The bathroom hummed.
Not loudly—nothing in the Maul was ever just one kind of loud—but enough that it filled the silence Holt had stepped into like a low, electric whisper crawling along the walls. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead in that unreliable, half-alive way they always did, casting everything in a sickly glow that made even monsters look a little off.
Holt didn't mind.
He leaned back against the counter, rolling his shoulders like he'd just stepped off stage instead of out of someone else's panic.
"Now that," he muttered, cracking his neck slightly, "was a rough landing."
Behind his eyes, Jackson lingered—quiet, tense, still caught on something unfinished.
He was apologizing, Jackson said, softer now. Heath was actually apologizing.
Holt flicked his gaze up to the mirror.
Same face.
Different energy.
A slow smirk pulled at his lips.
"Yeah, I noticed, Sparky."
The iCoffin buzzed again in his hand.
Persistent.
Impatient.
Holt's smirk sharpened.
"Alright, alright," he said, thumbing the screen awake. "Let's see what's so fangin' urgent that it hijacked a whole emotional moment."
The screen lit up his face in neon blues and purples, reflections dancing across his eyes like stage lights.
One notification.
From a contact saved simply as:
⚡ SUPPLY DROP ⚡
Holt snorted.
"Dramatic. I like it."
He tapped it open.
---
The message exploded across the screen in a cascade of texts, images, and frantic emojis:
"FINAL CONFIRMATION FOR BLOOD MOON PARTY SUPPLIES:"
– Pyro-safe speakers (bass boosted ✔)
– Fog machines (extra thick ✔)
– Glow-bats (do NOT overfeed this time ❗)
– Flame-proof decorations ✔
– Special order lighting rig (arriving tonight)
– Backup generator (because last time… yeah.)
– Custom DJ booth (DELIVERED)
And then—
A final message.
Separate.
Bold.
"LAST DELIVERY ETA: TONIGHT. NEED SIGN-OFF OR THEY WON'T DROP IT."
---
Holt's grin slowly widened.
"Oh, that's so clutch."
His thumb tapped idly against the edge of the phone as he reread the message.
Tonight.
Not tomorrow.
Not "whenever."
Tonight.
Which meant—
"Yeah, no," Holt said under his breath. "We are not missing that."
Behind him, the fluorescent light flickered harder—buzzing like it agreed.
Jackson stirred again.
He pushed himself off the counter, pacing once.
Then again.
Energy building under his skin like a track about to drop.
"If we miss that delivery?" Holt continued, voice sharpening slightly. "No speakers. No setup. No party."
A beat.
"Which means no Blood Moon blowout."
Another beat.
"…Which means mansters and ghouls riot."
Jackson didn't respond right away.
And that silence—
That hesitation—
It lingered.
*He was trying to say something*, Jackson said finally.
Holt stopped pacing.
For a second—
Just a second—
Something quieter crossed his expression.
"…Yeah," he admitted.
Then he rolled his shoulders again, shaking it off.
"And he'll get another shot."
His smirk came back, easy and practiced.
"Hothead's nothing if not persistent, remember?"
The iCoffin buzzed again.
Impatient.
Holt glanced down at it.
Then toward the door.
Then back to his reflection.
"Alright," he muttered. "Game plan."
Because he needed one.
Fast.
He couldn't just walk back out there as DJ Hyde.
Not now.
Not when Jackie had just left.
Holt exhaled sharply.
"Yeah, no. That's a Jackie moment."
Which meant—
He had to switch back.
---
"Alright, Jackie," Holt said, tapping the edge of the sink twice. "Tag. You're it."
Jackson didn't answer.
---
Holt reached over—
And twisted the faucet.
Water rushed out in a steady stream.
Cold.
Sharp.
Grounding.
He stared at it for a second.
Then leaned forward, bracing his hands on the sink.
"Let's make this quick."
---
The shift started differently this time.
Not explosive.
Not sudden.
But still—
Unavoidable.
