Chapter One
THAT’S ME, THE ONE with the blond, curly hair, and the cute dress with the little pink flowers on it. Sally Salamander Squibly. Yup, that’s my name. Why is it so odd, you ask? Well, it depends on your definition of odd. From a human perspective, yes, the middle name Salamander is definitely strange. And I’m sure a genealogist would have a difficult time determining the origin of the surname Squibly. That’s because I have no ancestry that human genealogy can explain. They’ve never heard of men like Bacall Bardungus Batfinger, or women like the Duchess Humaloyd Silvertongue Bonecrusher. These names are buried deep inside memories and scrolls far more ancient than anything or anyone in my household. The first humans were still living in caves when my ancestors were old. They feasted on dinosaur steaks and drank from the bloated bellies of giant mosquitoes. Classy folks, they were. Not like nowadays, where necessities such as these are easily obtained at specialty markets hidden throughout the city.
Anyway, I digress.
The people standing over me are my parents. No, I’m not kidding. The woman who looks like she should be hosting a late-night horror movie marathon is my mother, the Countess Clementine Dastardfiend. She’s a Vampire, or Vampiress, as we are taught is the politically correct term. The fact that her name begins with Countess does not imply that she comes from a noble family. It’s merely a fashionable title. Most Vampire women are Countess in this decade. At various points in history Duchess was popular. Queen made a comeback in the seventies. Lady was all the rage in the eighties, and the prissier types even adopted Princess for a while during the nineties.
Regardless of the era, however, the clothing remains unchanged. Black and purple is a favorite color combination, though purple is sometimes substituted with blue or red. Spider-web patterns, anything from silver-colored jewelry to a gown’s inlay, are extremely popular. The more modern Vampiresses are partial to leather clothing and will pounce on anyone who accuses them of wearing pleather.
Makeup is a must, or else Vampires look as pale as Zombies. And no self-respecting Vampire would ever tolerate being compared to so lowly a creature. Some dark eyeshadow, and a little glossy lipstick, is enough to separate a sophisticated Vampiress from the ghoul who only just crawled out of the grave.
The right attire, of course, also helps. Evening gowns, nothing too contemporary, are preferred. Victorian fashions aren’t as in demand as Elizabethan ones lately, but they are definitely seen more often than not in the clothing stores. Vampire women typically wear their hair long and straight, either piled high on top of their heads or allowed to hang down their slender backs. Black is the most common color they dye their hair—and despite what they tell you, all Vampires, even the men, dye their hair. Silver and white is a little trendy with the more classical Vampires, though platinum blond is seen more and more among both genders. Vampire children, in an act of rebellion, either shave their heads bald or color their hair many different colors. These angry youths tend to look as if a rainbow threw up on them.
Vampires like my mother love their social groups. They’re like school children in this regard; they have their cliques and statuses, though every one of them thinks theirs is the cool group. Only an outsider can tell the difference. The core of each group usually depends on what that particular group values the most. Some Vampires value beauty, some money, while some find social rank to be very important. Then there is the worst kind—the ones who value all of these things equally. My mother belongs to one such group. They get together once a week and basically sit around discussing how much better they are than everyone else, all the while sipping vintage blood from crystal goblets. They talk about things like when there will be a Vampire president, and how much longer before Vampires figure out a way to blot out the sun. They have blood-tasting parties, where they sample exotic blends of blood imported from around the world. They have Scary Kay parties and Pampered Banshee parties (I use the term ‘party’ loosely, as these little soirees are usually quite drab).
These Vampire women don’t sing or dance. They don’t laugh, unless at someone else’s expense. They don’t work if they can help it, and they don’t do errands or chores. This is what Vampire children are for, which I technically am. Vampires walk around with their noses so high in the air, I often wonder if their necks ache by the end of the night.
The Vampires in my school are no different. They’re the top of the totem pole. Professors fawn all over them, other kids with low self-esteem want to be like them, and they always seem to have a flock of children around, dying to appease them. They get the best grades, though how fairly these grades are earned I often wonder. They’re the most athletic, and the most feared. Most Vampires never sully their precious white hands, not only with work, but with vanquishing their enemies as well. They either find others to do it, or simply hint at the true extent of their powers, which nobody really knows. All the legends are true: they can turn into a bat, form into mist, and are extremely strong and fast. Over the years, however, Vampires have alluded to there being more to their powers than this. No one has ever witnessed them do anything else, so this could very well be a bluff. Yet, there isn’t a creature among us who has been willing to test their honesty. My mother has never demonstrated any extraordinary abilities other than the ability to tolerate my father’s poor hygiene, which we’ll get to in a minute. She always knows when it’s just about to rain, and for how long (which is something only Werewolves can typically do). She can tell real silk coffin liner from nylon faster than most, and she has a knack for knowing which part of the country you’re from, before you even utter a word. Otherwise, there is nothing special or redeeming about her. In a knockdown, all-out brawl with another Vampire, or even a Frankenstein teenager, I have a sneaking suspicion that my mother would make for the nearest crypt as fast as her spiked heels could carry her.
