Freaky Fusion Read online

  “Can you not speak to your father about your family?” suggested Jinafire. She was part dragon and all spice.

  Frankie shook her head. “My parents won’t talk about my grandfather. And any time I ask, my dad just gets into one of his moods and is all, you know…” She held up her arms and began making guttural noises like the classic stereotype of a Frankenstein monster.

  Ghoulia was poking at the box. She held it up to her ear and listened to it.

  Lagoona took a sip of her soup. “Ooh. Too cold.”

  “Allow me.” Jinafire blew a blast of dragon breath into the bowl. Flames erupted.

  “Much better,” said Lagoona sarcastically.

  Suddenly Frankie’s face lit up. Neighthan and the Fusions were walking by with their trays. “Hey, guys,” she called. “Want to join us?”

  Neighthan began walking toward the table. “That would be—”

  “Unnecessary,” sneered Avia Trotter, stopping him. “We’ve already got a table, thanks.”

  Neighthan looked back over his shoulder at Frankie, clearly disappointed.

  Cleo was not impressed. “Rude much? No wonder they got kicked out of eight different schools.”

  Robecca was lost in thought. She was trying to see if there was some way she could help Frankie with her project. After all, Frankie’s grandfather had been a student of her father’s. “You know, I wish there were some way we could find my father’s workshop in the catacombs. He used to keep a journal about everything. I bet he wrote about your grandfather.”

  “Do you remember where it is?” asked Draculaura.

  Robecca closed her eyes and concentrated. Her gears sped up. She whirred and clanked and steamed a little. She opened her eyes. “If I really fire on all cylinders, I think I might be able to find it.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” asked Venus McFlytrap. Her excitement caused the salad in front of her to sprout vines that climbed off her tray and crept onto Clawdeen’s sketchbook.

  “Venus, you’re doing it again. You know I don’t do salad.” Clawdeen, a total carnivore, swiped the vine and cut it off. She studied her sketchbook, displeased. She could not solve this one style problem. “I just can’t figure out his new look. Maybe a little trip to the catacombs will help me find some inspiration.”

  Toralei, the gossip-loving werecat, overheard her and came over to the table. “What’s this I hear about a mystery trip to the catacombs? I’m so there,” she purred. She sidled in next to Cleo. “Scooch.”

  “Um, hello,” said Cleo, pushing Toralei away. “This is my space. And why would you want to come with us to the catacombs, Toralei?”

  “I’m a curious kitty,” she said. “Now let’s go find that… whatever it is we’re finding.” She brushed up against Cleo just like a cat as all the ghouls stood up. Frankie lingered for a moment before leaving the Creepateria. The Fusions were sitting alone at a table in the corner.

  Clawdeen took Frankie by the arm. “All right, loverghoul, let’s go.”

  Across the room, Neighthan watched Frankie leave with her friends. “I don’t see why we couldn’t sit with them. Those ghouls seemed nice.”

  Bonita was nervously chewing on the edge of her sleeve.

  “Don’t be dense, Neighthan,” said Avia. “Regular monsters don’t want anything to do with us Fusions. You know how it works. We change schools, get pushed around for a few weeks, then it’s off to find another school. This place will be no different.”

  But Neighthan didn’t agree with her. “Come on, Avia, Monster High is supposed to be different than those other schools. They say everyone is welcome here. Even if they have a freaky flaw.”

  Bonita pulled her sleeve out of her mouth. “Yeah, flaw… not flaws. They don’t understand what it’s like to have two. Right, Sirena? Sirena?”

  But Sirena wasn’t listening. She was piling up her mashed potatoes like wet sand to make a little castle. “Huh? Oh. Yes. I agree with all of you.” She didn’t even look up.

  Avia Trotter shook her head. “You got distracted again.”

  “No, I just…” Sirena noticed the potatoes on Avia’s plate. “Hey, are you going to finish those?”

  Avia sighed and pushed her tray across the table. Sirena happily began adding turrets to her potato castle. Sometimes even Avia got tired of Sirena’s freaky flaws.

