Death's Academy

by Bast, Michael

  Roger’s eyes are closed, and he is lying limply in my arms.

  “Roger!” I shake him.

  He doesn’t move. I lay him on the sidewalk. His entire coat is drenched in blood.

  “Roger, come on, boy,” I say and stroke his ear. “You’re gonna be okay.” My throat starts to tighten and my eyes get hot. “Get up, Roger. Please get up.”

  I reach out to touch his face when a distant movement catches my eye. At the point where I had broken through the trees, a shadow with one gleaming eye stares back. I take a step back. A creeping hoof inches forward, and the unicorn’s form crosses into the light.

  His hulking mass pulsates with every breath. He glares at me with his one good eye for several moments until he inches another hoof forward. I look around for help, but the street is barren. Only a few glowing “closed” signs and streetlamps peer back at me. The unicorn notices my movement and takes a couple of scurrying steps forward.

  “Help!” I scream.

  The unicorn crouches down, tensing himself like a spring. He bares his jagged teeth. The nearby traffic light turns from green to yellow and a thought pops into my head. The hoodie alarm!

  I rush forward to the intersection. I skid to a stop beside the button that signals the crosswalk. The unicorn watches me with an amused look on his face. I jab the crosswalk button with my finger in the pattern that every hoodie was taught before he could walk. Dash, dash, hold, dash, hold, dash, dash, hold, hold.

  Beams of light shoot from the crossing signals on each corner and the traffic lights flash red. The unicorn and I make eye contact. His smirk transforms into a scowl. A bodiless voice speaks.

  “Death Emergency Network. Is this an emergency?”

  “Yes!” I yell.

  “Code, please.”

  “Uh, the night and the raven,” I stammer.

  A piercing siren slices through the night and begins to wail. I glance back at the unicorn, but he has disappeared into the trees. I take a deep breath and rest my forehead against the pole. My heart reverberates like a bass drum in my chest.

  “Roger!” I spin around and run to where I had left him, but Roger is nowhere to be seen. “Roger!” I glance down one side of the street and then the other. “Roger!”

  There is only a smudge of blood where I had laid him, but Roger is gone.

  Fourteen

  I’m sitting in the doorjamb of a Sickle’s coach, my feet dangling an inch or so from the ground. Sitting like this makes me feel like I am back in primary school waiting to be sent to the corner. I’m in trouble … again.

  To my surprise, the Sickles didn’t arrive on the scene first. About a dozen reporters descended on the corner of Larkspur and 45th street before any Sickle. Supposedly, no one had used the hoodie emergency signal in over a decade. They flipped on their specialized gazers and pointed them at me. I was live on the Hoodie Network. As soon as I said the word “unicorn,” they went nuts. I guess nothing boosts ratings like a unicorn sighting.

  They asked me all sorts of questions and snickered. Then someone asked me what my name was. Of course, my situation went from bad to worse as soon as they realized who my dad was. I overheard one reporter say,

  “Live on the scene with Midnight Smith, the son of the infamous Obsidian Smith of the Queen Suzanne debacle. Midnight says he’s seen unicorns! The truth? Or another attention grab from a family of fame seekers?”

  Shortly thereafter, a herd of Sickles arrived. When I used the U word again, a Sickle slapped the invisible binds on me and stuck me where I am sitting now. I pled and screamed at them to look for Roger. No one would believe me. I caused such a scene that they put a muffler on me.

  So that’s what’s happened so far. Pretty fantastic, huh?

  I notice a familiar face among the Sickles. Demien, the one that took me in for the whole chip-beast fiasco. He is talking animatedly. He and I make eye contact. He shakes his head, excuses himself from the conversation, and strides over to me.

  “You’ve been busy,” he says.

  “Mhmm-Mhmm-Mhmm!” I grumble through the muffler.

  “Can you stay calm?”

  I nod.

  “No screaming, yelling, or carrying on like a crazy kid?”