Now, on to my father, the shabby-dressed gentleman frothing at the jaws standing beside my mother. His name is Arathol Lycanstipe Ironfist. He is your typical Werewolf—quick tempered, irrational, extremely agile, uncivilized, unkempt, rustic, crude, and an all-around menace to society during a full moon. To me, however, he’s just my dad. He embarrasses me at every opportunity, like most parents do their children. He speaks without thinking, has awful manners, terrible posture, his clothes are out of style, he likes to do everything the hard way, solves most problems with his fists and fangs, is prone to outbursts of all types, is always mad about something, and likes his food uncooked and preferably alive. Yet, he is not without his positive traits. My father is very loyal to both family and friends. He’s very protective. He loves animals, as both companions and meals. He’s a hard worker, and he always manages to provide for his family. He doesn’t talk much, usually making his point with a meaningful grunt or growl, and he spends a great deal of time outdoors. Most of the month he looks like me, like a human being, though one who has never seen a hairbrush, shampoo, soap, water, a toothbrush, a razor, nail clippers, or a clean set of clothes. Come the full moon, however, he is both literally and figuratively a changed man.
Most Werewolves are able to control themselves when in this state, many having found productive uses for their wolf form. There’s the Werewolf wrestling matches once a month down by the lake, which is a very popular activity for all ages. These events are usually not very well organized, but we all get to see a bunch of Werewolves beat the stuffing out of each other for a couple of hours and somehow we are thoroughly entertained. The Werewolves themselves have their own wolf activities: hunting (either wildlife or each other), racing, or anything to test each other’s strength and speed.
Those who are unable to control this side of themselves are sealed off in a cave, deep in the forest, for the duration of the moon phase. These groups mostly consist of children and teenagers who haven’t mastered this ability yet. The occasional adult, however, winds up in The Vault (as the Werewolves call it), which they enter willingly. Even Werewolves are aware of how dangerous they can be when their powers go unchecked. My father lies somewhere in between. He can control his Werewolf nature for the most part, yet he’s spent plenty of nights in The Vault. This is usually after he and my mother have had some sort of nasty argument, which doesn’t occur too often.
This is the part where you ask how on earth my parents ended up together. Not only are they completely different in every way, but a marriage such as theirs is completely unheard of. The very idea is scandalous, and they had to endure many years of gossip and ridicule. Then one day, all the chatter simply stopped. The only curious thing to occur beforehand was my mother’s mysterious disappearance for a few days. When she returned, it seemed as if her and my father’s relationship had acquired all the respect they had been without all along. She never told anyone where she went or what she did. Not even me, her daughter. There was some speculation that she hired a Witch to cast an enchantment over the entire city, but most people found this to be absurd (mainly because the use of magic was banned over a hundred years ago). To this day, even my father is quick to dismiss this theory. He claims he has no recollection of where my mother had gone off to, but I suspect he’s lying. Knowing my mother, she wasn’t anywhere she should have been, and he’s covering for her.
Regardless, their marriage was now accepted by everyone, and so was the fact that my mother, a Vampire, had given birth to a Werewolf’s baby. I found out years later that everyone wondered what I would be like. Would I be more Werewolf or Vampire? Would I be a combination of both? Would I be horrifying or pathetic? I’m sure no one wondered about these things more, however, than my mother. More so than her strange and unusual baby, most people wondered why on earth a Vampire would ever marry a Werewolf. As I said before, Vampires are typically very snobbish and pretentious. Most Vampires would never let themselves be in the same room as most other creatures, much less a Werewolf. I’ve often wondered this same thing myself. My mother and father don’t exactly seem like the best of friends, but they don’t fight all the time, either. They seem very understanding and tolerant of each other—another rarity among older Vampires and Werewolves. Of course, the story of their romance wouldn’t be without theories and rumors. I’ve heard everything from my father having saved her life, to them being cursed into being together for all eternity. Perhaps my mother is really as vulnerable as I believe her to be, and she simply loves my father for his strength and protective nature. As for him, maybe he just loves her because she doesn’t treat him like a dumb brute, the way most other creatures treat Werewolves.