  The ghouls wound their way through the crumbling tombstones on the front lawn toward the entrance to the catacombs. They came to an old crypt with cellar-style doors that opened right into the ground. Stone gargoyles decorated the entranceway. Robecca pulled on one of the ugly statue’s tongues and immediately, the doors of the crypt opened. An old wrought-iron elevator rose up in front of them.

  “After you,” said Robecca to Draculaura.

  “No, please, you first,” said Draculaura politely.

  “Thank you,” they said simultaneously. They entered the elevator together, squeezed through, got stuck… and fell on top of each other. The other ghouls followed and the gate clanged shut. Down, down the elevator went to the catacombs.

  Inside, Toralei was pushing against Cleo for more space. “Move over,” said Cleo, irritated.

  “I like this spot,” Toralei purred, jostling Cleo again.

  The elevator banged to a stop and the doors opened in front of a spiral staircase. Down, down they climbed farther under the school. At last they emerged before a dark tunnel. Robecca stopped, shut her eyes, and whirred. Which direction was her father’s laboratory?

  Venus, bursting with excitement, released a haze of pollen into the air.

  “Achoo!” sneezed Clawdeen. “Easy with the pollen, Venus. Werewolves are allergic.”

  Robecca opened her eyes and pointed. “That way.”

  The ghouls followed her through the blackness of the catacombs. The mournful notes of a distant organ echoed through the winding passageway. Ghoulia held Hexiciah’s box to her ear, but the music was coming from Operetta the phantom practicing in an underground chamber.

  She looked up as the ghouls entered. “Enjoying a little midday stroll through the catacombs?” she asked.

  “Hey, Operetta,” called out Draculaura, relieved. “I forgot how totes creepy it is down here.”

  “Aw, don’t worry,” drawled the phantom. “I’ve been all over these catacombs and there’s nothing to be scared of.”

  Robecca shut her eyes again and pointed to a tunnel on the other side of the chamber.

  Operetta looked surprised. “Shoot, y’all didn’t say you were going into the uncharted catacombs. Nobody’s been down that way for centuries. Goooooood luck.” She picked up her hands and began playing a dirge fit for a funeral.

  “Okay,” said Draculaura nervously. “Good talk…” She followed the others into the pitch darkness.

  “Can anybody see anything?” asked Venus.

  “I’ve got this,” said Jinafire. She released a blast of fire that lit up the torches lining the walls of the tunnel. The good news was that they could see; the bad news was that a long trench of water blocked their way.

  “No, mate, I’ve got this!” said Lagoona. She dove beneath the water, and a moment later the ghouls could hear it gushing out of an invisible drain. When it was all gone, there was Lagoona holding a giant plug. The ghouls climbed down a staircase toward her and continued exploring the catacombs.

  They wound this way and that, all the time going farther and farther underground.

  Finally, the tunnel came to a dead end—in front of a huge circular door with the face of a grandfather clock. From behind it, the ghouls could hear the sound of ticking. Tick, tick, tick.

  “This is it!” announced Robecca. “Ghouls, I give you the workshop of Hexiciah Steam!”

  She spun a wheel on the door, unlocking it. It clanked open, but there was no workshop—only an empty chasm.

  Draculaura gulped. She threw one of the torches into the hole. Down, down it fell, growing smaller and smaller. They waited to hear it land. But it didn’t. It seemed to fal
l forever. “I didn’t expect it to be so… so… bottomless pitty.”

  The door in front of the ghouls slammed shut for no apparent reason.

  “I don’t understand,” said Robecca, confused. “The workshop should be right here.” She spun the wheel on the door again. It clanked open, but instead of the chasm, there was a giant dragon sitting atop a mound of golden treasure!

  “Ahhh!” screamed the ghouls.

  The dragon opened his mouth to breathe fire, but they managed to slam the door shut in the nick of time.

  “All those in favor of not opening the scary clock door again, say eyeball,” said Clawdeen.

  Ghoulia was examining the mysterious box again. She twisted one of the hexagonal plates and something inside of it clicked. She could hear something ticking. Tick, tick, tick. Just like with the door.

  Carefully, Ghoulia placed the box on the ground. As she stepped away, panels unfolded, gears began to turn, and the entire device miraculously transformed into a miniature likeness of a workshop.