  I nod again a bit more dejectedly. Demien snaps his fingers, and I can feel the muffler loosen and then evaporate.

  “All right, kid. What really happened?” he asks.

  I sigh. “You won’t believe me anyway.”

  He shakes his head a couple of times and runs his hand through his hair.

  “Night, let’s talk about this for a moment. First, no one has seen a unicorn in over fifty years. In fact, most people believe they are extinct. Second, the last time one was ‘supposedly seen,’ it was a thousand miles north. And like I said before, it was fifty years ago.”

  “That’s not true. That lady in the cell, Pandora, saw a whole bunch not too long ago,” I argue.

  His eyebrows arch, and upon further reflection, I would have to agree that using Pandora as a witness for my defense might not be the best strategy.

  “I’m telling the truth,” I plead.

  “Night, we searched the park and found nothing. No mythical unicorns, no dog, no candy cane—nothing.”

  I kick the coach’s door and it swings open and rebounds back onto my leg. Crunch!

  “Ouch!” I exclaim.

  Demien shakes his head and pulls the door off my shin. “You have had quite the last few days, haven’t you? I saw the game earlier.”

  I thought I couldn’t feel any worse, but I was wrong.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I mumble.

  Demien eyes me up and down and folds his arms.

  “You know, you’ve created quite the fiasco,” he continues. “The Hoodie Network broadcast your unicorn rant on every station. We had mass hysteria. The Regent himself had to do a special broadcast to calm everyone down. He said that you were not mentally stable and there was nothing to worry about.”

  “That’s great,” I spit out. “Add it to my list of titles: Obsidian’s son, chipmunk killer, skull ball championship loser, and now crazy loon. When you think about it, loon isn’t the worst on the list, is it?”

  Demien actually smiles and shakes his head again.

  “Night, I don’t think you’re crazy. I just think you’re stressed out,” he says and puts a hand on my shoulder. “You sure picked the worst time to cause a scene. Everyone is leaving for the Reapless tomorrow.”

  “I swear I’m telling the truth. The unicorns know all the hoodies and halos are leaving. That’s why they’ve come. They’re trying to get something in the municipal building. You know, the Lock,” I say.

  He squints back at me, examining my eyes. “What are they trying to get?”

  “I don’t know, but he said it was hidden there.”

  “How do you—” Demien stops short and nods. He turns and points at a nearby Sickle. “Where are the kid’s parents?”

  The sickle motions toward the barricade where dozens of hoodies are standing stretching their necks to get a better view.

  “I’m sending him home. Go get them,” Demien says.

  The Sickle looks back at him quizzically. “But, sir, don’t we need to take him in?”

  “Just get his parents, will you?”

  The Sickle salutes and heads for the barricades.

  “I’m letting you off the hook, Midnight Smith,” Demien says, and the bands on my wrists dissolve. “Don’t make me regret it.”

  I watch Demien walk away, and then I hear a familiar voice.

  “Night.”

  It’s my mom.

  Fifteen

  There’s a famous ancient hoodie saying that I would have to agree sums up these last couple of days: “Life is like a toilet bowl. The crap never ends.” Okay, maybe it’s not so famous and not so ancient, but it pretty much hits the nail on the head.

  It’s been over twenty-four hours since I got home from the park. As soon as I walked through the
front door, I retreated to my bedroom and flopped onto my bed. I’m pretty sure my mom came to my room and yelled at me. I was so tired I can remember only a few choice words and phrases, like “disgrace,” “despicable,” and, my favorite, “you’re just like your father.” The last one was quite a low blow and totally unwarranted. I couldn’t muster up any type of response or defense; I just lay there and took the cannonade of verbal abuse and faded off to sleep.

  It wasn’t a very sound sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I was transported back to that clearing in the park, but instead of just two unicorns, there were dozens of them creeping out of the trees and darkness. I would try to run, but my legs felt like they had been buried in sand. Before I could get away, a claw would clamp down onto my shoulder and I would be spun around, face to face with Raindrop.