In the end, who cares? They’re my parents, and they both drive me insane. Oh, are you still wondering what sort of child is born from a Vampire and a Werewolf? I can answer that one for you right now: there is absolutely nothing special or exceptional about such a creature. I look and act about as human as the snot-nosed little boy who pushed me down on the sidewalk, years ago (needless to say, he was never seen nor heard from again, and I found a scrap of his clothing in my father’s shoe the following day). I’m not super strong or super fast. I can’t fly, turn invisible, swim like the dickens, or remove my body parts and switch them around. I eat normal food, which my mother loathes having to buy. I wear normal clothes, which my mother gives me money to purchase myself. I essentially have the same problems as most human kids: I don’t fit in anywhere, I strive to get good grades, I’m unsure of myself, and I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I hang out with only one person outside of school, who just so happens to be human. His name is Logan, and he knows all about my family. He rides his bike over on the weekends, and my parents pretend not to notice him. I think they’re just happy I have at least one friend in the world—even if he is human. They kindly admit him into the house when he arrives and let him see himself to my room. Normally, we just talk or listen to CDs. We’re not very exciting friends. Sometimes we read comic books, dawdle around town, or tell each other about the kids in our schools. Some of his teachers sound more monstrous than mine—and some of mine have been clinically dead for centuries.
Logan doesn’t judge me, nor is he frightened of me. He actually finds me very intriguing (his words, not mine), which I sometimes think is part of the reason why he finds my friendship worthwhile. Logan treats me like a normal kid, and I like that. I realize that I’m technically not human, and am perhaps the farthest thing from, more so than any other creature at my school. But I feel human, and that’s all that matters. I feel closer to Logan than I do my own parents. I feel as if I belong in his world, though I will never be a part of the human world until I’m old enough to leave home. Yes, as you might have suspected, the other kids at school treat me differently. They tease me, run away from me, bully me, shun me, and avoid me. I try not to let it get to me, but it’s hard. I try to give it back, taking advantage of the fact that, being what I am, no one really knows what I’m truly capable of. I think this is what keeps most of the kids away more so than anything else. I don’t get invited to birthday parties. I’m never asked to sleep over another kid’s house. I never had play dates when I was younger. Sally Salamander Squibly is essentially the biggest freak in a school full of freaks. Oh, sweet irony. How you mock me.
Considering my dual heritage, my parents didn’t know what to name me. I wasn’t more Vampire than Werewolf, or vice versa. So they gave me a human first name, and the rest my father came up with. Salamander and Squibly were two words that randomly appeared in a long string of expletives hurled by my father at some poor slob during a wrestling match one night. Afterward, he thought these words had a nice ring to them, and my mother was too bored with the whole naming process to care. So, from then on, I was Sally Salamander Squibly, and would be for the rest of my life. Yay.
I suppose I’ll give you a little background on where I go to school. Creatureton Elementary is a grand castle that overlooks a very old cemetery. I know, how cliché. Sounds more like the set of a Tim Burton movie than a real-life educational environment. The fact that we’re all descendants of monsters only makes it more nauseating. The castle is located on the outskirts of the city, so it generally goes unnoticed. There are no humans buried in the cemetery, so there are no departed loved ones for humans to visit. It helps that the area is bewitched to discourage humans from coming too close, but that doesn’t stop some of the more adventurous, and spell-resistant, teenagers from daring each other to approach the castle. A brief glimpse into my world, either a Zombie child staggering quickly to class, or a Mummy girl braiding her loose wrap on the playground, and these humans usually flee screaming—too afraid to ever recount what they saw once they return home. There is a plus to these occasional incidents; human society is often gifted with a new horror movie or scary book idea, but more often than not, a new patient at the psychiatric hospital.
