by R. L. Ullman
The man-spider is holding a huge smoking gun the size of a bazooka. I look back at the monster, but he’s gone! In his place is a small, blond-haired boy.
Rage!
But he’s not moving.
“D-Did you…?” I stammer.
“No,” Crawler says. “I used a tranquilizer strong enough to knock out a herd of elephants. He’ll be okay, but he’ll be out for a while.”
“I-I can’t believe that was him,” I say. “Now I know why he’s called Rage. I thought he was going to kill me.”
“He might have,” Crawler says. “He has no control of his emotions when he’s in that state. He’s dangerous. But that’s just one reason you kids shouldn’t be sneaking around alone at night. Those werewolves are another.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I seem to have a thing with werewolves. Maybe I need to change my brand of deodorant.”
“Werewolves have an incredible sense of smell,” Crawler says. “They know your scent by now.”
Then, I have a weird thought. “So, if they know my smell, how come they haven’t tracked me down at school yet?”
“The Van Helsing Academy is protected by Supernatural artifacts that protect it from evil,” Crawler says, slinging the gun over his shoulder. “When you’re on campus, you’re safe. But once you exit those gates, all bets are off. Remember that, because Van Helsing may not send me to rescue you next time.”
“I will,” I say. “Wait, Van Helsing sent you?”
“Yep,” Crawler says, scooping up Rage. “Up until about an hour ago, I was enjoying a pretty relaxing night. So, I think you owe me one. Now tell me, what exactly were you kids doing out here?”
“Um, well, we—”
“—were just looking for a late-night snack,” comes Aura’s voice.
I turn to find the Monstrosities walking towards us.
I can’t even tell you how happy I am to see them!
“You know how it is, Crawler,” Aura says. “We were studying late for one of Professor Seward’s pop quizzes and got a little hungry. We just took a wrong turn on our way to a fast food joint. Isn’t that right, Bram?”
Aura shoots me a serious look. That’s a cold, hard lie. But if I don’t back her up, she’ll never trust me again.
“Um, yeah,” I say, swallowing hard. “That’s it in a nutshell.”
“Is that so?” Crawler says, eyeing me warily. “Seems like a shaky story coming from a ghost who doesn’t eat. So, which one of you jokers is responsible for damaging the jeep?”
“Jeep?” Hairball says, his voice cracking. “What jeep?”
“That one,” Crawler says.
Just then, the jeep comes rolling towards us. The hood is popped open, the windshield is smashed, and the bumper is hanging halfway off the front. It looks so badly damaged I don’t know how it’s running at all, until I realize it’s not being driven, it’s being carried—by a gazillion spiders!
“Uh oh,” Hairball says.
“I hope you’ve got car insurance, Hairball,” Crawler says. “Because I can’t wait for Van Helsing to see this one.”
***
The other kids get to see Van Helsing as a group, but I’m not so lucky. Instead, Crawler instructs me to wait outside until Van Helsing is finished with them. I don’t know what’s worse, getting the punishment or being forced to think about getting the punishment.
An hour later, the door finally opens, and my friends file out with their heads down. Strangely, no one says a word, and if Hairball isn’t talking it must have been pretty bad. Aura doesn’t even look my way.
The only one spared is Rage, who is recovering in the infirmary. Dr. Hagella thinks he’ll be okay, but only time will tell. He still hasn’t woken up yet.
I watch as the Monstrosities walk away, except for InvisiBill, who I can’t see at all. Then, they round the corner and disappear from view.
It’s my turn.
I know I need to go inside and face the music, but for some reason, my eyes are fixated on Professor Faustius’ door across the way. I study the ‘Entry Forbidden’ sign hanging from his doorknob and wonder what happened to that guy. Rage told me he used to teach Black Magic, so maybe he summoned a demon who gobbled him up or something?
Well, whatever it was, I’m sure it’s not good.
Okay, I figure I’ve stalled long enough.
I take a deep breath and enter Van Helsing’s office.
It’s just as warm as I remembered, with piles of junk precariously balanced upon other piles of junk. How he finds anything in this place is a mystery to me. I carefully pick my way through the clutter, nearly making it through unscathed until I step on something that SQUEAKS and scampers away, nearly giving me a heart attack!
Once I regain my composure, I pause before turning the final corner because I know what’s waiting for me on the other side. Then, I step out to meet my fate.
Van Helsing is sitting by the fire. He’s as heavily dressed as before, complete with a sweater, scarf, and mittens. The flames from the fire cast dancing shadows on his furrowed brow. His blue eyes meet mine, but he doesn’t say anything, so I take a seat across from him and await my sentencing.
It’s so unbearably warm that sweat starts dripping from my forehead. I wait for Van Helsing to start talking but he simply stares at me. In the meantime, a hundred horrible scenarios unfold in my head, each more terrible than the one before.
Is he going to tell me he’s disappointed in me? Is he going to throw me in a dungeon? Is he going to expel me from the academy?
Suddenly, he breaks the silence.
“What should your punishment be?” he asks.
My eyebrows go sky high. Um, what? Did he just ask me what my own punishment should be? Was he serious?
