Ghoulfriends Forever

by Gitty Daneshvari

  After successfully picking the lock, Cy crept into the dusty room. On a desk in the corner, he found a well-worn black phone. After dialing a seemingly endless series of numbers, he listened to the foreign ringtone and waited.

  “Buongiorno!” a man’s voice echoed.

  “Uh, bonjeerno,” Cy replied awkwardly.

  “Who is this?” the man asked in a thick Bitealian accent.

  “My name is Cy Clops, and I am a student at Monster High in Salem, Oregon, in the United States. I was wondering if I might speak to the headmistress or headmaster.”

  “That is me, Signore Vitriola.”

  “A former teacher of yours recently arrived at our school. Perhaps you remember her—Miss Flapper?”

  “Yes…” Seniore Vitriola continued warily.

  “Well, she seems to have put the school under some sort of spell, a monster whisper….”

  “Oh no!” the man screamed loudly. “It’s spreading! Please leave me alone. Never call this number again!”

  “But, sir, this is destroying our school!”

  “I cannot help you. I closed the Accademia a year ago! I had no choice—I couldn’t stop it.”

  “You mean Miss Flapper?”

  “Please, I don’t want to discuss this. Perhaps you will have better luck with the book than I did.”

  “What book?”

  “You must find your school’s Crybrary….”

  “Its what?”

  “All monster academies have a secret room known as a Crybrary, where highly classified books are kept. The room is only to be accessed by someone with a master’s degree in Beastly Sciences. But I suppose in your case, an exception must be made.”

  “How do I find the Crybrary?”

  “It’s different for every school.”

  “Thank you, Signore Vitriola.”

  “I hope, for your sake, it is not too late,” the old man whispered before the line abruptly went dead.

  the Crybrary did not appear on any of the school maps, nor was there mention of it in any report or letter. Had it not been for the words of Signore Vitriola, they never would have known the room existed. As they later learned, the International Monster Federation insisted Crybraries remain clandestine for fear of adventurous students using the information for less-than-appropriate endeavors.

  In order to locate the elusive Crybrary, the dormies had to unearth the original floor plans for Monster High. Lucky for them, the blueprints were stored in a shed hidden within the maze. After poring over the ink-stained papers, they saw one room located behind the Absolutely Deranged Scientist Laboratory that they believed was the Crybrary. However, when they went to inspect it, they found a janitor’s closet.

  “None of these rooms look big enough to be the Crybrary!” Venus moaned after returning to the maze to once again pore over the floor plans.

  “We must keep looking,” Rochelle said calmly. “We haven’t any other choice.”

  “We could run away and join the circus,” Venus joked.

  “Ugh! The circus! They were after me for years,” Robecca said animatedly. “But Father always said no. He thought living in a tent might lead to rust.”

  Cy continued studying the floor plans long after the others had fallen asleep atop nearby hedges. Though prickly, the shrubbery was surprisingly comfortable.

  “Hey, ladies, I think I found something,” Cy said in his usual soft manner.

  The girls, who were tired both mentally and physically, did what they used to do to their parents: They rolled over and ignored him. Ever polite, Cy waited ten minutes before again trying to rouse the interest of the group.

  “Um, I think I’m onto something. Something that will help us find the Crybrary.”

  “What? Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Venus said, shooting straight off her shrub.

  “Venus is right, Cy. You really need to learn to speak up,” Robecca chided the boy as Penny shook her head at her clueless owner.

  “Of course, Robecca, whatever you say.”

  “The anticipation is weighing very heavily on me. What is your idea?” Rochelle asked while using a bristly leaf as an exfoliant on her arm. She was always looking for new ways to soften her skin.

  “Actually, I was thinking of Rochelle….”

  “Oh, you were, were you? Not that I blame you; she really is the bee’s knees. Plus, she has that great accent. And let’s be honest, everything sounds better with an accent. Deary me, what were you saying? I seem to have gone wildly off course,” Robecca rambled before averting her eyes in embarrassment.

