Falcon Quinn and the Black Mirror Read online

  To one side was a cinder-block building marked WELLNESS CENTER.

  In the distance was a high stone wall, and in the middle of this was a pair of thick iron gates, bordered on either side by marble columns. At the top of one column was a stone gargoyle that looked like a young man screaming.

  The door to the bus opened. Falcon, Megan, and Max looked at each other.

  “Are we dead?” said Megan.

  At this moment the bell in the clock tower struck thirteen. Seconds later a flock of bats flew out of the tower and circled around it twice.

  “I don’t—think so,” said Falcon.

  “What are we if we’re not dead?” said Megan.

  “I don’t know,” said Falcon. “Crazy, maybe?”

  Max thought about this. “Crazy,” he said. “Okay! That could work!”

  Megan looked angry. “What are you all happy about?”

  Max smiled. “You gotta admit, crazy’s way better than dead.”

  The front door of the castle flew open, and the fattest woman Falcon had ever seen came out onto the porch. She walked over to the bus and peered in.

  “Welcome to Castle Grisleigh,” she said. “Mr. Quinn? Mr. Parsons? And Miss Crofton. Right on schedule. I trust your trip to the Triangle was uneventful? Good.” She was wearing a big purple dress, which clashed shockingly with her head of thick red hair. An oversized satchel hung from one shoulder.

  “Well?” she said. “Are we going to stay on the bus all day, or are we going to proceed?”

  Falcon, Megan, and Max looked at each other again, then stepped timidly off the bus. The warm sun shone on Falcon’s face.

  The woman looked at her clipboard, then up at Max. “Sasquatch,” she said, writing something down. “That much is clear.” Then she looked over at Megan. “Miss Crofton? Would you show me your teeth, dear?”

  “My teeth?”

  “Come now,” said the large woman. “Big smile.”

  Megan grimaced, exposing her teeth.

  “Hmm,” she said. “Curious.” She thought things over for a moment, and then wrote some more notes down on her clipboard. “And you, Mr. Quinn. I wonder. Zombie, perhaps? Hmm. Puzzling.”

  “Who are you, lady?” said Max. “Where are we?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You will address the faculty as ‘ma’am’ or ‘sir.’”

  The sun disappeared behind a cloud, and the sky darkened.

  “I’ll do what?” he said.

  “I said you will address the faculty as ‘ma’am’ or ‘sir.’” She cleared her throat. “I am Mrs. Redflint. The dean of students.” She looked confused. “Where are your things?” she said.

  “Things?” said Max. He looked perplexed. “You mean our backpacks? I got my triangle!”

  “Your belongings, yes,” she said. “Here.” She handed them each a set of keys. “Mr. Parsons, you’re in the catacombs. You two are up in the Tower of Aberrations, rooms ninety-nine A and B, respectively. I think you’ll like your roommates.”

  “Our roommates?” said Falcon. “We have—”

  “Oh, all the students have roommates. You can apply for a single when you’re a senior. Assuming you make it that far, and aren’t bitten or fried, or any of that. Well, then. Are you ready to jump right in? Good.”

  She waddled back up the stairs. Falcon and Megan and Max stayed in the driveway, looking up at the castle. “Come along, then,” she said. “We need to get you settled.”

  “So—we have to stay here?” said Megan.

  Mrs. Redflint turned to her. “Don’t be sad,” she said. “It’s not a punishment. It’s an opportunity!”

  “I don’t feel crazy,” said Falcon. “I feel fine.”

  She looked at him with a slightly bewildered expression. “You aren’t crazy, dear,” she said.

  “I’m not crazy?” he said.

  “Dear boy,” said Mrs. Redflint. “Didn’t your grandmother tell you anything?”

  “My grandmother?” he said.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” said Mrs. Redflint. “This is what the culture is like now. Parents leave it all to the school system. They abdicate completely!”

  “Okay, lady,” Max said. “I think you need to—like, explain what’s going on here? Because this is messed up. Seriously.”

  “And your parents didn’t tell you either?” said Mrs. Redflint. She looked at Megan, who shook her head. “Dear, dear,” said Mrs. Redflint. “This is awkward.” She rubbed her chin. “Let’s see, how to put this. I—oh, it’s been so long since I’ve had to give the speech, I don’t even remember what the best—” She looked at them kindly. “My dear young people,” she said. “You’re monsters.”

