by Green Dc
Marathon yanked a cord. The curtain lurched open, unveiling a row of dangling human dummies, ropes tied around their necks and ankles.
‘Form groups,’ Marathon shouted. ‘Take turns hitting these dummies until they are destroyed!’
‘We shall be a group,’ said Scarab. ‘Do you desire the first attempt, Swamp Boy?’
‘I guess.’ I shrugged and jogged towards a dummy. ‘Move it!’ Marathon Mutant barked.
Friendly Viethe distracted me by lunging at his dummy with his bone claws extended. The dummy tore open, spilling guts of stone and stuffing.
‘Splendid!’ Marathon Mutant clapped.
I shoulder-charged my dummy. It bent backwards a few centimetres. My shoulder cracked sharply. I sucked a ragged, canvas-infused breath. The dummy bounced back, hurling me on my weedy backside.
‘Not so splendid.’
Halfway through a groan, I glanced up to see Zorg diving over my head. The zombie clung to the dummy, his yellowed teeth tearing out chunks. ‘Die, dummy hooman!’ he screamed. ‘Dieee!’
‘Perhaps you should climb down now, Zorg,’ said Scarab in a kindly voice. When the zombie let go, she grabbed the dummy’s neck rope and jerked sharply, snapping the rope in half. With a second wrench, she tore the dummy’s foot rope free.
‘Catch, friend Stoker.’ Scarab underarmed the dummy thirty metres, as if it was stuffed with feathers rather than rocks. The vampire caught the rock-filled figure with one hand, bent it over his knee and theatrically fake-slurped from its neck.
‘Humorous.’ Marathon Mutant sighed. ‘Not.’
Stoker tossed the dummy at the distant roof.
Twin spider-webs fired, wrenching the dummy back to the ground. Bruce pounced. The fake human spun at a blurring speed between his legs. Within seconds, the dummy was wrapped tight in a web cocoon. ‘Mmm, take-away!’
‘Show-off,’ said Stoker.
‘Says the Mohawked dead dude in a dinner suit,’ chortled Bruce.
‘How did you guys do that?’ I asked, stunned.
The vampire’s cold eyes smiled.
Gort Klusk strutted towards the final dummy. ‘I’ve been achin’ to test my enhanced bod.’ The cyborg goblin seized the dummy by its hands and wrenched his arms wide. The dummy ripped in half, raining artificial guts.
Zorg muttered, ‘Zcarab could be doing that with one hand.’
‘It’s question time.’ Doctor Combo’s mouths smiled simultaneously. ‘Ask me anything about comparative monster biology.’
I raised my hand.
‘Yes, PT?’
I cleared my throat. ‘How can Scarab and Stoker be so strong? They’re no bigger than me. Do they do lots of push-ups?’
Doctor Combo belly-laughed, jiggling his tentacles. ‘Ha, ha. Funny question, though a fair one. During the thousands of years your friend Scarab was mummified and asleep, nuclear apoptosis converted her cells: first to shards of calcium and then to a type of sandstone stronger than granite. Her alchemical bandages direct the energy created by this process inwards, so there is no waste, meaning Scarab doesn’t require air or food. In effect, she is comprehensively metabolising herself.’
‘If Scarab is made of rock, how can she move?’
‘Very stiffly, I would imagine! Ha, ha,’ Combo joked, causing Scarab to slide half under her desk with embarrassment. ‘Seriously, I understand mummy joints are sand-like, so she can walk and talk. And punch! Ha, ha. Though stiffly, and slowly, compared to other monsters. When mummies sleep, their bodies solidify like statues. When they awaken, their joints loosen. Again, very slowly. Some biologists speculate that when mummies become emotional, or focus intensely, they can convert more of their bodies to a sandy state – and move faster at the expense of strength.’ Doctor Combo raised an eyebrow at the mummy. ‘Would you say my descriptions are accurate?’
‘I am undecided,’ said Scarab. ‘Never have I heard such words to describe either my constitution or my movement.’
‘Zcarab iz having my fave-rit movement,’ said Zorg.
‘Oh, Zorg,’ said Scarab. ‘You are so sweet.’
‘Very good,’ said Combo. ‘Zombies, by the way, are like feeble mummies. Though their bodies are partially stonified, giving them extra strength compared to a human, they–’
‘Teacher saying Zorg iz like mummy!’ Zorg’s gap-toothed grin cracked his cheek scabs. ‘Zorg like Zcarab!’
