Ghoulfriends Forever

by Gitty Daneshvari

  “Does that mean you’ll do it?” Venus interrupted, clearly bewildered by the girl’s strange behavior.

  “Of course I will. What do you need sewn?”

  “Can you keep a secret?” Rochelle asked seriously.

  “Miss Flapper says one monster’s secret is every monster’s secret.”

  “Who knew Miss Flapper was so quotable?” Venus mumbled to Robecca.

  “It’s a new suit for Monsieur D’eath. I’m hoping that after a few renovations to his exterior, I might be able to find him a date. The man is desperately in need of some happiness.”

  “That certainly is kind of you,” Frankie replied in a flat, emotionless tone. “And as this is a special occasion, I shall enlist the help of Clawdeen Wolf. She is, after all, a very talented designer.”

  “That would be fangtastique!” Rochelle exclaimed, clasping her stone hands together excitedly.

  Back on campus and en route to dinner, Rochelle and her roommates stopped quickly at the post room, where each checked her mini crypt-box for mail. Much to Venus’s delight, she already had a stack of letters from her younger brothers, all faithfully written on recycled paper. Ever the helpful friend, Robecca steamed open Venus’s letters as Rochelle noted her own empty crypt. She had yet to receive even one letter from Garrott. She wondered if perhaps he had fallen for a new gargoyle, one with a more delicate touch. And though devastated at the mere idea of losing Garrott, his lack of correspondence also eased her burgeoning guilt over her crush on Deuce. Ever since she had seen the boy’s eyes, she simply couldn’t stop thinking about him!

  At Rochelle’s insistence, the threesome joined Mr. D’eath, the on-call faculty member, for dinner in the Creepateria. Over mashed potatoes and formaldehyde gravy, Rochelle, Robecca, and Venus desperately tried to engage their morose teacher in small talk.

  “Monsieur D’eath, where do you originate from?” Rochelle asked between bites.

  “The land of gray clouds and black souls,” he warbled, looking down at his food despondently.

  “Sounds like a real hot spot,” Venus replied drily.

  “How long have you been at Monster High?” Robecca piped up.

  “Who knows? I can’t even remember how long I’ve been dead,” Mr. D’eath moaned before looking down at Rochelle’s food. “Aren’t you going to finish your formaldehyde gravy?”

  “I haven’t a taste or need for formaldehyde, seeing as I’m crafted from stone.”

  “Must be nice to be made of stone. Bones can be rather brittle and easy to break,” Mr. D’eath replied with an epic sigh.

  The following day, at Frankie’s request, Venus, Robecca, and Rochelle headed to Miss Flapper’s classroom at lunchtime. Small golden cages, each containing a miniature dragon or lizard, lined the walls of the room. Dragon whispering was an ancient technique based on the idea that by reaching a certain octave, one could hypnotize a dragon into submission. But because it was rather dangerous, teachers often started students on lizards to minimize the risk of crispy skin spots or fried fur.

  “Well, at least the trolls are good with someone,” Venus said as she watched two greasy beasts brush a miniature dragon’s teeth. Fire-breathing often left the mouth covered in a smoky residue.

  “I still cannot believe Clawdeen and Frankie finished the suit in twenty-four hours,” Rochelle said, genuinely impressed.

  “Especially since it took you almost forty-eight hours just to destroy the fabric,” Robecca said before realizing how her comment sounded. “Wait, that didn’t come out right.”

  “Boo la la! It’s creeperific!” Rochelle squealed when she saw Clawdeen and Frankie approaching with their creation, a stunning goblin-green suit with silver stitches.

  “That is seriously fang-tastic,” Venus seconded as Frankie and Clawdeen held up the beautiful garment.

  “Merci boo-coup! It’s perfect,” Rochelle gushed, clapping her hands in delight. And though she longed to run her thin gray fingers against the suit and feel the fabric, she didn’t dare—not after what had happened last time.

  “Miss Flapper says the beauty of the suit lies in our own beauty. That is our talent,” Clawdeen pronounced in a startlingly serious and monotone manner.

  “Have you had a chance to join MALL yet?” Frankie demanded bluntly.

