“Look!” shouted Mr. Spider-Eyes, pointing to the sky.
High in the air, Franz Dietrich Wolfbark was riding on the back of a ferocious-looking gargoyle. He held up a golden, unlit torch. From across the street atop Goblin Hill, a goblin band was trying to play a song of triumph for him, but their instruments were completely out of tune and none of them played very well. Everyone covered their ears and tried to imagine something much better playing.
The gargoyle landed and Mr. Wolfbark hopped off. The students recoiled at his sunken, skeletal face and drab gray suit; but then he held up the Golden Torch, and as it shimmered in the sunlight, the crowd cheered and whistled. The gargoyle stepped in front of Wolfbark and bowed, basking in the applause. Mr. Wolfbark hit the gargoyle on the head with the Golden Torch.
“Ouchers!” yelped the gargoyle.
“Stop hogging the spotlight, filthy gargoyle!” Mr. Wolfbark barked. “Fly back to your perch.”
The gargoyle slumped over and muttered, “I hate my life.” Then he flew back to his perch atop Petrified Pavilion.
“Good afternoon, students of Scary School. I am Franz Dietrich Wolfbark, the chairman of this year’s Ghoul Games.”
Mr. Wolfbark paused as if expecting more applause, but nobody clapped because they were sick of doing it by that point.
Wolfbark continued, “Yes, well, to explain how this works, once the Golden Torch is lit, one lucky student will carry it across the yard to our very special guest . . . the one . . . the only . . . Frank N. Stein!”
At that moment, a donut-shaped car sputtered its way down the street and pulled onto the side curb. The door opened, and a short man in a button-down shirt and high-waisted trousers stepped out. It was the closest thing he had in his closet to a jogging suit. He was pudgy and middle-aged, with thick glasses and a balding head of frizzy brown hair.
“Hello, children!” the man said. “My name is Frank N. Stein. I own Frank N. Stein’s Donut Shop on the other side of town. You’ve probably never seen it. It’s in a terrible location next to an abandoned gas station.”
The students were all getting anxious and starting to grumble.
“Hey!” exclaimed Ramon. “Where’s Frankenstein? I thought we were going to see the Frankenstein monster!”
“Such a smart kid!” proclaimed Frank N. Stein. “But if you’d actually read the book Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, you would know that Frankenstein is not the name of the monster, it’s the name of the monster’s creator, Dr. Frankenstein. The monster is referred to simply as ‘the monster.’ Mary Shelley was not good with names.”
“Aaaaw phooey!” all the kids groaned in frustration, realizing they weren’t going to get to see the real Frankenstein monster.
“But,” continued Frank N. Stein, “the good news is that the original Dr. Frankenstein was in fact a distant relative of mine. He left me the secret instructions on how to make a patented Frankenstein monster, so I spent last weekend digging up graves, sewing together old body parts, and bringing an abomination of nature to life. And what do you know, it worked! I made a patented Frankenstein monster just for you! I named it Murray.”
All the kids cheered, “Yaaaaay! Where is it?”
“Where is it? What a great question! Who knows? As soon as it came to life, it kicked me in the groin and ran off. I’m pretty sure it’s been trudging through nearby villages wreaking havoc.”
Mr. Wolfbark stepped in. “Isn’t he great, folks? Now, normally we would have each student fight a troll to the death to determine who would carry the torch to the amazing Frank N. Stein over here, but unfortunately you humans are too weak for it to be a fair fight, so instead we chose the student with the highest grades. That student is . . .”
From atop Goblin Hill, a goblin played a drum roll.
“Cindy Chan. Congratulations.”
Everyone was silent except for one burst of clapping and cheering from Charles Nukid. Nobody else in the school knew who Cindy Chan was. Aside from Charles, all the other kids in her class had been eaten by Dr. Dragonbreath, and she never dared even look at anyone else in the school for fear of breaking Dr. Dragonbreath’s Rule Number Three.
Cindy Chan managed a slight smile as she stepped forward and was handed the Golden Torch by Mr. Wolfbark.
“Hold the torch skyward, Cindy,” whispered Wolfbark.