  Now for all of you shorties out there thinking that unicorns are beautiful and symbols of kindness—you’ve been brainwashed. They’re not the creatures of love that you’ve been led to believe. There’s nothing beautiful or kind about an eight-hundred-pound unicorn ripping your arms and legs off and using your body as a skipping stone.

  From the stories that I’ve read, unicorns are some of the most vicious animals that have ever walked this earth. Not only are they brutal, but they are also fascinated with taking “cute” or “sugary” items and turning them into instruments of death. What do I mean by that? I’ve heard of unicorns using ten-foot-long licorice whips as weapons. When the licorice whip wraps around the victim, it constricts until it cuts right through whatever it is wrapped around. They also use exploding gummy bears. Sounds fun, huh? How about if the bears are five pounds and laced with flesh-burning acid? They throw them like grenades and if the sticky stuff gets onto you … well, you’ll have had better days.

  So, as you can imagine, I didn’t have a pleasant sleep. Not only that, but when I woke up I found that I had a new friend clamped around my ankle. My parents decided that I couldn’t be trusted to be home alone while they were gone to the Reapless. I am now the proud owner of a moderator.

  A moderator is usually reserved for little kids during the Reapless. It’s an ankle bracelet that won’t allow you to leave your house unless it detects an emergency. If you try to leave your house and there isn’t a fire or something like that, it freezes all the muscles in your body and you become a statue. It then sends a signal to the monitors, more or less glorified babysitters, who come to pick you up and take you down to the Hopper. The Hopper is like a day care center for hoodies. Only the littlest kids stay at the Hopper during the Reapless. I haven’t had to wear a moderator for five years now.

  I tug at it and try to squirm my foot free, but they have locked that sucker on me good and tight. The only way to get it off is to know the secret release code. You have to say it out loud and it will unlock.

  I can hear footsteps climbing the staircase. I stop trying to pry the moderator off and dive back onto my bed. My door opens.

  “I know you’re awake. I heard you moving around earlier,” my mom says, throwing open my curtains. “Come on, enough of the act. We’re leaving.”

  I flip back over and fold my arms.

  “What do you want?”

  She gives me a blistering look. “Are you sure you want to speak to your mother like that before she’s gone for ten days? What if there’s an accident and I never come back? How would you like those to be the last words you say to me?”

  I roll my eyes. “If I only could be so lucky.”

  “Fine. If we aren’t going to be polite to each other, then that’s all right by me. All your meals are freezedried in the pantry. Just add some water. When Roger gets back—”

  “Roger isn’t coming back.”

  My mom stomps her foot. “When he gets back, feed him his stomach pills. He’s been having horrendous gas.”

  I look away. Hearing Roger’s name again causes a lump to form in my throat.

  “I’ve informed the Hopper of the situation. If you need anything, you can contact them. I’ve put their information on the fridge,” she says.

  I nod.

  “Is there anything else you need?” she asks.

  I walk over to the window with my back to her. “New parents.”

  My mom sighs. “I hope one day you understand why this all happened. I’m going to be honest with you, Night. Right now I don’t like you very much, either, but I will always love you. Be good.”

  I don’t answer, and after a few moments I hear her walk out of my room. I glance down at the moderator strapped to my ankle, its little red light flashing up at me, and my scowl deepens.

  Okay, so maybe I was a bit of a jerk, but come on, my parents deserve it. First, they won’t help me with the entrance exam to get into Death’s Academy. Second, they tried to prevent me from playing in the skull ball championship game (which in hindsight might have been better if I hadn’t played). Third, and this is the ringer, they trap me in the house alone for ten days with a full-on unicorn invasion about to happen.

  “Night?”

  I jump a foot off the ground and let out a scream that’s a few octaves higher than I would care to admit to.

  “Dad! I thought you left.”

  “About to,” he says and opens his mouth to say something else, then clamps it shut. He fidgets with his ring, spinning it around his finger. “Uh … ” He shuffles his foot like he’s kicking at an anthill. “I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

  “Mom already yelled at me. You can leave,” I grumble.