  “Rochelle is smaller than us, smaller than the average monster….”

  “While that is technically true, I am considered above average in size in the gargoyle community,” Rochelle huffed.

  “But she manages to retain more information than the rest of us, reciting codes and guidelines off the top of her head….”

  “And?” Venus pressed Cy.

  “Don’t you see? We all assumed that the Crybrary had to be big, and we were wrong. A small space can hold just as much information, if not more.”

  “Jeez Louise, Cy! You’re a genius!” Robecca gushed.

  “I don’t know about that,” he mumbled, “but I think I might have found the room. It’s the smallest one on the plans.”

  And so the crew, dressed head to toe in black, set out from the maze in the dead of night to find the Crybrary.

  “I know I shouldn’t say this, but I really don’t care for bats,” Rochelle whispered, walking through the main corridor. “They do not appear to have a very rule-based society.”

  “You certainly do love your rules,” Venus responded before sneaking a peek at Cy and Robecca.

  “Cy, do Cyclopes ever need glasses? And if so, what do they look like? Just one big circle? Or maybe you guys prefer contact lenses? I know it’s silly, but I’m terribly curious. And so is Penny. Oh dear, Penny! Wherever did I leave her? I sure hope I wound her enough,” Robecca rambled.

  “She’s with Roux and Chewlian at the graveyard for safekeeping, remember?”

  “Oh yes, it certainly is nice to have someone around with a good memory.”

  “And to answer your question, Cyclopes’ issues with peripheral vision and depth perception aren’t really things that can be helped with glasses or contacts.”

  “Too bad,” Robecca replied.

  “Hey, guys, we’re here,” Cy uttered quietly, covering his face with his hands in an effort to protect his eye from an unusually low-flying bat.

  The fear of getting particles, insects, or occasionally even small mammals stuck in his eye had made Cy more than a bit skittish.

  “Why are we back at the laboratory?” Venus questioned.

  “Follow me,” the Cyclops said as he led the girls through the messy, vial-filled room and into the janitor’s closet.

  Cy fiddled with the sink knobs, then the broom stand, then the water main, then the light switch, but nothing happened.

  “Are you sure it was behind this room? That plan is awfully hard to read,” Robecca said comfortingly. “It’s here. I’m sure of it.” “

  Really? I’m not sure of anything anymore,” Venus said, kicking the doorjamb with her foot.

  From the ceiling came a noise similar to the sound of a plane lowering its wheels before landing. A thick metal ladder descended, stopping a mere inch above the floor.

  “I thought you said it was behind the room!” Robecca exclaimed.

  “That’s what it looked like on the plan,” Cy responded before grabbing on to the ladder and starting up it.

  He climbed into the ceiling, then a few feet across, before lowering himself into what must have been the world’s smallest library. The room was no bigger than three feet by three feet, with old leather-bound books covering every inch of the walls. Cy scanned the titles quickly (a benefit of being a Cyclops) until his eye landed on Monster Whisperer.

  “Hey, what’s going on in there?” Venus called from the janitor’s close
t.

  “Coming,” Cy responded. But when he tried to pull the volume off the shelf, he found that it was chained to the wall. He had to admit it was an effective means of preventing the usual library problems of overdue and stolen books.

  After returning to the janitor’s closet and explaining the rudimentary security system to the girls, Cy sat back and listened as they debated how to handle the situation.

  “So, who’s going in there to read the book?” Robecca asked pointedly. “Obviously, I would be more than happy to, but on several occasions my roomies have alluded to my rather short attention span, so perhaps it shouldn’t be me. But then again, I have always liked reading. I must have read Alice’s Adventures in Monsterland four times when I was younger—”

  “I think we can all agree that Robecca is out,” Venus interrupted.

  “It makes the most sense for me to go in there. I retain information better than anyone else; Cy even said as much. Plus, I am very compact and fit easily into small spaces,” Rochelle posited.

