Falcon noticed something strange about this Mr. Hake. He had extremely well-developed jugular veins on his neck. As the man spoke, these veins seemed to be slowly pulsing.
“I know you have many questions. Why are you here? Are you some kind of hideous abomination? Will there be cake?”
He looked around the room. The young people were silent now. “Well, I can answer the most important of those questions right away. Yes! Yes! There will be cake! Hooray!”
The young people sat there with their mouths wide-open, frozen in amazement at the increasingly annoying Mr. Hake.
“Let me hear you all say ‘Hooray for cake!’”
There was no response.
The veins on Mr. Hake’s throat appeared to be throbbing more violently now. Mr. Hake cleared his throat. “I asked you all to say ‘Hooray for cake!’ Did I not make myself clear?”
The room was silent again. Then one of the Frankensteins said, “Cake—good!”
“Ah, Mr. Sparkbolt. Very good. But you will refrain from that groaning type of speech from now on, won’t you? You are to say ‘Hooray for cake.’ Not ‘Cake—good,’ like some sort of pool of horrible vomit that learned how to talk.” The veins on the man’s neck seemed to be twisting. “Say it, Mr. Sparkbolt. Say ‘Hooray for cake!’”
The guy called Sparkbolt gritted his teeth. He licked his lips, as if speaking was no easy task for him. “Hoooorrrennnhhh,” he said. “Cake.”
“Better,” said Mr. Hake. “But not quite. Again.”
“Hoorrreennnnhh,” said Sparkbolt. “For. For, for.”
“Hooray for what, Mr. Sparkbolt?”
“Cake. Cake good!”
“Ah, ah, ah!” said Mr. Hake reproachfully. “Say ‘Hooray for cake!’”
“Rrrrrrr!” said Sparkbolt, and he stood up, gnashing his teeth. “Cake BAD!”
“Mr. Sparkbolt, sit down,” said Mr. Hake. “This instant!”
“Cake BAAADD!” shouted Sparkbolt. He picked up his dinner dishes and threw them on the floor. “Hake BAADD! SCHOOL BAAAD!”
A sudden and violent change convulsed Mr. Hake’s body. The veins that throbbed on his neck suddenly burst loose from his skin and changed into tentacles. Other giant rubbery limbs, covered with sucker disks, burst out of the man’s coat, and in seconds where Mr. Hake had stood was now a giant, writhing squid thing, an eruption of disgusting wet tentacles. A pair of dead eyes sat atop a pointed head. In the midst of the creature was a horrible mouth lined with teeth.
One of the tentacles shot out and curled around Sparkbolt. It encircled him from his ankles to his neck, then lifted him into the air. For an instant the little Frankenstein was suspended high over the students’ heads as the mass of twisting arms gyrated with horrible spasms. Then the hideous mouth opened wide, and Sparkbolt disappeared into its depths. The giant mollusk chewed him up and swallowed, and then all the arms shot outward like the rays of a squidly sun.
There was a popping sound, the tentacles withdrew, and the creature’s skin became human once more. And just like that, Mr. Hake was standing in front of them. He covered his mouth to burp softly.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Where was I?”
At this moment all the students in the room shouted in unison, “Hooray for cake!”
Mr. Hake nodded. “Excellent. Oh, we’re all going to be good friends here in Castle Grisleigh! Because you know, the castle is just like a big neighborhood. And what is a neighborhood, boys and girls? Why, it’s a place where folks can say hello!” He looked at them cheerfully. “Can you all say hello?”
All the children yelled, “Hello, Mr. Hake!”
“I thought you could,” said Mr. Hake.
He sighed. “Too bad about Mr. Sparkbolt, isn’t it? I feel sad about eating him. But he was a bad boy, wasn’t he?” He looked at the students. “Can you say ‘bad boy’?”
“Bad boy,” echoed the students softly.
“He was giving in to his monster nature,” said Mr. Hake. “And that is the very thing we are here to prevent.” He smiled. “Here at the Academy we will find out what kind of monster you are. We will begin this process tomorrow, at the Wellness Center. The doctors will conduct a full examination of each of you and make a determination. And then, once we know what form of monsterism you are suffering from, we will begin your training so you can learn to suppress it. By the time of your graduation, we think you will all be able to reenter the world as perfect imitations of actual people.”