The heat came first, curling low in his chest before spreading outward.
Familiar.
Controlled.
But still intense.
His reflection flickered—
Holt's smirk—
Jackson's wide eyes—
Back—
Forth—
Like a bad signal trying to stabilize.
Holt gritted his teeth slightly.
"Come on…"
The edges of the mirror warped, light bending unnaturally as the heat peaked.
Then—
Dropped.
Like a beat cutting out.
---
Jackson gasped.
Hands gripping the sink hard enough his knuckles went pale.
Breathing uneven.
Heart racing.
But—
Back.
---
He stayed there for a second.
Just breathing.
Just—
Existing.
---
"…Okay," Jackson whispered.
His voice was quieter.
Softer.
But steady enough.
He reached into his pocket.
Pulled out the iCoffin.
The screen still glowing.
Still waiting.
---
Jackson swallowed.
"Right."
Responsibility.
Excuse.
Timing.
All at once.
---
He splashed some water on his face quickly, wiping it off with his sleeve.
Adjusted his glasses.
Smoothed his hair.
Tried to look—
Normal.
For him at least.
---
"You've got this," Holt said, voice faint now but still present. "Just don't overthink it."
Jackson let out a small, shaky breath.
"Too late for that."
---
He turned.
Pushed the bathroom door open—
And stepped back into the noise.
---
The Maul swallowed him whole again.
Lights.
Voices.
Movement.
All of it crashing back in like it never left.
---
Heath was still where he'd left him.
Leaning against the railing.
Flames low.
Hands in his pockets.
Looking like he hadn't moved much at all.
---
Jackson hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then walked over.
---
Heath looked up immediately.
"Finally," he said, though there wasn't any real bite to it. "Dude, your 'two minutes' turned into like—"
He stopped.
Squinted slightly.
"…You good?"
Jackson forced a small smile.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."
Not entirely a lie.
Just—
Incomplete.
---
He shifted his weight.
Left hand fidgeting slightly at his sleeve.
"Hey, uh—actually—sorry, I just got something."
Heath blinked.
"…Seriously?"
Jackson winced.
"Yeah, I—uh—my mom just texted."
That part?
Technically true.
Adjacent.
Close enough.
---
Heath straightened slightly.
"Your mom?"
"Yeah," Jackson nodded quickly. "She, uh—needs me back home. Something about—family stuff."
Another half-truth.
Those were easier.
---
Heath's flames flickered uncertainly.
"Oh."
A pause.
"…Everything okay?"
Jackson nodded again.
"Yeah. Just— really important."
---
He shifted again.
Avoiding eye contact just a little.
"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to bail on you."
That part?
That part was 100% real.
---
Heath rubbed the back of his neck.
Flames flickering unevenly again.
"Yeah, well… wouldn't be the first time today something got cut off mid-sentence."
The words weren't harsh.
But they landed.
---
Jackson felt it.
Winced slightly.
"I know."
A beat.
"…I'm sorry."
---
Silence stretched for a second.
Not awkward.
Just—
Unfinished.
---
Then Heath exhaled.
Shrugged.
"Whatever," he said. "We'll pick it up later."
He tried for a grin.
Didn't quite land it.
"School tomorrow, right?"
---
Jackson nodded quickly.
"Yeah. Tomorrow."
---
He stepped back slightly.
"Promise."
---
Heath studied him for a second longer.
Then nodded.
"Yeah. Alright."
A pause.
"…Later, Cuz."
---
Jackson smiled faintly.
"Later."
---
He turned.
Walked toward the exit.
Each step a little faster than the last.
---
Behind him—
Heath stayed where he was.
Watching.
Thinking.
Flames flickering low.
---
And in Jackson's pocket—
The iCoffin pulsed again.
Waiting.
---
Tonight wasn't over.
Not even close.
---
The next morning at Monster High didn't ease into the day.
It lurched into it—like something waking up wrong.