  “No, but we plan to this afternoon,” Venus poorly covered. “We’ve just been so caught up with this Mr. D’eath thing and schoolwork that we haven’t had time.”

  “Miss Flapper has an idea regarding your Mr. D’eath thing,” Frankie stated while staring Rochelle directly in the eye. “She would like us to arrange a date for the two of them.”

  “No offense to Rochelle’s pet project, but Miss Flapper is very pretty,” Venus said candidly. “She’d really want to go on a date with a bony guy suffering from depression?”

  “Miss Flapper says that one is always to start with a monster’s heart,” Clawdeen asserted authoritatively.

  “She must keep you guys really busy memorizing everything she says,” Venus grumbled sarcastically.

  Just then Miss Flapper swept into the room, bringing with her an intoxicating wave of rose perfume. “Hello again,” she said smoothly. “Have the ghouls told you of my idea?”

  “Yes, they did. And I must say, I’m most thrilled,” Rochelle exclaimed. “A date is just what Monsieur D’eath needs!”

  “But what about you? What do you need, Rochelle?” Miss Flapper asked as she leaned in, bringing her pristine features into sharper focus.

  “I do not need anything, Miss Flapper, but thank you for asking.”

  “The world is not built for us; it’s built for the normies. That is why I do hope you’ll join MALL soon.”

  “I don’t know if we’re MALL material. I mean, we can barely get our homework done and keep track of our pets,” Venus joked.

  “A monster cannot conquer the world without other monsters’ support.”

  “True, but that’s why I have these two,” Venus said uncomfortably while pointing to Rochelle and Robecca.

  Miss Flapper stared coldly at Venus, her intensity increasing exponentially by the second.

  “What pretty earrings you are wearing. Might I take a closer look?” Miss Flapper asked Venus, prompting the girl’s leaves to stand on end, though she couldn’t say why.

  “Um, of course. But they’re not very special. They are not even real gold. Actually, they might even be plastic.”

  As Miss Flapper leaned closer, all the while maintaining eye contact with Venus, a sudden burst of wetness washed over the room. Headmistress Bloodgood, accompanied by Miss Sue Nami, was fast approaching.

  “Miss Flapper, I am terribly sorry for my absence yesterday, but, you see, I left my head in the maze, and it took Miss Sue Nami ages to find it.”

  While the headmistress spoke, Venus, Rochelle, and Robecca quickly slipped out of the room, leaving Miss Flapper visibly displeased.

  dr. Clamdestine was an odd man; there was simply no way around that. After all, he had once pretended to smoke a pipe made of cheese. But on this particular day, the man was downright bizarre.

  “Effective immediately, we are no longer reading The Wonderful Wizard of Clawz. It has come to my attention that the book carries subliminal anti-monster messages, which I refuse to condone or propagate. Instead, we shall now read Normie Versus Monster, one of the most important books ever written on monster oppression,” Dr. Clamdestine stated in an uncharacteristically flat and emotionless voice.

  “Pardonnez-moi, but Normie Versus Monster is not even on the syllabus. I should know, as I carry a laminated copy of it with me at all times,” Rochelle explained seriously.

  “In order for the future generation of monsters to be successful, they must know the struggles of the past generation.”

  “Who said that?” Venus asked. “Lord Siren?”

  “No, those wise words came from our very own Sylphia Flapper,” Dr. Clamdestine replied in a detached manner.

  “Ugh, not you too,”
Venus muttered under her breath.

  “Miss Flapper sure is aces,” Lagoona Blue added as Dr. Clamdestine began passing out the new books.

  “I hope Jackson Jekyll doesn’t hear about our reading material,” groaned Venus. “He’s a normie, isn’t he?”

  Robecca shook her head in dismay as she took one of the new books.

  As soon as the bell rang, Rochelle grabbed her bag and darted for the door. Ever the overachiever, the young gargoyle was hoping to find a quiet corner to get ahead in Normie Versus Monster during Study Howl.

  “Hey, wait,” Deuce exclaimed as Rochelle dashed out of the Libury.

  Upon hearing the boy’s voice, Rochelle instantly froze. And though she thought it likely he was talking to someone else, she couldn’t help turning around. Dressed in faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt, he looked effortlessly cool.