I mean, no one has ever asked me to pick my own punishment before. I must have misheard him.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammer. “Did you say you want me to pick my own punishment?”
“Yes,” he says. “At the Van Helsing Academy, students are accountable for their own behavior and misbehavior. Therefore, it falls on you to pick your punishment. I only ask that you weigh the transgression and pick the most reasonable punishment.”
Wow, that’s amazing!
My mind fills with possibilities.
Maybe a day of television? Or no homework for a week? Or maybe all of the Swedish Fish I can eat?
But when I look at Van Helsing, I know those aren’t punishments at all. He’s expecting me to be responsible—to find a punishment that fits the crime.
So, let’s see. We snuck off campus, wrecked his jeep, and put all of our lives in danger, including Crawler’s life.
What punishment is worthy of all of that?
Suddenly, the worst thing possible pops into my head.
“An extra session with Professor Hexum?” I blurt out unexpectedly. “Just him and me.”
I regret it as soon as I say it.
This time Van Helsing raises his eyebrows. “That is a fair punishment. Your session will be scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Thank you for being accountable for your actions. You are now dismissed.”
Really? That’s it? I’m so shocked I sit there dumbfounded for a minute before standing up.
Then a curious thought springs to mind.
“Headmaster, can I ask you something?”
“Yes, Bram.”
“What happened to Professor Faustius?”
Van Helsing’s left eyebrow raises for a second, and he says—
“Professor Faustius is no longer employed here.”
But before I can follow up, he turns away and looks into the fire.
It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it.
So, I take the hint and leave.
BAT-TERED AND BRUISED
It’s the wee hours of the morning and we’re all in the infirmary checking up on Rage. Dr. Hagella said he’s stabilized, which is great news, but he’s been sound asleep for at least four hours. At least he has way more color in his ch
eeks than the last time I saw him—which thankfully isn’t purple.
No one is feeling particularly chatty. After our discussions with Van Helsing, we’re all lost in our own thoughts. Not surprisingly, I can’t seem to get my upcoming punishment with Hexum out of my mind. I’m kicking myself for not coming up with something—and I mean anything—else.
After a while, Stanphibian, Hairball, and InvisiBill head back to Monster House for some shuteye. Aura isn’t ready to go back yet, so I decide to keep her company.
The two of us sit in silence as Rage snores like a baby hog. I want to say something to break the noticeable tension in the air, but she doesn’t seem so interested in talking to me.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore.
“Are you mad at me or something?” I ask.
“Mad?” she says. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “You’ve been awfully quiet since you left Van Helsing’s office.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself. This whole mess was my fault. I’m the one who found out about the grave robbers. I’m the one who forced everyone to go. I’m the one responsible for Rage getting hurt.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I say. “You didn’t know that would happen.”
“But it was my responsibility,” she says. “I knew going to the cemetery would be risky, and I should have made sure we were better prepared. But I didn’t, and Rage nearly got killed. Anyway, I let Van Helsing know that I’m the one to blame, so I should face all of the consequences.”
“What did he say about that?” I ask.
“He thanked me for my honesty,” she says. “But he still made everyone come up with their own punishments. He said none of them had to follow me. He said they were responsible for making their own decisions.”
She pauses, clearly upset.
“I’m sorry I asked you to lie to Crawler,” she adds. “That wasn’t right either.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “But to Van Helsing’s point, I guess I could’ve decided not to do it. But I still don’t understand why you wanted me to lie to Crawler in the first place?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I guess I thought we could handle it. I mean, if we could solve the mystery, we could show Van Helsing how capable we are.”
“I think everyone knows how capable you are,” I say. “You’re the smartest person in our class. Like, it’s not even close.”
“Thanks,” she says, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “But I don’t feel very capable. I mean, look at me, I’m a freaking ghost. I’m here, but I’m not. I used to love to dance and act. Now I’ll never be able to do those things again. I go crazy thinking about all the things I’ll miss out on. Like driving a car, or going to prom, or my first kiss—"
She stops and shoots me an embarrassed look.
If I weren’t so pale, I’m sure I’d be beet red.
“It… it must be tough,” I manage to say.
“Yeah, it sucks,” she says.
She looks depressed, so I figure I should try changing the subject. “So, about that mystery. Why do you think those zombies wanted those bones anyway?”
“I’ve been trying to figure that out,” she says, her eyes widening with excitement. “Like, is there a pattern? The first grave they hit was of a man named Joseph Covington. I did some research on him. He was an Olympic gold medalist in the late nineteenth century who is still considered to be the greatest athlete of all time. He was supposed to be really tall and strong. He set all kinds of records.”
“Really?” I say. “I didn’t know about that one.”
“Yeah,” she says. “And the second grave belonged to a military corporal named Lloyd McAdams. He was a sharpshooter during World War I and was known as the best shot of the twentieth century.”
“Totally weird,” I say. I remember seeing the newspaper headline for that one back at the New England Home for Troubled Boys.
“Very weird,” she says. “But it gets weirder. Tonight, they stole the bones of Dr. Eugene Albert. He was a brilliant scientist who won the Nobel Prize for his work in physics and quantum mechanics.”