‘Quite so,’ said Stoker. ‘We observed.’
The teacher coughed. ‘There are crucial differences. The lack of bandages means zombies oxidise and rot, wasting much potential energy. And because these undead monsters don’t enjoy the traditional mummy “rest” period, they must consume flesh, especially brains, to replace their own rotting flesh and brains. Unfortunately, if starved, zombies can become insane with hunger. They are also easily controlled by magic or mesmerism. During the Zombie Wars, five million zombies staggered out of the Dead Zone to attack the city.’
My arm shot up. ‘What happened then?’
Combo smiled. ‘This isn’t history class, ha, ha. Though, of course, the vast majority of zombies were slaughtered.’
My other arm shot up. ‘I thought zombies were already dead.’
‘Well, yes. Technically, zombies are living dead.’ Doctor Combo’s tentacles danced. ‘However, they can be destroyed easily enough and turned into dead dead if, for example, they are blown up, consumed, decapitated, or sliced in half. As for vampires, they–’
‘Oi.’ Gort Klusk lazily raised a hand. ‘We’ve grasped more than enough for one day ’bout these Dead Zone deadheads. Let’s grasp ’bout why goblins rule.’
Doctor Combo’s tentacles drooped onto his shoulders. ‘Fine,’ he said at last. ‘Er, goblins are supremely adaptable monsters. There are mountain goblins, also known as dwarves; forest goblins, rumoured to have old, magica–’
Greta leapt to her feet, scowling.
Somewhat rattled, the teacher continued. ‘Ah, there are also miniature hobgoblins; orcs, the largest and strongest goblins; and of course, plains goblins, the most populous monster type. All goblins grow bones at hyper-pace, many of which can be extended or removed to be used as weapons or tools. Hence, goblins require massive amounts of calcium. Hence, their famous love for mould-cheese! Ha, ha. In all other ways, the omnivorous metabolism of goblins is similar to that of humans.’
‘Oi!’ Gort jumped up. With three immense bounds, he crouched before a fast-reversing Doctor Combo. ‘Take that back! Goblins are nothin’ like humes!’
‘Actually, they–’
‘Siddown, slime-skin!’ Bruce bellowed. ‘Everyone digs you brainless bipeds are all the same!’
‘Shuddup, freak!’ Gort sneered. ‘Wait yer turn, and I’ll bone ya down ta size too, my oath.’ He turned to the teacher’s desk and lifted a thick pile of teaching notes. Forearm muscles flexing, Gort casually tore the stack in half. Rrrrrrrip! ‘Oops.’
Combo’s tentacles waved crazily. His torn notes fluttered like mangled butterflies. ‘You can’t–’
‘Can’t what?’ Gort spat. ‘Ya call yerself an exhume, or a Franken-freak, or whatever. Though we all eyeball yer just a glorified hume with monster bits sewn on. Yer heart is hume.’
‘Actually, it’s–’
‘Shuddup. Yer blood’s hume. Yer stench’s hume. My dad, the deputy mayor, is arguin’ a law ta ban hume incompetents from teachin’ at this school. Or any school.’
Friendly Viethe shouted, ‘Viethes’d argue legit, for once.’
Gort jeered, ‘So, teacher, whose metabolism is like a hume’s?’
‘I understand you’re … correct.’ Doctor Combo’s tentacles twitched. ‘Goblins are actually nothing like … humes. Nothing at all.’
Gort smirked and strutted back to his seat.
Bruce groaned and rolled his 100-odd eyeballs. ‘Did this teacher graduate from the Wuss Academy, or what?’
Doctor Combo’s multiple lips pursed. ‘Next we shall discuss giant spiders. They–’
&n
bsp; ‘No way!’ Bruce jumped onto his desk. ‘You ain’t peeping out my biology! That’s private!’
‘There’s nothing to be embarrassed about–’
‘You want every wuss hole in your wuss body filled with killer webbing?’ Poisonous saliva flew from the spider’s jaws. I ducked.
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Why not? The gobs totally did!’
‘I will not tolerate this behaviour!’ Combo’s shaking tentacles pointed to the door. ‘Retire from my class. Immediately!’
‘With pleasure – and my backpack.’ Bruce’s journey of muttering to the triple-doored exit left a wake of kicked-over chairs and desks.
‘Interesting,’ said Stoker. ‘Combo’s stitched-together body package does include a backbone.’
Scarab rose. ‘Teacher, since you have cast out friend Bruce, we elect to be cast out as well.’