Hollywood would have you believe that there is only one representative for each monster type. This is where the humans get such classic films like Dracula, The Wolfman, and The Creature from the Black Lagoon. The truth, however, is that these monsters are each an individual species. There are many members of each race, and their numbers are spread throughout the globe. The idea behind combining the different species into one school is to generate a universal understanding of each other, as well as ourselves, and promote acceptance, tolerance, and communication between the races (of course, I’m quoting all this from the student handbook). We are taught that we are each a member of a whole community, and not a separate entity. While I do appreciate this concept, it’s not very realistic. We are each very different, from our lifestyles to our individual needs. No one understands this better than me. Perhaps this is why I take the greatest exception to the concept upon which my entire school was founded. We don’t merely take classes to learn how to be better Faeries and Merfolk, but to learn about the other races so that we are as fluent in their culture and customs as they are. Where does that leave me, the abomination? Nowhere, that’s where. Or everywhere, stuck in the middle, or somewhere on the outside. Again, it’s a matter of perspective.
Currently, I’m in the eighth grade. One more year and it’s off to high school. Years ago, in order to keep up with the changing times, the powers that be decided to remodel their entire education system after a human one. They studied the basic structure and methods of teaching and came to the conclusion that the human way was suitable for teaching their own children. Personally, I think monsters secretly admire humans but are too proud to admit it. Humans manage to persevere and create without the help of special skills and abilities. They may not have the exceptional strength and powers of a monster, but they are still capable of great things. Perhaps this is why I identify with them the most, in addition to the fact that I am most like them physically.
What sort of careers do monsters go on to have after they graduate? Surprisingly, there are many fields in which a young monster can make an honest living. After all, monster society is a functioning society, and for any system to run efficiently, vital components are required. Aside from the many civil jobs available, which provide essential services to the community, there is a monster government that is broken into many different departments. Most of these are very similar to a human government, save for a few that are unique to monster society. The Department of Human Affairs monitors and studies human culture and events. It is important for monsters to be cognizant of humanity’s evolving society so that we may evolve with them. The Department of Monster Reform rehabilitates those who have either succumbed to their primal (and oftentimes, savage) natures or are discovered in a primitive environment and thus require educating in the ways of civilized monster society. There is a branch of this department called the Office of Monster Exploration, which seeks out these creatures in exotic and remote locations. This is how monsters like the Chupacabra, and the Loch Ness Monster were first discovered. Of course, many monsters remain within the education system after they graduate and become professors.
Some of the less ambitious folk go on to designing Halloween costumes and makeup kits for human children, or even toys. Others get into the entertainment industry and write books and screenplays or play cameo roles in TV shows about paranormal investigations. Still, others hire themselves out as consultants for movie sets and performance theaters. Who better to choreograph a Zombie attack properly, or describe the behavior of a Scandinavian Werewolf during mating season, than an actual representative of that species?
Tourist attractions do very well. This includes Ghost Tours of historical sites, theme parks, and haunted houses. Or maybe you’d like to report the news and the daily goings-on in your area. If so, there’s always a journalist position at the Ghoulie Gazette. For the more financially savvy monster there are various fields of business in which to go into, such as retail (monsters love to shop), the food industry (monsters love to eat), and transportation (monsters love to travel).
This is where you ask how these monsters are able to interact with humans without frightening them into a coma because of their unsettling appearances. All monsters are born with a natural ability called obfuscation. They can basically disguise themselves as human or appear virtually invisible in any situation involving human beings. When a human looks at a monster who is obfuscated, they see a normal looking man or woman, even if that person really has horns, a tail, or fangs. Of course, over the years, there have been many slips and accidents regarding those who forgot to obfuscate at the appropriate time, the result of which is more scary movies and books, urban legends, and new patients at the psychiatric hospital. Essentially, however, obfuscation has been a very successful means for a monster to have a prosperous existence among humans without fear of consequence. Me, I’ve never had to obfuscate. I can do it, but the best I can pull off is looking like another human being. A completely pointless talent, I might add. If only I could obfuscate to look like a monster, I might actually entertain the idea for a moment or two. I must have inherited my mother’s pride, however, because the more I think about it, the more the idea of doing so sounds both humiliating and cowardly, despite the fact that I technically have nothing against my monster cousins. I may have a difficult time accepting myself the way I am, but I’m the only me I’ve got. I might as well make the best of it. Some days, I actually manage to do so. Others, I’d kill for a nice set of bat wings, or a sleek coat of fur.
There are many different kinds of students with whom I share Creatureton Elementary, each one as strange as the next. I’ve already told you about the Vampires and Werewolves. Other than a young Vampire’s heightened resistance to sunlight, the child versions of these creatures aren’t much different from the adults. They are perhaps the most cliquey, and the unofficial leaders of school society. The Vampires are good at intimidating both students and professors alike with their cunning and intelligence, while the Werewolves are adept at performing this same trivial feat with merely their brawn and toothy sneers.