  Draculaura studied it, amazed. “Okay, question. Was your father really, really tiny?”

  Robecca shook her head. “I don’t get it. It’s just a model.”

  Ghoulia bent down to study the workshop. On its floor were two arrows, each pointing in a different direction, like the hands of a clock. There was a button at their center, and Ghoulia pushed it. Immediately, the device began cranking and wheezing. The arrows slowly edged forward and stopped at the time 12:55.

  Ghoulia groaned in understanding.

  “It’s about time?” translated Venus.

  “She’s right,” said Cleo, fed up. “It’s about time we got out of here.”

  Ghoulia moaned. No, no, she seemed to be saying. She went over to the door and began spinning the wheel. Tick, tick, tick. She turned the wheel and stopped when the hands of the clock on the door said 12:55. Click! The door opened again, but this time behind them was the workshop.

  “It’s about time!” exclaimed Robecca delightedly. “A security lock based on a clock system. That is so my dad.”

  Ghoulia scooped up the model and folded it back into the box.

  One by one, the ghouls entered the long-lost workshop. Would they find Hexiciah’s journals? Would there be any information about Victor Frankenstein? Frankie hoped so—it was the only hope she had.

  The workshop was a cobweb-covered mess. Gears, springs, bottles, and all kinds of mechanical parts littered the floor. Chains hung from the beams and catwalks. Old copper valves and pipes lined the walls. There were piles of torn blueprints and sketches on the scattered workbenches. On one were steam boots just like the jet-powered ones Robecca wore, only bigger and covered in dust. Everything was covered in dust. At the far end of the circular room was a rusted recharge chamber.

  In the very center of the room was a huge platform. Held in place by magnets was a huge crystal lens lined with copper. It too was covered in rust and dust and spiderwebs.

  As the ghouls entered the chamber, a cuckoo clock began to strike. A cuckoo bird emerged through a film of cobwebs, coughing; let out a single strained “cuckoo”; and returned inside the clock.

  Robecca took everything in. It had been a long time since she’d been here. “Okay, everybody, spread out and look for that journal,” she ordered her friends. “But remember, don’t touch anything.” She stared at Toralei, who had enough curiosity for ten ghouls.

  “Why’s everybody looking at me?” she hissed.

  No one said a word.

  “Okay, don’t touch anything, got it!” she conceded.

  The ghouls spread out to investigate. Robecca searched through an enormous stack of books. Cleo walked over to the floating lens in the middle of the room. It bobbed up and down between the two magnets. Beside the lens was a massive control panel. It was covered in tubes and switches and a tangle of wires. Cleo peered to study the lens in awe. “Oh… my… Ra!”

  She looked closer and closer. What did she see? “Why didn’t anybody tell me my headband was crooked?” She smoothed her hair back into place.

  Toralei popped up behind the lens, her striped cat face magnified. “Whatcha doin’?” she asked.

  Cleo jumped back in surprise. “Toralei!”

  Toralei gave the lens a little shove. It swung forward then snapped back into place between the magnets. “Me-ow,” she yowled.

  Robecca gasped. “Ghouls! I found the journal!”

  Frankie rushed over. “Does it say anything about my grandfather?”

  Robecca flipped through the pages, scanning them. She smiled at Frankie. “October Fifth, 1814. Victor Frankenstein is one of the brightest and most promising students I have ever had the pleasure to educate,” she read out loud.

  “That’s him!” exclaimed Frankie. “You found my grandfather! What else does it say?”

  Robecca skimmed through the journal. “Let’s see. Superior intellect. Hungry for knowledge… Unfortunately, there’s another side to Victor. A dangerous inner personality that recklessly disregards the spectacular mysteries of life in pursuit of his scientific ambitions. I fear this may be young Victor’s undoing…”

  Frankie was stunned. “Wow. I wonder if that’s why my parents don’t talk about him.”

  Cleo was still adjusting her hair in the lens when it started to spin on its side like a coin. “Hey!” she exclaimed. “I wasn’t done with that.” She stepped back as it spun faster and faster.