‘We do?’ I asked.
‘Fine,’ said Combo, shaking. ‘Retire. Go on, go on! Come back when you’ve learned some manners.’
We grabbed our bags and backpacks and trooped out beneath a shower of pens and goblin jeers.
The library brimmed with the remarkable, real and imagined, solemn and spunky, empowering and immortal, the air wise with musty knowledge.
6: TRANSFORMATIONS
Passing the ogre bodyguards outside the classroom, Scarab said, ‘Rarely have I witnessed you so agitated, friend Bruce. Are you unwell?’
‘I’m top-notch,’ Bruce grumbled. ‘But, yo, thanks for backing me up. I didn’t mean for all of us to be turfed out.’
‘Safety in numbers,’ said Scarab, I suspected for the 837th time.
Greta and Stoker said nothing, their faces expressing less. That pair acted like being mysterious was an extreme sport.
In contrast, I assumed that the annoyance I felt at missing a lesson I was actually enjoying would be clearly legible upon my face … until I remembered that no one could see my face, let alone read it. I smiled secretly. ‘Does this school have a library?’
‘Yo,’ said Bruce. ‘But why would you wanna leg to that book-filled hole of boredom?’
‘I want to borrow some books.’
‘Swampy, you are sooo weird.’
My eyes darted from shelf to towering shelf. My lungs filled with the odour of ageing paper and parchment until I felt giddy. More than I could have dared dream, the Monstro Central School Library brimmed with the remarkable, real and imagined, solemn and spunky, empowering and immortal. The air itself seemed wise with musty knowledge.
I snatched Professor DC Greengoblin’s Monster Guide (35th Edition) from a high shelf. Emitting wordless squeaks of joy, I skimmed the thousands of pages of brain-bulging factoids and illustrations.
I only realised I was dancing with excitement when I saw Bruce’s several dozen eyeballs goggling at me like I was about to have a heart attack.
‘Heh.’ I shrugged.
‘Sooooo weird.’
The cheery librarian, her transparent wings chittering, steered me through the borrowing process. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and winced with pain. The chunky guidebook stretched my backpack and squashed my lunchbox. I was exhausted from concentrating and lying for so long. My eyes itched to be home, scanning words at leisure, but the Dead Gang insisted they show me their dorm room first. I was thankful it was nearby.
Like so many school rooms, the gang’s dorm had three doors – tiny, normal, and gigantic. Inside was equally cavernous.
On the short, low side of the ant-built room, a quadruple bunk bed squatted. With a single bound, Stoker landed on the highest bunk. He pulled a visor over his eyes, crossed his arms upon his chest, and lay back like the star attraction at an open casket viewing.
The second bunk from the top was as neat and clean as the third was untidy and covered in dirt, scab flakes, dehydrated flies and rat skeletons.
Following my stare, Zorg grinned proudly. ‘Zorg bunk.’
‘I’d never have guessed.’ I wished I had no sense of smell.
The bottom bunk was empty apart from two folded sheets and a pillowcase.
‘Evidently, that is to be mine,’ sighed Greta, who’d been silent for so long I’d forgotten she was present. She hurled her bag on the nearest dresser, crawled onto her bunk, faced the wall and began jotting symbols in a notepad she’d produced from the folds of her robe.
‘Make yourself at home,’ said Scarab.
Without turning, Greta replied, ‘I reside in a gorgeous forest where the air is light and oxygen-rich. Here, one must travel kilometres in any direction to even glimpse sunlight. No plants grow in Castle Mount’s stale air, apart from mould, mildew and mutated glow moss. Frankly, this hideous prison in which we are buried – the world’s largest tomb – will never be home.’
‘Works for me,’ said the vampire.
‘Wonder who crawled outta the wrong side of her tree this morning?’ Bruce chortled. ‘B’sides, we ain’t needing a forest, not since we scored our own pot plant on legs!’ The spider jabbed me in the shoulder and scampered up the wall to his web hammock. With all eight legs dangling over the edges, his sigh was long and contented.
I gazed around. A bowed bed, slightly longer than the playground swimming pool, hogged the lengthy side of the room. ‘Who sleeps there?’ I pointed and tried to joke, ‘The entire Viethe gang?’
Bruce snorted. ‘We ain’t letting those two-eyed weirdos in here.’
‘That is friend Tessa’s bed,’ said Scarab. ‘She has been ill the last few weeks.’