  He doesn’t make eye contact but frowns and yanks on his ring a couple more times. Good grief, why won’t he just leave already? I’ve been chewed out enough for a lifetime. I don’t need to hear it from the world’s most disappointing father too.

  “I wanted to talk to you about what happened a long time ago,” he says, his eyes still fixated on the floor.

  My heart flutters and I take a step toward him. “You mean about the Queen Suzanne?” I ask.

  He flinches, like the name has lashed him across the back. He runs his hand though his hair and nods. His eyes dart one way and then another, occasionally catching mine and then looking away.

  His voice starts out a whisper, just hovering above the silence between us. “I know what it feels like to not be believed. They said I was crazy and I wanted to be famous. I know what I saw. I saw them. I saw the—”

  “Obsidian!”

  My dad jolts in surprise.

  “Obsidian Smith, we are going to be late for the jump off!” Mom’s voice bellows from downstairs.

  He turns back around and motions like he is going to say something to me. I take another step toward him, my eyes pleading for him to continue.

  He blinks. “I left you a—”

  “Obsidian! So help me, if we are late …” my mom says.

  He lets out a long sigh, walks out the door, and goes down the stairs. A few moments later, I hear the car start, and I watch as they pull away.

  I feel like my head has just been dropped into the washing machine and someone turned it to “super spin.”

  I’ve got to talk to Mal.

  sixteen

  What did he say he saw?” Mal asks, sitting on my dresser with her feet dangling a few inches from the floor.

  “He didn’t say. But I’m sure he was talking about what happened with the Queen Suzanne.”

  Mal rubs her chin with the sleeve of her sweater.

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you think he was talking about?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders. “Got me. You’ll have to ask your dad about it when he—”

  “He said he left me something too,” I say and hop onto the dresser next to her. “I searched the entire house top to bottom, but I couldn’t find a thing. Do you think … hey, what’s that smell?”

  Mal ducks her head and jumps from the dresser. I take another long sniff.

  “Are you wearing perfume?” I ask.

  She walks to the o
ther side of the room and fidgets with the curtains. “My mom got it for me. I didn’t want to wear it. I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

  I grin and nod. “I know how that goes. My mom made me some baby-blue footie pajamas for my birthday last year.”

  “What? I’ve never seen them.”

  “Dang straight you’ve never seen them. I threw them in the fireplace the same day.”

  “What? Didn’t that hurt your mom’s feelings?” Mal asks, a frown on her face.

  “Uh …” I stutter. “I don’t know … they were baby blue, Mal. I mean, come on.”

  Mal folds her arms and shakes her head. “Sometimes you’re a real jerk, Midnight Smith.”

  I have to be honest, that one hurt a little bit. I’m sure you’re sitting there smugly agreeing with Mal, but you didn’t see these pajamas. They were baby blue with a white teddy bear sewn on the chest. True, the teddy bear was rolling a skull, which was kind of cool, but really? It’s hard enough being Midnight Smith without being seen in footie pajamas.

  “Mal, I need you to do something for me,” I say.

  She snorts and rolls her eyes.

  “Mal, please. I need your help.” I walk over to her and place my hand on her shoulder. She shoots me a wary glance.

  “Why do I have the feeling I’m about to be part of something I’m going to regret?”

  I make a face like she’s hurt my feelings, and I’m even able to muster up a little moistness around the eyes.

  “Give it up. I know you’re faking,” she snaps.

  “Fine. But it is really important. I would do it myself, but if I take one step out of the house it’s freeze-ville for me and a one-way ticket to the Hopper.”

  “Spit it out, Night,” she says and shrugs my hand off her shoulder.

  “I need you to be my eyes and ears. Something bad is about to go down, and if we don’t do anything about it, then we could all be in a world of hurt,” I say.

  “Is this about the unicorns?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.

  I bite my lip and give her a slight nod.