Chapter Text
The grounds surrounding the Gravedale High campus had been covered by a dense fog, the heavy rain from the night before having slightly evaporated during the dark hours. Weather perfect for monsters, even if they were high schoolers dragging their half-torn limbs and freshly powdered bandages to class. Yet this aerosol of minuscule ice crystal did nothing to lift the — metaphorical if I might add — spirits of one Reginald Moonshroud as he walked up the weathered stone steps of the main entrance. For all he knew, he couldn’t wait to immerse himself in whatever subjects Mr. Schneider had prepared for today’s classes. Studying and expanding his vast array of knowledge not only fit into his grand scheme of getting into the right college to study aerospace engineering, but it also had a naturally calming effect on the werewolf. He was a civilized Were after all: Dignified and proud, yet painfully awkward when it came to contact with his peers. He pushed the main doors open a bit more forcefully than he normally would, usually mindful not to scratch the wooden frames more than necessary with his clawed hands. Always careful, always gentle, and never leaving any marks.
The halls were always quiet at this time. Reggie was an early riser and always made sure to get his well-deserved rest, even if his kind shared the same nocturnal urges as other ghouls and things that go bump in the night. This also meant that he got to school before everyone else, the only exception being the gargoyles resting on top of the masonry and the undead who had not made it to their crypt before sunrise. As the heavy doors closed behind him, the school embraced Reggie in a comfortable hug, the bell jar of his choosing. With this schedule, Reggie could comfortably proof-read his notes on his laptop for about 15 minutes before the other students started pouring in, and another 15 before class started.
He noted the spiders hanging from the ceiling in their webs, making sure not to inhale the dust too sharply in case he triggered his allergies. A single bat was napping in the corner, although this did not seem to be another student from what Reggie could see, neither bat-kin or vampyre. He heard it readjust its leathery wings as he walked by, most likely trying to get as much sleep in before the halls were filled with noisy students. The carefully programmed autopilot in Reggie’s brain guided him toward the end of the hall where he needed to make a left turn and another right to get to his classroom when the characteristic breeze of a poltergeist flowing by interrupted his train of thought. By the door to Miss Webner’s class were the poltergeist in question and a ghoul, most likely one of those who had to stay on campus to avoid the sun. Just the usual morning banter. Reggie continued walking, reluctant to greet his fellow students. He was in the human’s class after all.
‘‘I don't know, Reese. It just feels so good to talk to the others in the MA Club. I just feel so… seeeeen,’’ the poltergeist wheezes at the ghoul. ‘‘I just feel invisible sometimes, you know? And there’s a point where the ectoplasm and the floating tea cups just become a boring old act, right?’’
Reggie heard the creaking of the ghoul’s neck muscles as they nodded. ‘‘I totally get it. That dog boy from my P.E. class keeps complaining about the way I smell. I’m dead, dude! Of course I smell that way!’’ They laughed: ‘‘That reminds me. I need to ask the club about something this afternoon. This crypt situation is stressing me out, my brain might just leave my skull for real at this point.’’
By this point, Reggie’s walking pace had carried him away from the conversation. He tried his best not to deliberately overhear every conversation he passed by, but wolf ears were not the most lenient in that regard. He knew a great deal about the rest of the student body because of this, despite how socially isolated his studious behavior made him, which only served to amplify a single thought in his head: why had he never heard of a MA Club? There was the Undead/Living Impaired Debate Club who ran discussion events bi-monthly, Coach Cadaver’s Team who took up the field outside campus every afternoon, and the Screechers, the school’s funeral choir. But he had never in his years of studying here heard any mention of a MA Club.
As he made it to the classroom and began to unpack his stuff by his seat, Reggie decided that this might be a worthy distraction for later exploration.