“What would a bunch of zombies want with the bones of an athlete, a sharpshooter, and a brainiac?” I ask. “I thought they only cared about eating flesh.”
“Exactly,” she says. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. But then I realized the zombies probably didn’t want the bones for themselves. They must be working for someone else.”
“Like who?”
“Like the Dark Ones,” she says matter-of-factly.
A chill runs down my spine. The Dark Ones? Could they be behind this? And what about those werewolves? Van Helsing told me they worked for the Dark Ones too. Clearly, they’re still after me.
Suddenly, Dr. Hagella pops in. “You both should go to bed. Rage needs his rest, and so do you. Goodnight.”
“Okay, Doc,” Aura says. “You know I can’t sleep, but I get it. Goodnight.”
As we head out, the sun is climbing over the horizon. I can probably get in a shower before breakfast, but there’s no way I’ll be getting any rest. Today’s going to be a busy day.
Especially with Hexum.
“Just out of curiosity,” I say, “what did you pick for your punishment?”
“I told Van Helsing I’d alphabetize his private library for him,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You’ve seen the state of his office, right? Trust me, his library is much, much worse.”
“I can’t even imagine,” I say. “But how can you do that? I mean, you’re a ghost. Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay,” she says. “Hexum’s been teaching me how to use my own ‘aura’ to control the molecules around me and move objects around. He calls it ‘telekinesis.’ I’m still learning how to do it. It takes a lot of concentration, but that’s how I keep my Monstrosities badge on.”
“Really?” I say, noticing for the first time that her silver badge isn’t actually pinned to her sweater, but floating in front of her body. “Wow. That’s cool.”
“Thanks,” she says. “I’m no pro yet, but I figure I can handle moving some books around. It’ll be good practice anyway. And since I don’t need to sleep, I figure I can tackle it over a few nights. How about you? What punishment did you pick?”
“A one-on-one with Hexum,” I say sheepishly.
“Seriously?” she says. “Boy, you must really feel guilty about what we did.”
“Either that” I say, “or I’m a big dope.”
“No comment,” she says.
“Gee, thanks,” I say.
Our eyes meet, and we laugh.
***
I’m pretty much a train wreck all day. All I can think about is my dreaded appointment with Hexum, which pretty much makes me a space cadet in all of my other classes.
In Monsterology, Professor Holmwood makes me write ‘I will pay attention in class’ one hundred times on the chalkboard after I fail to respond to her questions. In Supernatural History, I’m pretty sure I flunked Professor Sewards’s quiz on monsters in the medieval era. And in Paranormal Science, I manage to temporarily blind myself with a flash bomb.
It’s hard to imagine things getting any worse.
But then comes Survival Skills.
No sooner had we lined up, when—
“Attention!” Hexum commands. “Today’s class is cancelled. I expect all of you to practice your exercises on your own.”
What? Really?
This is incredible news!
“Except for you, Mr. Murray,” Hexum says. “Today, you and I will be having a private, double session.”
Wait, what?
A double session? That’s totally unfair! I told Van Helsing I’d have one extra session for my punishment, not two. This is injustice! This is criminal!
“The rest of you are dismissed,” Hexum says.
As I jealously watch the others walk away, I catch Hairball snickering. Oh,
when I get my hands on that giant, flea-bitten rug…
But then I see Aura.
She mouths ‘good luck,’ and then floats away.
Luck? I suspect I’ll need more than luck if I’m going to survive this. The door SLAMS shut behind the last kid, echoing throughout the chamber.
Great, my worst nightmare has come true.
I’m alone with Hexum.
For two flippin’ hours.
My back tightens up.
Hexum paces back and forth like some kind of a predator, which I guess makes me his prey. But I’m not opening my mouth. The more time he wastes doing this, the less time I’ll have to interact with him.
Then, he wheels on me.
Uh-oh.
“Mr. Murray,” he says, “I suspect you do not like me. Would I be correct in this assumption?”
I’m stunned. Of course he’s correct, but am I supposed to tell him that? This feels like a trap. If I tell him the truth, I’ll lose. But if I lie, somehow I’ll lose again. But maybe bigger.
“Mr. Murray, I asked you a direct question. It would be polite to provide an answer.”
What should I do? I have no choice but to go for it.
“You’re correct,” I say firmly. “I don’t like you.”
“Thank you,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “I respect your brutal honesty, and I certainly understand if you left our last meeting feeling frustrated. No doubt it was a difficult day for you. But I am afraid your difficulty is just beginning. You see, Mr. Murray, my job is not to like you or dislike you. My job is to teach you how to get the most out of your abilities so you do not die. Do you understand, Mr. Murray?”
Strangely, I do.
I nod.
“Excellent,” he says. “So, our first encounter was difficult out of necessity. After all, we needed to understand where the bar was set. Do you agree?”
I nod again.
“Excellent,” he says. “I am glad you agree. Unfortunately, what we learned is that the bar is set so low, I am doubtful we will be able to raise it.”
Speaking of low, that’s pretty much how I’m feeling.
“But it is my job to try, Mr. Murray. So that is precisely what I will do. Now, perhaps we should start with something a bit more elementary this time. Do you know our motto here at the Van Helsing Academy?”