As she did so, Dr. Dragonbreath swooped over the crowd and blew a jet of fire across the yard, officially lighting the Golden Torch.
Everyone cheered.
“Now Cindy,” whispered Wolfbark, “bring the torch over to Frank N. Stein so we can get this over with.”
“Yes, sir,” said Cindy. “I’ll twy my best.” Cindy carefully began walking, making sure she didn’t ruin the moment by tripping and dropping the torch.
That was when the ground started shaking. In the distance, a rumbling was heard that became louder and louder. Everyone was getting scared and looking around nervously. Soon, the great rumbling seemed right on top of them, and the cause of the rumbling was revealed. . . .
It was a mob of people. They were carrying torches, raising pitchforks, screaming, “Kill the monster! Kill the monster!”
Ahead of the mob, Frank N. Stein’s monster was running for its life, trying its best to move quickly despite having legs of different sizes, a torso that was rotted away, and arms it had no control over. They were flailing about and continuously hitting the monster in the face.
Cindy was just thirty feet away from Frank N. Stein when the monster charged past her, holding something to its ear, followed closely by the angry mob still chanting, “Kill the monster!”
Frank N. Stein stepped in front of the mob, bringing everyone to halt.
“Stop this!” demanded Frank N. Stein. “This is my monster. I made it. What’s all this fuss about?”
“It’s hideous!” shouted a villager.
“Okay, okay, it’s not as pretty as a jelly donut, but is being ugly such a crime?”
“Yes!” shouted Lindsey from the crowd of students.
“Feh! Then I should have been locked up ages ago!” replied Frank N. Stein, to waves of laughter.
Another villager piped up, “It somehow got ahold of a cell phone and goes into our movie theaters and talks straight through every movie!”
“Is that true, Murray?” asked Frank N. Stein.
The monster did not respond because it was busy talking on its cell phone.
“Okay,” said Frank N. Stein, “that’s just plain rude. Go ahead and kill it. I’ll make one with better manners next time.”
Frank N. Stein stepped out of the way, and the chase was back on. The monster ran for its life (while still talking on the phone) as the angry villagers followed behind.
Unfortunately, one of the villagers who didn’t have a torch grabbed the Golden Torch out of Cindy’s hand as they ran by. With all the commotion, nobody noticed the Golden Torch was missing from Cindy’s hand until the mob was far in the distance.
“Where did the Golden Torch go?” exclaimed a furious Mr. Wolfbark.
“One . . . one . . . one of the viwagers took it,” squeaked Cindy. “I’m vewy, vewy sowwy.”
“Well, that’s just great,” said Wolfbark. “Why do I even try to do anything nice for you humans when you consistently mess everything up? That’s it. There will be no torch running this year.”
“Aaaaw,” moaned the crowd.
“Don’t aaaaw me! I have no human feelings of pity. This event is over! Useless humans, this is probably the last time you’ll see me before the start of the Ghoul Games this spring. The monsters all over the world are going to be terribly upset that they didn’t get to run with the Golden Torch and will no doubt take out their anger on all of you during the Ghoul Games. So remember, no matter how much you practice, you stand no chance of beating the monsters from the other schools and you will be eaten as soon as you lose. I advise you to make the most of your final days.”
Jerry the gargoyle flew over to Mr. Wolfbark, who
climbed on top of his back. They lifted off into the sky without even saying good-bye.
Frank N. Stein was still standing there, looking quite saddened. “Welp, I guess I trained all year for nothing. I suppose I’ll go home and feed my cat. If she doesn’t get fed by four o’clock she pees everywhere. Here, take these flyers for my donut shop and drop in sometime.”
Every student took a flyer that read, “FRANK N. STEIN’S DONUT SHOP: CHEWY, DELICIOUS DONUTS AND HORRIBLE ABOMINATIONS OF NATURE MADE FRESH DAILY.”
As Mr. Wolfbark flew off on the gargoyle, and Frank N. Stein’s donut car sputtered away, and the kids walked back to class, the goblin band played a terrible song that sounded like a herd of elephants drowning in a tar pit.