“Why can’t we be monsters?” said Weems suddenly.
Mr. Hake paused. The veins on his neck began to pulse again.
“What?”
“I said, why can’t we be monsters? Why can’t we be what we are?”
“Because, Mr. Weems,” said Mr. Hake. “It’s disgusting.”
Weems picked up the mutilated monkey meat on his plate and bit it. “I don’t think it’s so disgusting,” he said.
Mr. Hake looked around the room. “Mr. Weems,” he said, “doesn’t think he’s disgusting. Thinks it’s kind of clever, being an abomination. I wonder if any of the rest of you agree with him.” The veins on Mr. Hake’s neck were throbbing again. “It’s okay, children. What did we say, about sharing feelings? It’s good to share!”
Sweat began to drip down Mr. Hake’s face. He gritted his teeth. “Tell me if anyone agrees with Mr. Weems. Raise your hands, why don’t you, if you’d rather be a monster than a human being?”
Weems raised his hand. For a moment no one else moved. Then, timidly, the mummy girl raised her hand. The remaining Frankensteins thought it over—and then, one by one, raised their hands too. The Sasquatches, including Max, put their hands in the air next, and soon everyone was raising their hand—the leprechauns, the minotaurs, the vampires, even the things for which Falcon did not have a name. Everyone seemed to have their hand in the air, except Falcon.
He noticed, as he sat there, that Megan’s hand wasn’t up either. The other vampire girls were looking at her with curious, mean expressions, though—and after a final moment or two, her hand went up with the others.
“Put your hands down,” said Mr. Hake. He shook his head. “My, my, my. So all of you feel your days would be better off spent indulging your hideous monster natures? Sucking people’s blood?”
The vampires smiled happily.
“Eating dead flesh?”
A table of zombies nodded, as if this sounded reasonable.
“Terrorizing the innocent? Creating horror and revulsion everywhere you go?”
The whole room was full of young faces nodding affirmatively.
Mr. Hake sighed. “I am going to share something with you all,” he said. “Something that may surprise you. I, too, am a monster. I am—the Terrible Kraken!”
And at this moment the horrible tentacles burst forth once more and wiggled in every direction. There was a high-pitched gurgling and shrieking sound. Then, a second later, the tentacles all withdrew, and Mr. Hake became human again.
“Like you,” said Mr. Hake, “I began to change on the first of spring, in my thirteenth year. It is what happens, to those of us with monstrosity in our blood. Like you, I was brought here before my change became visible to the outside world, what we here at the Academy call the Reality Stream. When I first arrived, I admit I felt as some of you do: that it was my fate—indeed, my duty—to cause terror and dismay in the world.” He shook his head. “But do you know who I scared, above all others? Do you want to know? I scared myself. There is no fear greater than the fear of being different. Of being alone. What I learned is that it is no good, being a Writhing Thing with Giant Tentacles. Oh no. And so I learned what you all must learn: how to hide myself. How to imitate humans. For if you can imitate them, you can live among them. The world is full—yes, full—of monsters in hiding. Here we teach you how to hide your true self. And in this way you will survive.”
He smiled. “It is this transformation I wish for each of you. A sense of pride! A sense of self!” His eyes narrowed. “Even for
you, Mr. Weems.”
The room was silent for a long moment. Then Mr. Hake continued, “All right, then. Tomorrow you will all be summoned to the Wellness Center. And tomorrow night we will have a dance for all you new arrivals, chaperoned by the faculty. The dance is called the Monsters’ Bash. You will be encouraged tomorrow night to indulge your monster side, one more time. To get it out of your system. And to observe the consequences. Yes. The day after, repression studies begin. As for tonight—well, gee. Who likes cake?”
The room was silent again. Mr. Hake’s face darkened. “Rrrrr,” he growled, and then he growled louder.
For a third time Mr. Hake turned into the Terrible Kraken. The giant arms covered in sucker disks gyrated in every direction. One of them paused in front of the disgusting mouth again, and all at once Sparkbolt, still alive, was extracted from the wriggling maw. The twisting tentacle gently lowered Sparkbolt to the floor. Mr. Hake, at the same instant, turned back into a human being.
