later that week. That old bridge that led from Ghoulsville to the Other Side had seen better days, and was becoming less and less helpful in keeping out mortal humans who lost their way, usually during hikes and camping trips near the bridge entrance. A new bridge had been constructed with a higher take-off point that mortals couldn’t traverse.
“Too bad,” Oscar Adamson-Horwitz commented at this announcement. “What’ll we do now to stir up mortal frights this Halloween?”
“I’m sure I can find a few things to keep you occupied, Mister Adamson-Horwitz,” Mrs. Winterberry chortled.
“Whaaaatttt?! I didn’t see her there!” Oscar yelped, to the laughter of his nearby friends.
“So let me get this straight,” Grawl began, turning to Gabbie during the announcements. “The Warlock Sentry is going to be snooping about the school looking for possible witnesses to the Pumpkin Hill Plunder…witnesses that could potentially come out for or against Dad.”
“Yes, for the billionth time, Grawl, and I think it’s mostly for,” Gabbie replied, flustered. Why were boy trolls so dense sometimes?
“As much as I would like to believe that,” Grawl said, “it just sounds funky to me, that’s all.”
“Who’s funky?” came a thick voice from behind Gabbie and Grawl. “You, Grawl?” It was Francis McTavish, the biggest and strongest boy in the sixth grade and the youngest of the three McTavish kids who, for all intents and purposes, ruled the school. Patty McTavish was the star screamleader of the school, and Oliver McTavish was the star ghoulball player. It didn’t hurt that both of their parents were now on staff at Ghoul School—their father as coach for the ghoulsball team and their mother as scream coach and history teacher. Rumor was that Francis McTavish and Florinda had grown closer over the summer and were now officially boyfriend and girlfriend, interminably at each other’s sides.
“Good one, Frannie,” Florinda said from her seat right behind Gabbie.
“Back off, Florinda, haven’t you caused enough grief today already?”
“Hey, don’t talk to my girlfriend like that, Beast,” Francis roared.
“Talk about the pot calling the kettle you know what,” Grawl said.
“Hey, you want a pounding, troll?” Francis turned his beady eyes to Grawl.
“We were having a private conversation here,” Gabbie said.
“Have away,” Florinda said, “don’t mind us at all. Pretend like we’re not here.” She faded off and then on again, a smug smile on her face. “Just one of the neat things that you can do…once you get your witch’s stripe, that is.”
“I say, what’s that smell?” Horace Cuthbert, Ghoulsville’s resident chanteur and fine arts aficionado asked.
“Something’s burning!” Grace said.
“Florinda, it’s you!”
“What?”
“There, coming from your rear!” Oscar said as the kids and Mrs. Winterberry made quite a commotion moving away from Florinda, whose backside was indeed emitting a foul, egg-smelling green flume.
“Oh my stars!”
“Oooh, it stinks!”
“There there, children,” Mrs. Winterberry said, waving her hand in front of her nose. The green flume started to dissipate, and the smell with it. “Looks to be just a defecation spell...quite harmless!”
There were eruptions of laughter as the banshee howled again. Gabbie spied Neville returned from the lavatory in the back of the room, a merry glint dancing in his violet eyes.
“Neville, did you do that?” Gabbie asked under her breath with a little smile.
“Come along, banshee’s yelling," Neville smiled.
As the children got up to make their way to the next class, a boy who had been crouched in the corner with his head on his desk looked up at them. His hair was a mess and his face had the imprint of the grain of the desktop.
“Sorry about that, you guys,” he said, blinking his eyes and stifling a yawn.
“It wasn’t you, Awful Alvin,” Horace said, “at least not this time.”
“Oh. Well that’s good, I guess,” he said.
“You’re just in time for your next class, Mister Pomfroy,” Mrs. Winterberry said. “Try to stay awake, won’t you?”
“Yes ma’am,” Awful Alvin said, shaking out his hair and rubbing down his ruffled and wrinkly clothes.
“Why ever do they call him Awful Alvin?” Mac asked, as the students made their way down the corridor to their next class.
“No one really knows for sure,” Oscar said.
“I heard it’s because he’s had to do the sixth grade three times,” Florinda said, “and this last time, when the headmaster told him he would be repeating, all he could say was 'Oh, that’s just awful…'”
“I guess it stuck,” Grace said.
“It’s bizarre,” Grawl said. “He’s not really as slow as he seems. Take it from one who’s been misunderstood.”
“Did you hear anything else at that meeting?” Neville said to Gabbie in a low and curiously serious voice.
“It’ll keep till later,” Gabbie replied.
The Tale of Jack Spratt
Gabbie's news would just have to wait. The first days back to school were generally jam-packed with tons of activity, students jockeying to get their clubs filled, and most important of all, appointments for the Ghoulsball team and the Screamleaders.
Of course Grawl, with his natural power and wide frame, would be great for ghoulsball, which was sort of like football with a touch of basketball from the Other Side; but given his troll status, he was not a natural choice for someone like ghoulsball captain Oliver McTavish. Oliver was pro-warlock above anything else and wouldn’t deign to talk to a troll.
Now Bertha Bumpkins, on the other hand, was another story. She led the grunt part of ghoulsball, had gotten her witch’s stripe when she was eight, and could care less about Grawl’s troll status. She wasted no time putting in a recruitment plea for Grawl to join her team.
“You need to be present at tryouts, Grawl. This is not a request,” she told him before striding off with her teammates.
“I’d listen if I were you, mate,” Neville said with a smile. “You don’t want to get on Bertha Bumpkins’ bad side.”
“Does that mean she has a good side?” Grawl asked in return.
Neville was strongly recruited by Oliver to try out for the ghoulsball team. Gabbie had just noticed how much Neville had filled out over the summer. True to who he was, he didn’t like