Frank (not Frank N. Stein, but the Frank that is pronounced “Rachel”) said to Petunia, “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to get eaten by a monster at the Ghoul Games so I wouldn’t have to see scenes like this ever again.”
Chapter Nine
The Terrifying Mr. Turtlesnaps
First off, let’s make something clear: his name is pronounced “Mr. Turtle-Snaps” not “Mr. Turtles-Naps.” Second, he’s not a turtle, he’s a giant land tortoise, and don’t you forget it. There’s a huge difference. For one, unlike turtles, tortoises live entirely above water, only wading into streams to clean themselves or to drink. In fact, they could drown in a deep or swift current. Turtles love the water.
On a spring morning last year, Mr. Turtlesnaps had an interview with Principal Headcrusher to become a teacher at Scary School.
He showed up fifteen minutes late and crawled slowly into the principal’s office. With great effort, he hoisted himself up on his hind legs and plopped down in a chair.
“You’re late,” said Principal Headcrusher.
Mr. Turtlesnaps answered in a soft voice that evoked ancient wisdom. “Sorry, but you try being on time when your top speed is one mile per hour on a slick surface.”
“Normally, I would crush a teacher’s head for being so late,” warned Principal Headcrusher, raising her hands and making a crushing gesture with her enormous fists.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mr. Turtlesnaps replied.
“What brings you to Scary School, Mr. Turtlesnaps?”
“I got fired from Animal School.”
“What for?”
“Being late too much.”
“And why won’t that happen if you work here?”
“Scary School is much closer to my home. I live right across the street.”
“Across the street? But there are no houses across the street.”
“I know. I live on top of Goblin Hill and spend most of my time lying on a flat rock that gets nice and hot. Me oh my, I do love that rock.”
“I suppose that makes sense. But to the point: you may have heard that our science teacher, Mr. Acidbath, suffered a terrible Fear Gas accident during one of his classes and will be recovering from that mishap for the better part of his life. We’re looking for someone to fill in for him for the next fifty years or so.”
“Sounds tuuuurtle-iffic,” said Mr. Turtlesnaps, chuckling to himself.
Principal Headcrusher didn’t get the joke and went on. “Just what makes you qualified to teach science?” she probed.
“I lived on the Galápagos Islands nearly all of my life. Back when I was a young tortoise of seventy-five, a scientist named Darwin came and lived with us for a spell. We became friends and when he passed on, he left me all his books on science. I’m a bit of a slow reader, but I spent the next sixty years reading all the books, and when I finished reading one, I immediately ate the book to make sure I had fully digested the material.”
“Impressive. Well, I have no doubts about your scientific expertise, but I’m not sure you would fit in at this school.”
“Why not?”
“I think you’re perfectly suited for Animal School, but I just don’t see what could possibly be scary about a turtle.”
“Tortoise,” he interjected. “And don’t you forget it.”
“Whatever you are, you seem to be kind, slow, and quite adorable in an odd sort of way.”
“You’re saying I need to be scarier in order to teach here?”
“Yes. Studies have shown that the more scared children are, the better they learn. After all, what could be better motivation to study than knowing your teacher will tear your arms off if you answer a question wrong? Parents pay good money for their children to come here and be scared out of their wits at all times. If every so often we lose one of our students, well, as your friend must have taught you, it’s survival of the fittest.”
“He didn’t teach me that. I taught him.”
“Be that as it may, I just don’t see you fitting in here,” said Principal Headcrusher, chuckling to herself.
“Hmm . . .” Mr. Turtlesnaps lowered his head and scratched his noggin with his stumpy foot, then suddenly he sprang up and yelled, “Boo!”
Principal Headcrusher didn’t flinch one bit.
“Okay, I guess you’re right,” muttered Mr. Turtlesnaps, and he quickly drew his arms and legs inside his shell and plopped down onto the floor with a thud. Then he popped his arms and legs back out and slowly crawled toward the door.
But before he got there, he stopped, seemed to think of something, and slowly curled his head around like a question mark toward Principal Headcrusher.
“Tell me something,” he said. “Do you think millions of folks dying is scary?”