‘Is Tessa the … troll?’ I gulped.
‘She is. However, you must not fear her, Swamp Boy.’ Scarab’s voice was reassuring. ‘Friend Tessa is vegetarian and gentle as a newborn were-kitten. Sometimes she helps her parents. They are garbage collectors – although, technically, they do not collect garbage. They ingest it.’
‘You mean they gobble garbage?’
‘Trolls have the mightiest stomach juices of any monster. They can digest anything. Lawn clippings. Ancient plastic. Even metal and rock.’
‘Wow. I’ve learned so much today.’ I edged towards the door. ‘Still, I really should be going home. You know, back to my swamp.’
‘You would not desire to encounter any goblin mafia members alone,’ said Scarab. ‘We shall escort you to your drain, if you like.’
‘I like.’
‘You dudes can walk him – like a mini dog monster.’ Bruce yawned. ‘I’m too busy chillin’.’
Stoker said nothing. Greta just grunted.
My escort of Scarab and Zorg led the way to the school’s lower tunnels, past the detention dungeons and the spectre-train station.
I pointed. ‘There’s my manhole cover.’
‘Allow me.’ Scarab lifted the cover with one finger and peered down. A rusty ladder led to a suspiciously brown creek flowing around ancient skeletons and garbage.
‘Drain iz zmelling more bad than Zorg’z breath!’ Zorg’s teeth rattled with laughter.
I took a deep breath.
Halfway down the ladder, I looked up. ‘Before I go, I just wanted to say – thanks. I was nervous before today, and more nervous when I shuffled into class. You guys made me feel safe. Welcome. You treated me like I was part of your gang. Like some kind of … friend guy.’
‘You are one of our gang, Swamp Boy.’ Scarab’s bandages creased. Into a smile? ‘Swim safely home. May your hieroglyphs never fade.’
Before I realised Scarab couldn’t see my return smile, she’d clanged the manhole cover back into position, casting a bleaker pall upon my drain.
I climbed off the ladder, my eyes adjusting. Adorning the drain roof, tendrils of glow-moss cast a wan light. I edged along the curved wall, careful not to step in the sewage stream. As for swimming in that cholera-riddled sludge, I’d first need to have my brain removed by Doctor Franken!
Passing a bend, I marked a tick in my mind. At the third bend, I reached into a shadowy hollow and jabbed with two of my webbed fingers.
/> Clunk!
A slab of drain wall popped back and revolved, revealing a passageway.
I slipped inside, groped the wall and jabbed into a second hollow.
Cher-clunk!
The wall sealed shut behind me. I fumbled through darkness until my fingers closed around the ladder railing. After climbing fifty rungs, my leg muscles quivered and my injured shoulder throbbed. Just 3,953 to go!
Several dozen ever-longer rests later, I finally reached the top. Woo-hoo! Groping along another tunnel, I came to a dimly lit panel and punched a combination of buttons.
SHHHH! A section of ant wall slid open.
I stepped into a storeroom.
SHHHH! The panel slid back into place.
From behind a stack of dusty boxes, I removed an un-dusty carry bag into which I dumped my backpack. I fingered around my neck until I felt the release tag. Grunting, I twisted off my swamp monster noggin.
‘Ahhhh.’
Breathing freely for the first time in several hours, I removed my gloves and dug under the reeds over my Adam’s apple until I found the metal clasp.
Zippppppp!
I wrestled out of my monster suit, folded it neatly and dropped it into my carry bag. Done! Bag in hand, I snuck to the storeroom door, and listened. Hearing nothing, I opened the door and sidled into the corridor … right into Lord Boron!
‘Oh!’ the regent exclaimed, stumbling. ‘Thomas. You startled me!’
‘Lord Boron? Yeah, I startled me too.’ My eyeballs darted, avoiding the probing glare of Lars the ogre. ‘Fancy meeting you guys here … where you live.’
‘Did you emerge from that storeroom?’ Lord Boron arched an eyebrow and smiled strangely. ‘No matter. I remain so pleased with your excellent effort today.’
‘Um. You do?’
‘Of that, I assure you. I was delighted with your attentive listening in class.’
‘Uh, sure. My good old … listening. Yeah, I’ve been working hard on that.’ I smiled fakely. ‘It’s been cool talking, Lord B. But I have to go. You know, do some homework.’
‘Certainly. I too must away.’ The regent’s nose wrinkled. ‘Perhaps you could also contemplate bathing?’