  “Deuce,” Rochelle uttered quietly, her stomach trembling with butterflies. She hadn’t experienced such a feeling since the early days of her courtship with Garrott.

  “Do you have a minute? I kind of need to talk to someone,” Deuce said while anxiously looking around for any sign of Cleo.

  “Of course,” Rochelle said swooningly, her gray cheeks flushed.

  “But not here. It’s kind of a delicate matter.”

  “I feel I should remind you that gargoyles are prone to breaking delicate items. So if this is regarding something glass or ceramic, I suggest you ask someone else.”

  “Not that kind of delicate,” he said with a laugh. “Come on. Follow me before Cleo sees us.”

  Rochelle’s stone heart nearly leaped out of her chest at the thought of being alone with Deuce. She knew she shouldn’t be excited, but she simply couldn’t stop herself. As she followed him, her hard little feet transformed into light fluffy clouds floating across the floor. Why, she was almost dancing by the time they sat down at the fluorescent-pink skull-shaped table in the Study Howl!

  “I always forget how nice it is to actually look someone in the eyes,” Deuce said as he removed his sunglasses, showcasing his beautiful face.

  “Yes, I agree,” Rochelle gushed. “So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about? Do you and Cleo need help mounting a Scream Queen and King campaign for the Dance of the Delightfully Dead? I’m sure you guys will win; you are the incumbents, after all. I’m sorry—I’m rambling. What did you say you wanted to discuss?”

  “Did you happen to see Spectra’s article in the Gory Gazette today?”

  “About the winds of change blowing through Monster High? I must say, it was a bit too poetic for my own journalistic preferences, but yes, I did read it.”

  “She wrote something about how the students’ personalities were shifting and growing, and, well, it got me thinking. Something has felt off at Monster High lately. At first I thought it was just Cleo; she’s become really distant and preoccupied—and not with fashion or hair. Actually, she doesn’t even care about what she wears anymore, which totally blows my mind. But then I noticed other people acting weird too. And their voices—it’s like they’ve all gone flat, almost robotic. I know it sounds silly, but I can feel it in my gut. Something’s up. Anyway, I was wondering if you had noticed anything.”

  “Can I ask why you came to me with this concern? After all, you hardly know me.”

  “Gargoyles are straight shooters. You say things exactly as they are. That quality isn’t easy to find, trust me.” Deuce looked directly at her. “So, have you noticed anything?”

  “Besides your amazing green eyes?” Rochelle babbled before getting hold of herself. “I suppose people are acting weird, but we’re monsters…. Don’t we always act weird?”

  “Wise words, gargoyle, wise words.”

  Rochelle couldn’t help but blush upon hearing Deuce call her “gargoyle” in such a friendly manner. It felt like a nickname or an inside joke, proof of a connection, however tenuous, between the two of them. All the way back to the dorm, she replayed continuously in her mind the sound of him saying “gargoyle.” And though she was only remembering what it had sounded like, her cold granite skin warmed each time she heard it.

  With Deuce dominating her every thought, Garrott could not have seemed farther away. But then Rochelle spotted a zombie in the dormitory corridor, waiting just outside the Chamber of Gore and Lore. And it wasn’t just any old zombie; it was a DeadEx delivery zombie! And there was only one thing to deduce: Garrott must have sent her something! The wave of guilt she felt was sudden and stifling, squeezing every last drop of air from her lungs until she was sure they would simply crumble to dust.

  “Grrrlllll Stllll?” the zombie muttered incoherently.

  “Yes, that’s me,” Rochelle said with a guilty gulp as she signed for the package, having recognized Garrott’s beautiful penmanship.

  Overwhelmed with emotion and unable to face her roommates, Rochelle rushed down the hall to the sitting room and promptly collapsed into a puddle of tears. When a gargoyle cries, the tears simply drip off, literally pooling around the feet. And while this manner of crying protected the granite from unnecessary erosion, it could also make quite a mess.

  In an effort not to flood the room, Rochelle held her head out the window as she cried. It wasn’t the most comfortable stance while shedding tears, but it was far less messy than crying inside. Ever the levelheaded gargoyle, she thought of such things even in the midst of an emotional crisis. And though Rochelle considered her decision to hang out the window rational, Venus was more than a little shocked to find her roommate in such a peculiar position.