The Merfolk are an aquatic race of humanoid creatures—the best swimmers in the school, as you can imagine, and extremely competitive. They hate that the Werewolves are almost as fast as them in the water and take every opportunity to challenge them to a race, either at the lake or the school pool. They have green, scaly flesh, like a reptile, gills on either side of their neck, and big, black fisheyes. Their fingers and toes are webbed, and they’re always dripping water from somewhere on their body. The janitors are constantly mopping up after a group of Merfolk who just meandered down the hallway. They only ever wear bathing suits, because of their moist skin, and they have no hair. Of all the creatures at Creatureton Elementary, they are perhaps the strangest looking. I just find them annoying.
Then there’s the Frankensteins. No one knows what they’re really called, but that’s what everyone calls them. The name comes from the very first creature of this sort, who was named after the scientist who built him. Yes, just like in the book penned by Mary Shelley, and its plethora of movie adaptations. They’re rumored to be the creations of a family of scientists who locked themselves away somewhere, hundreds of years ago, in desperate pursuit of creating the ultimate human being. Their methods were crude and primitive (their modern kin have obviously never heard of gene splicing), and their quest for perfection has led to a whole race of monsters in need of special care and attention. Frankensteins’ minds are a bit slow. They don’t talk much, and they’re actually very boring, but occasionally one or two comes along with a morsel of personality that the whole school finds endearing. Right now, we have about three Frankenstein students who fit this description. I’m friends with none of them. Apparently, even monsters as socially inept as semi-charming Frankensteins have an easier time making friends than I do.
Faeries are another misunderstood race. Mind you, there are no “Tinker Bell” types floating around on a pair of pretty wings, with clean, shiny faces, and magic wands dripping with Pixie dust. No, these Faeries are Trolls and Goblins, with warty, gray skin like an elephant’s, huge, ugly heads, floppy ears, horns, the occasional tail, and sharp, wide teeth. They are tall or short, fat or skinny, with big hands and feet, and are completely revolting to look at. The whole Tinker Bell image derived from a Faerie’s preference to look this way around other students. Even monsters like them have to obfuscate to become more visually appealing to other monsters—go figure. Despite how frightening they may appear naturally, Faeries are normally shy and self-conscious. They don’t like making others feel uncomfortable. Their personalities are very much like the Frankensteins, and both of these types tend to sit with each other in the lunchroom.
Ghosts are an interesting bunch. Being former humans, they take the longest time to adjust to monster society. They don’t have parents or guardians to guide them and rely completely on the compassion and knowledge of their professors. Since humans perish at all ages, every new Ghost is a ‘child,’ as far as the educational system is concerned. In addition to their regular classes, Ghosts must learn about their community from a very awkward perspective. Some monsters make entire careers out of counseling the newly disembodied, and rarely do Ghosts go on to become incredibly productive members of society—human or monster. They are confused most of the time and remain that way for the duration of their eternal existence. Ghosts are extremely stubborn and nostalgic, sometimes taking centuries to accept that they’re even dead, and are generally pitied and looked down upon by other monsters. Out of all the monsters at school, they make me the most uncomfortable, and I can’t say exactly why.
The Invisibles can be both the most entertaining and irritating group of monsters in the entire school. These students are required to wear uniforms so that the professors know where they are at all times, but of course, there are many Invisibles who choose to go without them. This allows them to pull all kinds of pranks on both professors and students alike. When you’re not the butt of one of their jokes, they are, for the most part, hysterical, since their favorite targets are the professors. When you’re the victim, however, it’s likely to be the most humiliating experience of your life. I have been the victim a total of fifty-seven times so far in the last two years. Why? Probably because I’m so different, and therefore, vulnerable. Personally, I think it’s because I don’t belong to any social group, so there’s no one to stick up for me or defend me. Jerks.
Zombies are the most high-maintenance of all the monsters, since their body parts are always falling off, and at the most inconvenient of times. Then it becomes a matter of locating these parts and reattaching them, which never seems to work. Thread, duct tape, staples, rubber cement, soldering iron, nails, glue; they have yet to invent an adhesive that can keep these monsters together for very long. They’re slow-moving, their speech is poor, and they’re always hungry. Don’t even make me tell you what they eat. They never change their clothes, a habit that is silently accepted as “their way,” and they smell like the butt of a sick rhinoceros. After a while, you get accustomed to it, but it generally takes a very long time. I haven’t reached that point yet.
