a means of getting what they wanted.

“Excuse me, scariff?” Venus blurted out, suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to question his belief in the normie story.

“Boo alors, what are you doing, Venus?”

“It’s not too late; just ask for the time,” Robecca advised, small balls of steam exiting her ears. “That’s what I do, but then again I never know the time.”

“Yes, ghoul?” the scariff responded, looking directly at Venus.

“How do you know it was really the normies who took Headmistress Bloodgood? After all, any monster could have written that letter,” Venus pointed out logically.

“Children should not question their elders unless specifically instructed to do so,” Super-intendent Petra grumbled, with all but her lips remaining eerily still.

The lack of movement and wrinkles on the superintendent’s face was the result of the latest dermatological fad sweeping through the monster world—Crowtox. The serum created from the sweat of crows was used by many a monster in an attempt to slow the aging process.

“It’s all right, Petra,” the scariff replied before turning toward Venus and assuming a decidedly patronizing tone. “You may not know this, seeing as you’re awfully young, but over the centuries normies and monsters have experienced periods of friendship, periods of fear, and periods of peaceful coexistence. So the fact that we find ourselves once again in a period of fear is hardly surprising.”

“Yeah, but…” Venus started to refute Scariff Fred’s explanation when she noticed Miss Sue Nami discreetly motioning for her to stop.

As the school’s Deputy of Disaster, Miss Sue Nami was Headmistress Bloodgood’s second in command. But, more important to Venus, she had long maintained her own doubts about Miss Flapper.

“But what?” Scariff Fred pressed Venus to finish her thought.

“But nothing. You’re absolutely right: The normies are obviously behind this,” Venus replied unconvincingly.

“Thank you, ghoul,” Scariff Fred said with visible delight, and then turned to the superintendent. “Would you care to add anything, Petra?”

After offering the scariff an affirmative nod, Petra turned toward the crowd. “As the Skultastic Superintendent of Salem, I have named Miss Sue Nami acting headmistress of Monster High so that the students may maintain as normal of a routine as possible. This, of course, means that both Picture Day and Crack and Shield Day will occur as scheduled in a few weeks’ time. And please remember, helmets are mandatory for all Crack and Shield participants, including hardheaded gargoyles.”

“Wow, even the superintendent knows that gargoyles are hardheaded,” Venus muttered to Rochelle.

“Superintendent Petra was referring to our stone composition, not our character.”

“If you say so…”