“Yes, of course,” replied Principal Headcrusher.
“What about tiny, invisible organisms that eat you alive from the inside?”
“That’s very scary, too.”
“What about all the fish and beautiful creatures in the sea suddenly disappearing?”
“Stop it. You really are starting to scare me now.”
“Well, well.” Mr. Turtlesnaps smiled. “All I’m telling you are facts of science. Science shows us that climate change is causing the polar ice caps to melt, which will lead to millions of folks dying in floods, hurricanes, and droughts. Science also shows us that all the tiny bacteria and viruses are growing stronger and evolving faster than we can come up with cures, and all the toxic sewage we’re dumping into the ocean is destroying coral reefs and all the other sea life we love so much. So just because I’m not scary myself, that doesn’t mean the class I teach won’t be scary.”
Principal Headcrusher was speechless.
Mr. Turtlesnaps turned his head around and began to crawl out again.
“Wait!” yelled Principal Headcrusher. “I hope I don’t regret this, but . . . you’re hired.”
“Well, thank you,” he said. “I have always believed that the changes happening in the world are what kids should be afraid of, not all these vampires, werewolves, and other creepies running around.”
“Just one word of warning,” said Principal Headcrusher as she opened the door for him. “Nothing irks me more than tardiness. If you are late for just one of your classes, I will squish your head like a grape, and then I will fire you!”
“Agreed,” said Mr. Turtlesnaps with a smile.
On Mr. Turtlesnaps’s first day, he crawled into his classroom twenty minutes late. Principal Headcrusher was there waiting for him.
“I warned you,” she said, seething, “and now you’re going to get it!”
She reached out to squish Mr. Turtlesnaps’s head, but when she opened her fist, there was nothing inside. Usually there was a gooey mess. She realized Mr. Turtlesnaps had drawn his head inside his shell.
“You’re fired!” she shouted into his shell.
“I don’t think so!” his voice echoed back to her. “You said you had to crush my head first and then fire me. So until you crush my head, I still work here!”
“I suppose you’re right. You got very lucky.”
“Would you call it luck that I’ve lived to be two hundred and fifty years old with maniacs like you running around? It’s survival of the fittest, my lady. Sur
vival of the fittest!”
Chapter Ten
The Best Lunch Ever
You probably think lunch at Scary School is a grotesque buffet of gross stuff like worms and maggots and gruel and guts.
If that’s what you think, then you are wrong. In fact, you couldn’t be more wrong.
Lunch at Scary School is amazing. I mean, it’s ridiculously good. Can you guess why? Okay, go ahead, I’ll read your mind. . . .
Nope. That’s not it. I’ll just tell you, or we could be here all day. The reason is because every lunch a student eats at Scary School may very well be his or her last meal. Imagine what you would choose if you could eat anything in the world for your last meal—that’s how good lunch is at Scary School.
There is no lunch bell. Everyday at noon sharp, Mrs. T, the T. rex in a blue dress, gets hungry and she lets out an earthshaking roar, causing everyone for miles to cover their ears. At that point, she either eats whatever kid is still stuck in detention, or she goes on a hunt in Scary Forest, but more about that later.
A couple months into the school year, autumn had slowly crept into the surroundings. The trees had turned deep shades of orange and red, reminding everyone that Halloween was fast approaching. On this day, right after Mrs. T’s lunch roar, all the classes lined up together at the lunch hall and waited to be seated by the zombie waiters. The newly renovated lunch hall had just reopened and it looked like the inside of the fanciest restaurant you’ve ever seen.
The ceiling was at least thirty feet tall, with enormous candlelit chandeliers hanging down over each class’s table. To promote school unity for the Ghoul Games, every class now sat together at their own big table. Every grade, third through sixth, had two classes of thirty kids to start off the year, so in total there were eight round tables, which seated thirty kids each.
Ms. Fang’s table was the only one that had each seat occupied. Every other table had at least two or three empty chairs due to students who had made an early exit from their state of being. Dr. Dragonbreath’s table had only poor Charles Nukid and Cindy Chan, sitting all by themselves.
Scary School Page 5