Last but not least are the Mummies. They rival the Vampires for conceitedness. Most are descendants of royalty and come from foreign lands that I’ll likely never visit. They wear big, gaudy, gold jewelry, and their wraps generally stick to everything they touch. I mean, this stuff gets everywhere. Scraps of white linen are always showing up in the least likely of places—food, books, hair, you name it. The younger Mummies are terrible at keeping their bodies wrapped, resulting in eerie glimpses of their skin. Let’s put it this way, there’s a reason why these creatures are wrapped in the first place. One of the only redeeming things about Mummies is that the Invisibles love to rip off chunks of their wraps to use as toilet paper, which the Mummies really hate.
Back to me and my parents, and what we we’re doing at the very beginning of the story. At this particular moment, I had reached the end of my patience during an argument regarding where I would go to college after high school. I realize that college is over four years away, but I like to plan very far in advance for most things (I can already tell you what I’m wearing to school every day for the next three months). My parents would like me to go to a monster university in Romania and study Dragons, yet I would like to go to a human school with Logan.
“I don’t see why you’re both making such a big deal out of this,” I yelled. “It’s not as if I can do any of the things that the other monster kids are planning to do after college anyway.”
“But you can still be a contributor to monster society as a humble scholar,” my mother calmly explained. “This is much more than any of those other brats will ever accomplish.”
“Whatever your mother just said,” my father gruffly added.
My mother went on. “I realize that studying Dragons isn’t as glamorous as, what do human children aspire to do again? Oh yes, play in musical groups, act in movies, and…become princesses, or whatever. Yet, the experience can be as enriching as any of these other careers. How many monsters in our family have ever been professors? Or how many have authored anything other than a flimsy movie script or penny dreadful? You could pen tomes and volumes on a subject that few know anything about. Think of it, Dragons! I’m sure your friend Hogan would be impressed.”
“Logan,” I corrected.
“Whatever,” scoffed my mother.
“Dad!”
“Your mother’s right.”
“You don’t have a leg to stand on in this matter,” my mother assured me, “and you’re not even a Zombie. Our word is final. After you graduate college, you are free to do whatever and go wherever you wish. Until then, you will do as we say. No child of mine is going to a human university and fraternizing with those barbarians.”
“This is more about what your friends think of you,” I accused, “than about me having a fulfilling life, isn’t it?”
“How dare you!” my mother steamed. “I have made a valid argument against your feeble dreams of pursuing a human education, which is more than I can say for you. Your only argument is that you don’t fit in, and that the other kids are mean to you. Well, boo-hoo, my dear. Your physical flaws and imperfections notwithstanding, you’re still a monster, so you had better start acting like one.”
My mother walked over to the living room table and retrieved her copy of the Vampire novel Coagulated Love: The Spoiling of a Romance, which I knew meant that the conversation was over.
For a moment, my father just stood there, as if unsure of where he was supposed to go or what he should do. Eventually, he resigned to doing what he normally does and went outside.
“Dad!” I called after him.
“Grrrrpphhhrrr,” he replied. “Your mother’s right.”
“Where are you going?” I asked, as he closed the door behind him.
“He’s going to relieve himself,” my mother said. “You know how the complexity of modern plumbing frightens him. As for you, young lady, I suggest you go to your room and think long and hard about our discussion. Hopefully, you’ll come to the realization that mother knows best.”
“Are you in for the rest of the day?” I asked.
“Well, darling, I’m going to read my book for a little while, and then go to sleep. When I awake this evening, I have my tarot card poker game with the ladies.”
“I don’t understand why you play that silly game,” I told her. “You can always predict who’s going to win…literally.”
“It’s more about the conversation during the game, my dear, than the actual game itself. Despite its foreseeable nature, however, it does tend to surprise us at times. Last week, Elvira got a full house and three people died.”
“I’ll be in my room studying,” I muttered, heading for my bedroom. “I think there’s going to be a pop-quiz in Ouija Etiquette & Ethics tomorrow, and last time I almost failed.”
“Hopefully, you’ll do better than you did on your Cryptids of the Modern World test,” my mother mumbled.
“I get Yetis and Sasquatch confused sometimes, so sue me,” I fired back. “Everyone makes that mistake.”
“Remember what I said!” my mother called out to me from behind her open book.
I closed the door behind me and sealed myself off from the world—at least for a little while.
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