  “Monsters?” said Max.

  “Yes, exactly!” She smiled. “Well, that’s wasn’t so hard at all! Come along, then. I’ll show you your quarters.” She took Megan’s hand and they stepped up to the porch. Max and Falcon followed. “I don’t know why I thought it would be so difficult. It’s simple!”

  “You’re saying—we’re monsters?” said Max.

  “Yes, Mr. Parsons. You’re a monster. All the children here are monsters. This is the Academy for Monsters. Right, then—well, now that’s all straightened out. Come along, now.”

  Megan, Max, and Falcon looked at each other, then back at Mrs. Redflint.

  “We’re monsters?” said Max. “What—kind of monsters?”

  “Well, that’s what we’re here to find out, isn’t it? In your case, Mr. Parsons, I don’t think there’s much suspense. You have Sasquatch written all over you, poor thing. Your friends pose something more of a mystery. But we’ll get to the bottom of it—oh, yes indeedy. That’s job number one. Because we can’t take the preventative steps until we know what you’re up against.”

  “Preventative steps?” said Falcon. “Ma’am?”

  “Please,” said Mrs. Redflint, looking at her watch, “let’s get you all settled, and then we’ll send you to orientation, and then we’ll begin finding out what kind of hideous thing you are. After that we’ll have a pretty good sense of it, so you can learn how to suppress your unpleasantness and rejoin the land of nicely behaving grown-up men and women. It’s really rather simple.”

  “I’m not a monster,” Falcon said. “Ma’am.”

  “Oh, but of course you are,” said Mrs. Redflint. “You’re here, aren’t you? You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t one. So. That’s that. You’re certainly a monster. I’m not sure what kind, but we’ll figure that out. Oh, yes indeedy.” She squinted at him. “Hmm,” she said. “I’d say—zombie, offhand. Or vampire. Oh, but I do hope it isn’t vampire, for your sake. All that endless biting, and the twilight longing, and the self-denial. Soooo boring.”

  “You’re a patient,” Falcon said, “aren’t you? At this place. I get it now. You’re not a doctor. You’re a patient.”

  Mrs. Redflint stamped her foot. “You’re not going to make this difficult, are you?” she said. “You’re not going to make me have the whole tired conversation, right here on the steps? The one where you say, Oh, but there aren’t any monsters, and I have to say, Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, and you say, Oh, this can’t possibly be, and I say, Oh yes, it possibly can, and you cry and say, I’m not a monster! And I say, I’m afraid you are, and you say, I want my mother, and I have to say, Yes, well, lots of people want things they can’t have. Tell me we’re not going to have to have that conversation, please. Tell me that now.”

  “You are nuts,” said Falcon, “aren’t you?”

  “Dude,” said Max. “Maybe we shouldn’t, you know—make her angry?”

  “I don’t care if she’s angry,” said Falcon. “I don’t—”

  But Mrs. Redflint stamped her foot as if this was the last straw. Then she turned to him, and all at once her eyes grew very large and her cheeks swelled. And a great burst of fire, like a blast from a gasoline gun, came out of her mouth, along with a tremendous thundering roar and a smell of rotten eggs. Her nostrils puffed black smoke.
/>   For a moment Falcon, Megan, and Max were surrounded by the flames, and the whole world turned red. Then, just as quickly, the fire was gone, and they found themselves unharmed, if more than a little startled. Two trails of smoke puffed from Mrs. Redflint’s nose. She waved her hand through the air to dissipate the smoke.

  Megan looked at the woman despondently. “I do want my mother,” she said quietly.

  Mrs. Redflint sighed. Then she turned to her with an expression that was strangely tender. She put her hand on Megan’s shoulder.

  “It’s all right, Miss Crofton,” she said. “All monsters want their mothers.”

  3

  A COFFIN OF ONE’S OWN

  At this moment a cloud covered the sun. A hard rain began to fall. There was a rumble of thunder, followed by a sharp strike of lightning. It hit a crooked green rod on the top of one of the castle’s towers, and for a moment the entire building shuddered with pulsing blue light.