Sparkbolt stood there before the vice principal, at the front of the room, covered in glistening, viscous goo.
“Huhhh?” said Sparkbolt. He raised one hand to his face and coughed. “Hooray,” he said. “Hooray for cake.”
Mr. Hake nodded. “Very good, Mr. Sparkbolt. Very, very good. Eleven happiness stars for Mr. Sparkbolt!”
Sparkbolt turned to the rest of the students, and raised his hands in the air. “Hooray for cake!” he yelled.
The young monsters all yelled with him. “Hooray for cake!” they shouted. “Hooray for cake! Hooray for cake!”
The mummy girl said it. The Frankensteins said it. The Sasquatches said it. Even Falcon said it. He couldn’t help himself.
At that moment the dirty dishes in front of them all vanished, and new plates covered with huge pieces of chocolate cake topped with strawberries and orange frosting appeared in front of them. Everyone cheered and picked up their forks. Falcon looked over at Max. He and his bigfoot friends weren’t even using forks. They were lifting the pieces of cake, whole, into their mouths. Chocolate smeared on their cheeks. Mr. Hake stood at the front of the room, smiling happily.
Weems pushed his cake away and glowered.
“What’s wrong, Weems?” said Falcon.
Weems sighed. “Somehow,” he said, “I’ve lost my appetite.”
6
NIGHTFALL
Falcon returned to the Tower of Aberrations with Megan and her two new roommates, Merideath and Destynee. Pearl hovered behind Falcon’s shoulder as they ascended the narrow stairs.
“Tower of Blood has a hot tub,” said Destynee.
“Tower of Blood has a golden fleece,” said Merideath.
“Tower of Blood has a plasma fountain,” said Destynee.
“What have we got?” said Merideath. “Nothing.”
“Yeah, nothing,” said Destynee.
“Tower of Aberrations sucks,” said Merideath.
“Totally,” said Destynee.
“We’ve got Quimby,” Falcon pointed out.
Merideath and Destynee stopped in the middle of the stairs and looked at him like he was crazy.
“You mean the guy in the jelly?” said Merideath. “Please.”
“He is a rascal, yes,” said Pearl. “But I am thinking he may reveal the truth.”
“What-ever,” said Destynee.
Megan shuddered. “I don’t like him,” she said.
Destynee rolled her eyes. “He’s an idiot. You want to know his amazing prophecy? He said that I was going to dissolve.”
“And me, I’m supposed to get banished,” said Merideath. “Can you imagine? Me? Banished? As if!”
“He said I would abandon my friends,” said Megan sadly.
“That won’t happen,” said Merideath. “We’re going to be friends forever, the three of us.”
“Three,” said Pearl. “What is this three?”
“The three vampire chicks, silly!” said Destynee. “We’ve got vampire power! Totally!”
“Megan has taken an oath,” said Pearl somberly. “With Mr. Falcon and myself. It is we who shall defend each other to the death.”
They arrived at the top of the stairs and entered the parlor. Destynee sighed. “Yeah, okay,” she said. “Good luck with that. Let me know how it works out for you.”
“Ah, children!” said Quimby, appearing once more in his jar. “And how are we? Did we make lots of little friends? Did we listen to the vice principal?”
“We listened to him,” said Destynee, and rolled her eyes. “He went, ‘blah, blah, blah.’”
“Yeah,” said Merideath, “he went, ‘blah, blah, blah!’”
“Did he reach out with one of his tentacles and swallow someone?” asked Quimby.
“He did,” said Falcon.
Quimby sighed. “Same gag, every year.”
“I guess my roommates aren’t here yet?” said Falcon.
“No, not yet. Tonight, perhaps tomorrow. They’re coming from a long way off, I understand.”
“Are they vampires?” said Destynee. “Like us?”
“Who told you you’re a vampire?” said Quimby, his eyes growing wide. “Is that what they told you?”
“Of course we’re vampires,” said Merideath. “Hel-lo?”
“If you were vampires,” said Quimby. “They’d have put you in the Tower of Blood. With the others. Wouldn’t they?”