  “I am going to take this as a sign that you’ve been spending too much time with Mr. D’eath,” Venus announced, yanking Rochelle back into the room.

  “I wasn’t going to jump,” Rochelle explained through sniffles. “I just didn’t want to make a mess.”

  “While I commend your environmentally friendly repurposing of tears, I don’t think it’s very prudent for a creature crafted from solid stone to hang out a window,” Venus said while patting a nearby chair. “Now, sit down and tell me what’s the matter.”

  “Not to worry, I could never have fallen out,” Rochelle commented as she climbed atop a chair upholstered in mummy gauze. “Venus! Oh, Venus! I don’t wish to impose my problems on you.”

  “We’re friends now, and that’s what friends do. So, come on, spill it.”

  “I’m a terrible gargoyle! I should be thrown out of the gargoyle association and ground up into gravel!” Rochelle wailed.

  “While I totally accept that there might be a gargoyle association—since you guys love rules, whether it’s talking about them or making them up—there is no way they would ever gravel-ify you,” Venus assured her. “Now, out with it. What happened?”

  “Garrott sent me a DeadEx!” she managed to squeeze out before once again dissolving into a fit of tears.

  “Was it a letter or a card? Were you disappointed he didn’t just e-mail it to you and skip the hefty zombie carbon footprint?” Venus said. “Wait, I think I’m getting a little off topic. What was in the DeadEx?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t opened it! I feel too guilty! Garrott is sending me packages from Scaris, and what am I doing? Daydreaming about Deuce!”

  Venus grabbed the large envelope and ripped it open in one fell swoop. She pulled out a single sheet of pink paper and read it slowly to herself. “What do you want first: the good news or the bad news?” she asked Rochelle.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Okay, let’s start with the bad news. It’s better to end on a high note,” Venus said before clearing her throat theatrically. “It’s a love poem.”

  Rochelle shook her head, utterly racked with guilt.

  “But the good news is, it’s not a very good one.” “Why is that good news?” Rochelle wondered aloud.

  “Hello? Because it shows that neither one of you is perfect. You may have an itty-bitty crush on Deuce—along with half the other ghouls at Monster High—but Garrott writes really boring and derivat
ive love poems,” Venus said, walking away with the note.

  “Wait! What are you doing?”

  “Putting it in the recycling bin.”

  “But it’s a love poem from Garrott!” Rochelle protested.

  “So you’re saying you want to keep it?” Venus asked, dangling the paper in the air.

  “Yes,” Rochelle replied emphatically.

  “Okay, fine,” Venus relented. “But promise me that if you guys ever break up, you’ll recycle that piece of paper.”

  Rochelle nodded her head, oddly comforted by Venus’s peculiar words. Perhaps her pollen-potent friend was right; maybe everyone was imperfect, including Garrott. She then recalled the many times he had lost his temper after pigeons mistook him for a statue. Garrott’s intense anti-pigeon stance had caused bouts of bickering between the two of them. Rochelle found his arguing with birds very unbecoming to a gargoyle. Although the same could certainly be said for crushing on someone while engaged in a relationship with someone else. But she kept reminding herself that she had not betrayed any of the numerous gargoyle oaths she had taken. (Rather unsurprisingly, gargoyles were very fond of both writing down their rules and reciting them.)

  “Rochelle, wipe up your tears. Everything is going to be just fine,” Venus said sweetly.

  “Thank you.” Rochelle smiled, genuinely touched by her friend’s helpfulness.

  ‘I’m serious, though. You need to wipe up your tears, or we’ll get in trouble for messing up the common room,” Venus explained.

  “Of course,” Rochelle said meekly before perking up. “We should probably go find Robecca. I know she’d be disappointed if she missed sending Mr. D’eath off on his first date in the afterlife.”

  “Totally. I’ll check the room for her and then meet you at Mr. D’eath’s office,” Venus agreed. “I still can’t believe Miss Flapper wants to go on a date with him. She is way out of his league, but then again, she’s also super creepy!”