  “See, I was thinking I should go because I am sort of the group leader. Not to mention, I am pretty good at thinking outside the box, a skill this situation definitely calls for,” Venus countered.

  “I only acknowledge democratically elected leaders, and as far as I can recall, we have never held an election,” Rochelle expounded seriously.

  “You know, I didn’t want to have to say it, but I’m afraid you’ll break the ladder. Let’s not forget what happened in the office. You killed a chair.”

  Sensing the mounting tension, Cy quickly stepped in. “What about me? Perhaps it’s best I read the book. After all, I do have this really big eye.”

  “Fair enough,” Venus relented before Rochelle nodded her head.

  Cy returned ten minutes later sporting a facial expression the girls could only describe as impossible to read. Instead of immediately telling the others what he had discovered, he merely stood there, staring at the floor.

  “Please, Cy! What in the name of the mouse’s house did you find out?”

  “Breaking a monster whisperer’s spell is not easy,” the one-eyed boy mumbled.

  “Okay, we can handle not easy,” Venus replied confidently.

  “Actually it’s going to be really hard,” Cy continued.

  “We can handle really hard,” Venus replied assuredly.

  “To be totally honest, it’s near impossible,” Cy admitted.

  “Please, Cy, just tell us what is required,” Rochelle snapped, feeling more than a bit edgy from the suspense.

  “In order to break the hold, the whisperer must swallow one teaspoon of ground Fernish Bush while a recently zombified snake is wrapped around the neck.”

  “I have to admit that does sound a bit tricky,” Robecca stated honestly.

  “Wait, there’s more,” Cy said with a Mr. D’eath-worthy sigh. “It must take place at exactly midnight.”

  “Well, I see what you meant by near impossible,” Venus relented. “Unfortunately, it’s our only option.”

  Much like the bats, the foursome slept all day and worked all night in preparation for the moment of reckoning. Fortunately, some tasks proved simple, such as locating the necessary ingredients and finding a time to launch the attack on Miss Flapper. Venus happened upon both ground Fernish Bush and Burnwidth Serum in Mr. Hack’s office during a midnight sleuthing mission. And as for the occasion of the attack, there was really only one option—the Dance of the Delightfully Dead. When else could they access Miss Flapper at exactly midnight? The snake, however, proved a tad bit more complicated.

  “How are we going to, you know, do it?” Robecca muttered while staring at a thin gray-and-yellow snake recently removed from Miss Kindergrubber’s pantry. Nonpoisonous snake-venom soup was one of the teacher’s specialties.

  “I don’t know,” Cy replied. “Mr. Hack didn’t mention what to do with the serum after it was heated.”

  “We’re just going to drop the serum into the snake’s mouth until it starts looking ashen and moving slowly,” Rochelle told the others.

  “But how exactly are you planning on getting the snake to open its mouth?” Venus wondered. “Are you going to say ‘pretty please’?”

  “For your information, I thought we’d add a bit of melted cheese to the serum. Snakes, like the Scarisians, absolutely love cheese. As soon as the little thing smells the melted Camembert, he’ll open up. Trust me,” Rochelle huffed.

  “I feel like we’ve all overlooked one very important matter. How are we getting into the Dance of the Delightfully Dead unnoticed?” Robecca asked. “We are, after all, wanted monsters.”

  “I have two words for you,” Venus announced. “Drama department.”

  hidden between groves of tall and cumbersome pine trees was Salem’s oldest and most glorious cemetery—the Skelemoanian. So grand and elaborate was the Skelemoanian that it was more than a cemetery; it was a necropolis, a city of the dead, littered with towering tombs, ornately carved mausoleums, and elaborate underground crypts. It had been built centuries earlier by Skelen Moania, an ostentatious zombie who believed that in life, death, and the afterlife, one ought never hold back. Therefore, traditional understated headstones were few and far between at the Skelemoanian. Those that did exist had been worn down by years of rain and heavy foot traffic and were now mere nubs peeping through the grass.