Reggie immersed himself in the lessons, running through the pages of his textbooks and taking notes. Post-its were prepped for his vision board and page markers were added for his study session later at home. If he finished his Posthumous Economy essay on time, he would squeeze in some reading before bed time. Riding this wave, the chatters of his classmates were nothing but salt in the ocean that was his mind. The ripping sound as Cleo tore a piece of fresh bandage from her spare roll to apply to her ankle, Blanche’s nail file rocking back and forth on her index fingernail, and Franketyke’s attempt at carving his name into his stone desk for the umpteenth time — was all background noise to Reggie. While he knew his efforts in class were for the greater cause, he sometimes couldn’t help but imagine the thoughts going through the minds of others. What other things could they possibly be thinking about, if not academic achievement?
Normal teenage stuff, most likely. Not that you would know anything about that, Reggie somewhat somberly notes.
Reggie was dragged out of his focus when the final bell went off. The day had flown by, metaphorically and quite literally, as he noticed Vinnie scramble for one of the windows, leathery wings already extended — and there he goes. Knowing Vinnie, he was most likely going for an extended batnap in the bell tower or some other place until darkness descended, and he could go skulking in the streets of Midtown. Reggie didn’t remember Vinnie ever hunting for blood — he certainly hadn’t mentioned anything. It must be part of the bad boy mystique he seemed to cultivate so delicately. If Vinnie was a monk, he’d lead the midnight mass by now.
Reggie joined the rest of the student body in the hallways, going with the flow of the movement. It didn’t seem like there would be a stampede or a crushing today. While a common occurrence for the monsters at Gravedale High, his teacher Mr. Schneider deliberately avoided the halls during this time. He cared an awful lot about staying alive, and the teens had decided to respect that decision. To imagine that such fearful and skittish creatures have somehow managed to not only survive but also contribute so much to the world would forever be a conundrum to Reggie. Xenophobia, tribalism, and a high breeding rate had proved to be powerful forces, and yet he was trying to join that world regardless.
In front of him he noticed the two monsters from this morning. The ghoul left the moving mass of students and took a right turn toward the stairs to the crypt. The poltergeist followed behind, phasing through the ghoul as they passed to the front, slathering them in slime, which they didn’t seem to mind at all. Remembering this morning’s conversation, and oddly intrigued by it, Reggie decided to follow behind. The crypt was usually reserved for storage of the various knick-knack purchases Headmistress Crone made with the school’s budget and the emergency housing of nocturnal creatures. The latter seemed to be the undead students’ destination as they limped (and floated) into the room, joining a chorus of various growls, groans, and moans.
“Reese! Gespensta! Glad you could make it. We were just getting started. Seems that the midterms have had everyone on edge,” a voice of unknown cadence called out.
As Reggie approached the open door, a fourth voice joined the conversation: “I was just talking about my swimming practice. I swear, hitting the 100 meter freestyle is awful, and the sharks don’t help. For Browning’s sake, I have gills!” The voice shrieked, clearly burdened by their situation. Other voices hummed and huffed in empathy and support.
Reggie’s attention was drawn from the conversation when he saw the poster right outside the room:
Monsters Anonymous Club
Meetings every Monday 3:00 PM and Thursday 3:30 PM
All are welcome
And as he finished reading the last line, a voice from inside the room called for his attention. Curses and craniums — Reggie mentally lashed out at himself — not only for getting caught in what was basically spying, but for standing there like an absolute idiot as his freeze response sets in.
“Hey, you! You’re from the human teacher’s class, right? Schmidt…Stifter…something.”
Why could he not keep his stupid snout out of everyone else’s business? If one of them was a jock he would dead meat. If he was quick, he could make it up the stairs and out of the school before he got tossed in a locker or his head forced into a toilet bowl (again).
“Um… hey? You good?” the student called again.
Reggie looked at the different faces looking at him in the crypt. Instead of angry scowls and raised claws, the stares he received were of worry and slight surprise.
The poltergeist, Gespensta, piped up: “You need a talk?”
And in an instant, the panic in Reggie’s body left as quickly as it had surfaced, adrenaline fizzing out as he realized that he was in fact not about to be mauled by his fellow supernaturals. His claws fidgeted at his sides as he took a quick glance behind him, as if to make sure that no unwelcome intruders might hear him.
“To be brutally honest: I might.”