  A swirling blue vortex began to emerge from the lens.

  “That’s different,” said Cleo, a little alarmed.

  Everyone turned to stare. Toralei was standing by the control panel. She looked guilty. “Okay,” she admitted. “Now I get why you all looked at me when you said don’t touch anything.”

  “Toralei!” screamed everyone.

  The blue vortex was pulling everyone in the room toward it. Toralei lifted off the ground and grabbed one of the chains hanging from the catwalk. The catwalk itself began to tumble toward the vortex. The ghouls screamed. They were going to be sucked right into it! The journal fell out of Robecca’s hands. One by one, each of the ghouls was swallowed into the lens and disappeared. The blue light flickered. The machine died down. The ghouls were gone.

  The ghouls woke up sprawled across the floor of the workshop. Everything was exactly the same, except the dust and cobwebs were gone. The pipes shone, the gears were polished, and even the cuckoo clock looked shiny and new. The bird emerged and let out one crystal clear “Cuckoo!”

  The ghouls sat up, dazed and in pain.

  “Somebody wanna guess what just happened?” asked Lagoona, rubbing her head.

  “I’ll tell you what happened,” said Cleo. “Toralei touched something.”

  Toralei stretched. “Look, we can argue all day about who touched what. The important thing is, I’m fine.”

  Draculaura blinked. “Something’s different. Does this workshop look… cleaner to you ghouls?”

  Venus agreed. “Draculaura’s right. Something is different.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Toralei shrugged. “Robecca’s dad invented some kind of cleaner-upper machine. You ghouls should thank me for sprucing up this dump.”

  “Whatever that was,” Jinafire said thoughtfully, “I feel it would be wise for us to leave before something else happens.”

  “Jinafire’s right,” agreed Clawdeen. “We should get back up to school or we’re gonna miss Mr. Where’s rehearsal.”

  The ghouls dusted themselves off and headed out the door, back through the catacombs. Frankie was the last to leave. Something was bothering her, but she couldn’t figure out what exactly. She took a last look around the workshop. It was just so… clean. But at least she had what she needed for her project.

  After a journey back through the tunnels, they emerged from the crypt into daylight. Ghoulia’s eyes were the first to adjust to the brightness—and she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She groaned, she pointed, she moaned.

  All the ghouls turned to lo
ok.

  Only the main building of Monster High stood in front of them. The rest was still under construction with scaffolding around the bare beams of the towers. A banner strung across the front door read WELCOME TO MONSTER HIGH—1814.

  A carriage drawn by a skeleton horse stopped by the front steps. Ghouls in long, flouncy skirts held parasols over their heads. A skeleton janitor was pumping water into a bucket. He stopped to take a drink, and the water poured right through him to the ground. Then he went back to pumping.

  The ghouls couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

  Draculaura was the first to find her voice. “1814? So that means Hexiciah Steam built…”

  “A time teleporter,” completed Robecca, awed.

  This was better than a journal, Frankie realized. “If this is 1814, then that means I can go meet my grandfather!”

  Ghoulia shook her head vehemently.

  “I agree,” said Jinafire. “We cannot risk interactions with past events. Our presence here could change the entire course of monster history.”

  Frankie was disappointed. “I guess you’re right.”

  But something else was worrying Robecca. “Ghoulia, how long until we can open the workshop door again?”

  Ghoulia opened Hexiciah’s box, pressed a button, and waited. After a minute, she groaned the answer.

  “Then it’s settled,” said Clawdeen. “We wait one hour for the workshop door to reopen, and then we go back to…” Her voice trailed off. She glanced across the lawn. “Where’s Toralei?”

  The ghouls panicked. The werecat was nowhere in sight.

  At last Cleo spotted her heading up the front doors into the school. “That kitty really rankles my bandages.”

  “We’ve got to find her before she causes any more trouble,” said Frankie.

  “Oh, this is so bad.” Draculaura sighed.

  “Don’t worry,” Lagoona said reassuringly. “We’ll catch Toralei.”

  “Not that,” cried Draculaura in a sheer panic. She held up her phone. “There’s no iCoffin reception in 1814!”