“Look at these teeth,” said Merideath, displaying her canines. “Have you ever seen teeth like this before?”
“I’ve seen all kinds of teeth,” said Quimby. He shook his head sadly. “Don’t get me started.”
“I don’t care what you’ve seen,” said Destynee. “We know what we are, and what we are is the bomb.”
“The bomb?” said Pearl. “What is this bomb?”
“What I mean,” said Destynee, “is that vampires are, like, the top of the monster pyramid. We rule!”
“Pyramid?” said Falcon. “There’s a pyramid?”
“Well, yeah,” said Merideath, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “At the top you got vampires. After them, shape-shifters, mummies, leprechauns, anything with magical powers. In the middle there’s your half-human, half-animal branch, the werewolves and bigfeet. At the bottom you got your reanimated corpses—your Frankensteins, your ghouls. Bottom of the line is zombies.” She smiled. “Like you, Falcon.”
“Say,” said Quimby. “How about if you all wait until tomorrow, when you’ve been diagnosed, before you start deciding who’s the bomb. I have a suspicion tomorrow will be a day full of surprises. For all of you.”
“You know what I think?” said Merideath. “I think we should put cyanide in your jar. Poison!”
“Oh, goody,” said Quimby. “Please?”
“Enough,” said Pearl. “In this I agree with Quimby. Tomorrow, we know. For now—the mystery. Good night.”
With this, Pearl flew out into the hallway to a high shelf lined with books. She suspended herself upside down from the shelf, by her feet, and folded her head beneath one of her wings. A moment later there came a soft snoring sound.
“That’s how she sleeps?” said Merideath.
“That’s so lame,” said Destynee.
“That’s so—whatever,” said Merideath.
“I’m glad she’s asleep,” said Destynee. “She’s so totally annoying!”
“Annoying is definitely what she is,” said Merideath.
“Yeah,” said Destynee. “Hey, let’s head into our crypt now for a mani-pedi!”
“Excellent,” said Merideath. “You want to do your nails, Megan?”
“In a second,” said Megan. She looked at Falcon with an odd expression. “Are you okay, Falcon?” she said.
“Yeah…,” said Falcon. “It’s just—I’m confused.”
“What a shock,” said Merideath.
“What are you confused about?”
Falcon rubbed his chin. His black eye pulsed softly. “Well, like—they’re going to teach us how to pretend n
ot to be monsters at this school? So we can fit in with everybody else?”
Megan nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”
“But if we are monsters,” said Falcon, “they’re going to tell us how not to be ourselves?”
“Yeah…”
“Well—is that right?”
Megan looked sad. “You heard Mr. Hake. We’re abominations, he said.”
Quimby spoke up. “Well, this is the fundamental question, isn’t it? Is it better to be your true self, if your true self is a monster? Or to learn to be a phony, so you can fit in with everyone else? My, my! It’s the kind of thing that could make a person scratch his head. If he had arms, I mean.”
“We’ll always be monsters,” said Merideath. “Hel-lo. We’ll just be pretending to be human. So they won’t kill us.”
“You know what they do to monsters in the world,” said Destynee.
“I don’t want to be a monster,” said Megan.
“Too late!” said Merideath. “You are totally a monster! Look on the bright side. At least you’re a vampire! The bomb!”
“Or is she?” said Quimby.
Falcon sighed. “I’m going to bed,” he said. “My head hurts.”
“Hey,” said Quimby. “I do not!”
“Let us know if your roommates arrive,” said Destynee.
“Unless they’re leps.”
“Or zombies.”
“Or losers.”
“Like you.”
Merideath and Destynee laughed at this. Falcon waited for Megan to defend him, to say something like Falcon’s not a loser, but she didn’t. Merideath and Destynee, still laughing, pulled her into their room and closed the door.
Falcon stood in the parlor for a moment, alone. For a second he remembered the feeling he’d had earlier in the day, looking out the window of the school bus as they’d passed the Grogan house and wondering where in the world he fit in. Well, now you know where you belong, Falcon thought. At an academy for mutants.
Falcon Quinn and the Black Mirror Page 5