  “Oh, what a lovely storm,” said Mrs. Redflint, closing her eyes and turning her face toward the sky beatifically. The rain bounced off her forehead. Then she opened her eyes and led the three of them toward the castle. “I think this is a good omen. Don’t you?”

  “This is messed up,” said Max.

  “The little Frankensteins will be happy,” said Mrs. Redflint, looking up at the towers. “How they love the lightning. It is always so cheering when the Frankensteins look on the bright side. Much better than the opposite, believe me. Sometimes we go for weeks without a thunderstorm, and, then, ugh! The groaning. Well, now.”

  Mrs. Redflint led Falcon and Megan and Max into the warped, collapsing eyesore of a building. There was a large chandelier hanging from the ceiling of the front hallway, covered with cobwebs and what seemed to be the stubs of mostly burned candles. There were blobs of wax on the floor where the candles had dripped. To the right was a large parlor with a piano and a curious assortment of knickknacks: a stuffed walrus, a harp strung with barbed wire. A portrait of a hideously ugly, grouchy-looking old man in a stovepipe hat hung crookedly above a fireplace. Beneath the painting was a brass plaque that read ZORON GRISLEIGH, 1821–?

  “Zoron Grisleigh, our founder, began the Academy for Monsters so that young monsters could learn to survive in the world of humans, instead of being chased with pitchforks, shot with silver bullets, impaled with stakes, or what have you. In 1841 he built this castle, here on Shadow Island, in what you call the Bermuda Triangle. It is now known as Castle Grisleigh, in his honor. Grisleigh is the Learning and Living Center for new arrivals. Assuming you survive the spring, you will one day be allowed onto the other side of the very large wall you saw outside, where you will find Castle Gruesombe and the Media Resource Center. That is where the students in the Upper School reside and study. But we keep the new students quarantined here until they learn how to keep from transforming into horrible pools of vomit and the like. I’m sure you understand. It’s distracting.”

  Falcon noticed a boy sitting in an enormous over-stuffed chair in the large parlor to his right. He was playing paddleball.

  “Ah. This is the Relaxing Room,” said Mrs. Redflint. “It’s got Wi-Fi!”

  The boy with the paddleball glanced mournfully in their direction.

  “Mr. Weems? This is Falcon Quinn, Maxwell Parsons, and Megan Crofton, from Maine. They’re just arriving. Will you say hello?”

  Mr. Weems had giant black circles under his eyes, as if he had not slept for a long time. His clothes were all black, as were his eyes. He glanced at Falcon, Max, and Megan and smiled. His teeth were sharp, like those of a ferret or a snake.

  “You’re going to die,” observed Mr. Weems.

  “Dude,” said Max.

  “You think I’m jealous? I’m not.” He looked at Falcon, then at Mrs. Redflint. “What’s he?”

  “Well, we won’t know that until he’s been tested, will we?” said Mrs. Redflint.

  “And her,” said Weems, looking at Megan with widening eyes. “She’s—delicious.” He stepped a little closer.

  “Mr. Weems,” said Mrs. Redflint commandingly. “Miss Crofton is not for devouring, or toasting.”

  “Mmmm,” said the boy. “Crunchy.”

  “Your next stop is your room, Mr. Weems. Do you understand?”

  “But—perhaps just one of the little toes? To begin?”

  “You’re disgusting!” said Megan.

  “Indeed,” said Weems. “I am—a hideous ghoul! Bwa-ha-ha-ha!”

  “Mr. Weems, you have not been diagnosed either, may I remind you.”

  “Perhaps you suppose I am something besides what I am?” he hissed. “Do you?” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps an earlobe,” he said.

  Max swung his enormous arms around. “Dude,” he said.

  “Mr. Weems,” said Mrs. Redflint. “Remember you’re here to resist your monster nature. To rise above it.”

  “That’s what you say,” said Weems, and began paddling his paddleball once more.

  “It is what I say,” said Mrs. Redflint. “Mr. Weems, please take Mr. Parsons down to the catacombs. Show him his chamber. He’s in the Wing of Dead Flies, Twenty-fifth Corner.” She turned to Max. “Mr. Weems will show you where to go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with him,” said Max, his voice rising. “No way!”

  “Don’t be difficult,” said Mrs. Redflint.