  Shrouded in shadows both day and night, the Skelemoanian was as creepy as it was spectacular. A design flaw in Skelen Moania’s own family mausoleum had resulted in a faint but eerie whistle. Although it was merely the noise of wind passing through cracks in the marble structure, it sounded like someone whispering—or, when the wind was strong, wailing.

  On the night of the fateful Dance of the Delightfully Dead, the wind was light, creating only the faintest hiss. So feeble was the sound that it was rather annoying, like a fly buzzing in one’s ear.

  The trek from campus through the dense pine forest was as uncomfortable as it was tense. Robecca, Venus, Rochelle, and Cy not only had to navigate through branches, birds, and a wide variety of insects while dressed in werewolf costumes (lifted from the Wolfler on the Roof production), but they had to do so without being noticed. For if they were to be caught now, on the precipice of taking down Miss Flapper, all would truly be lost. There was no safety net to protect them or the town of Salem should they fail. Of this fact they were all painfully aware—none more so than Rochelle.

  As a gargoyle, Rochelle prided herself on calm, calculated thinking that allowed her to assess every possible outcome of a scenario. This was an ability she had always relished, as she believed it kept her and those around her safe. On this night, however, Rochelle would have liked nothing more than to be lost in naive optimism, heading into battle without the consequences of failure so clear in her mind. But alas, such naïveté was impossible. Rochelle was a gargoyle, a creature burdened with both a heavy body and a heavy mind.

  “Rochelle, can you try to walk a little more softly?” Venus whispered, clearly worried that the gargoyle’s gait would attract attention.

  “Zut, I am trying, but tiptoeing is not something that comes naturally to gargoyles. There is a reason we are often said to have two lead feet.”

  “Use your wings!”

  “They make even more noise!” Rochelle hissed.

  From behind Venus a large cloud of steam passed by, the product of Robecca’s frazzled nerves.

  “Deary me, I can’t seem to calm down. I’m like a bat on a hot tin roof back here!”

  “I hear singing! Quick, duck!” Venus whispered as she pulled Robecca to the ground with her.

  For once, everyone was grateful for the relentless crooning of the pumpkin heads. Dressed in their finest attire, the posse of orange-headed creatures jovially made their way through the dense woods. Once the high-pitched voices had disappeared into the night, Cy started to pick himself up off the ground, but Venus grabbed his arm and shook her head. Cy didn’t hear anything. As a matter of fact, no on
e—including Venus—heard anything. She had, however, picked up the faint smell of body odor mixed with cologne and hair product. This could mean only one thing—trolls.

  Within minutes, the sound of their craggily clawed feet marching in formation could be heard and even felt. So it was hardly a surprise when a troop of ten stomped past, but it was terribly shocking to see Miss Sue Nami among them, dressed in the same navy-and-red uniform as the others. While never their friend, she had been a reliable and stable presence during their short time at Monster High, and seeing her devoid of her normal biting individuality was nothing short of disheartening.

  By the time Rochelle, Venus, Robecca, and Cy had made it through the forest to the edge of the cemetery, they were all a frizzy-furred mess from both Robecca’s steam and the assault of tree branches they had endured. Whatever lingering illusions they held that this undertaking would be either easy or fast dissipated at the sight of the elaborate security surrounding the Skelemoanian. So impressive was the line of defense that one might have been forgiven for thinking that Gillary Clinton or some other head of state was in attendance.

  The perimeter was a literal wall of trolls, each facing outward, looking for possible agitators or enemies of the Flap.

  “Heavens to Betsy!” Robecca squealed at the sight of the trolls. “However are we going to sneak past them?”

  “We’re covered head to toe in werewolf fur. We’re more likely to be noticed sneaking in than just walking through the main entrance,” Venus assessed. “But you’re going to have to do your best to control the steam, because it’s pretty much a dead giveaway.”

  “We’d better get started,” Rochelle said, pulling a small glass jar from her bag.

  The thin gray-and-yellow snake slept peacefully in the container, totally unaware of the fate that awaited it.