  At this moment Max yelled suddenly, but his yell was like nothing that Megan or Falcon, or even Max himself, had heard before. It was more of a roar than anything else, a great bellowing howl that seemed to come from the very depths of his innards. At the same time, he shuddered all over, and as they watched, Max seemed to grow larger. His hair got a little longer and more tangled, and he looked very much like he needed to shave.

  “Oh, look, it’s starting already,” said Mrs. Redflint.

  “What was that?” said Max. He looked at his arms, which were much hairier than they had been a moment before. “What’s happening?”

  “It’s the atmosphere here at the Academy,” said Mrs. Redflint. “It intensifies your monster nature. Best to get that out in the open as early as possible, so you can learn to resist.”

  “Come along, bigfoot,” said Mr. Weems. “I’ll show you to the catacombs.”

  “I said I’m not going!” said Max.

  “There are flies in the catacombs,” said Weems wistfully. “They remind me of my childhood, by the shores of the sea. My father built ships by day. Gnawed on the bones of sailors at night. The careless ones!”

  “Okaaaay,” said Max.

  “There are pizzas,” said Mrs. Redflint, “where he’s taking you.”

  Max thought it over. “Seriously?” he said.

  “Max,” said Falcon. He was alarmed that Max was so quickly becoming more Sasquatchlike. He had a strange sense of being left behind, as if even here Falcon was alone in not knowing who he was, or where he would fit in.

  “I’ll be fine,” said Max. “No harm in checking it out. Right?”

  “Be careful,” said Megan, and Falcon looked at her curiously. It was the first time she’d ever sounded worried about Max.

  Weems took him by the shoulder.

  As they walked away, Max made another growling sound. “Pizzas!” he shouted happily.

  “Well, then,” said Mrs. Redflint. “They’re going to be the best of friends, don’t you think?” She sighed. “Let’s take you two up to the tower.”

  Megan looked mournfully at the large woman. “Is this the tower where the Frankensteins are?” she said.

  “Oh, heavens no,” said Mrs. Redflint. “You’re in the Tower of Aberrations.”

  She led them up a sweeping staircase. Falcon noticed a series of old, faded photographs on the walls as they ascended. There was a group from 1924 marked THE MASK AND CLAW SOCIETY, featuring what appeared to be a group of actors and actresses. There was another one labeled THE GULLET EDITORIAL STAFF, 1961. There were stills of the fencing team in 1890, and the debate society in 1
946. Most of the students looked human enough, but there were a few exceptions. In a photograph of the chorus from 1951 were sixteen women, two of them covered with fur. In the back row was a girl with bolts in her neck.

  The grand staircase spiraled up and around a dark, open space lit by a monstrous chandelier. They followed the stairs to the third floor, where there was a square railing bordering the open stairwell and a door at each corner leading to the towers.

  Mrs. Redflint guided them through one of the doors and up a circular staircase. They emerged into an ornate parlor, with high cathedral ceilings and tall Gothic windows. The parlor was filled with stuff—cushy leather couches, busts of Greek philosophers, a painting of a knight on horseback, a large globe of the moon, a telescope, a thick Oriental rug, and a set of Rock’em Sock’em robots on an antique table. There was a large mirror on one wall, and beneath this, a table containing a huge jar filled with translucent jelly.

  There were two main doors in the extravagant chamber—one leading left, one to the right. A smaller door next to the staircase led to a bathroom.

  “Here you are, Mr. Quinn,” said Mrs. Redflint, opening the door on the right. “Home sweet home.”

  Falcon felt his heart sink. The room had a single, dirty window at one end that admitted virtually no light. There were chains on the wall, some bunk beds, and a coffin on the floor. On one wall was an ancient machine that looked capable of generating electricity. On another wall was a small chemistry set, with beakers and liquids in stoppered jars. The room was lit by three large candles burning in sconces.

  “This is the Tower of Aberrations,” said Mrs. Redflint. “You may as well know that the students tend to refer to it as the Tower of Wailing, but that is not its proper name; it is just a little nickname that I, for one, disdain. It is one of the five towers of Castle Grisleigh. The others are the Tower of Science, the Tower of Moonlight, and the Tower of Blood. The fifth tower, the one with the clock, is called the Tower of Souls. This is not for use by students. It is the private domain of the clockmaster, who—well, you need not concern yourself with that now. I trust you will find your lodgings versatile enough.”