Lockers slammed too loud. Wings brushed too close. A zombie somewhere near the stairwell let out a long, dragging groan that didn't quite match the usual background noise.
"Rrrrgh…"
Translation: Something feels off.
And for once?
Ghoulia didn't ignore that feeling.
---
By the time the bell screamed, the usual group had already clustered together in their seats:
Deuce, leaning back like nothing ever fazed him.
Cleo, perfectly composed, gold accessories catching the flickering light.
Draculaura, perched neatly, hands folded—too neatly.
Clawd, relaxed but alert, like he always was.
Lagoona, calm, eyes thoughtful.
Gil, awkwardly trying to look like he belonged.
And Ghoulia—
Notebook open.
Pen ready.
Already watching.
Always watching.
---
Jackie slipped into his seat a second later.
Quiet.
Careful.
Like he didn't want to disturb the air.
Ghoulia's eyes flicked to him instantly.
Left hand adjusting his glasses.
Messy notes peeking from his binder.
Everything—
Normal.
Except—
It didn't feel normal anymore.
---
Draculaura noticed too.
Of course she did.
Her gaze lingered on Jackie for just a moment too long.
Because last night—
That window.
That reflection.
That feeling.
She still hadn't shaken it.
---
The lights dimmed.
The projector flickered on.
And just like that—
The room went still.
---
"Sound the alarms!"
The voice exploded through the speakers.
Dramatic.
Urgent.
Wrong.
"Halloween is fast approaching!"
Deuce groaned quietly. "Aw man, this thing again?"
Cleo didn't look away from the screen. "Honestly, the production quality alone is offensive."
But Ghoulia?
Didn't react.
Her pen hovered.
Waiting.
---
"The human menace…"
Images flashed across the screen.
Torches.
Crowds.
Shadows stretching too long.
Too sharp.
---
Draculaura's fingers tightened together in her lap.
Her mind wasn't on the film.
Not really.
It was on—
A window.
Glass reflecting something that didn't quite match.
A smile that disappeared too fast.
A sound—
Like something falling.
---
"They will capture and torment monsters of all kinds!"
Clawd frowned. "Okay, that's… intense."
Lagoona tilted her head slightly. "Is it actually like this though?"
Gil shifted. "I mean—history says—"
"History exaggerates," Cleo cut in smoothly.
But even she sounded less certain than usual.
---
Ghoulia scribbled.
Fast.
Sharp.
Not about the film.
About last night.
Reflection delay.
Expression inconsistency.
Auditory anomaly (impact sound).
Her pen pressed harder.
Ink bleeding slightly into the page.
---
"Van Hellscream!"
"Whoa," Deuce muttered.
"Boo, indeed," Clawd added dryly.
---
Jackie didn't react.
Not really.
He just sat there.
Still.
Too still.
---
Draculaura noticed that too.
And it made something cold settle in her chest.
Because Jackie wasn't just quiet—
He looked like he was listening to something else.
Something not in the room.
---
"They will take over all your fun places!"
The Maul flashed across the screen.
Overrun.
Crowded.
Dangerous.
---
Heath shifted in his seat nearby, flames flickering unevenly.
"Okay, that's just rude," he muttered. "They better not mess with the Maul."
Deuce snorted. "Priorities, dude."
---
"They will kick your piles of leaves!"
"…Monsters," Lagoona muttered.
---
"They are vicious, vicious people!"
"Debatable," Cleo said lightly.
But she didn't smile.
---
Ghoulia's pen stopped.
Just for a second.
Because—
Out of the corner of her eye—
She saw it.
---
Jackie's reflection.
Faint.
In the glossy surface of Cleo's gold notebook.
---
It moved.
Just—
A fraction—
Too late.
---
"Rrrgh…"
Her voice was quiet.
But sharp.
---
Draculaura turned slightly.
"What is it?"
Ghoulia didn't answer.
Just tapped her notebook.
Twice.
Hard.
---
Draculaura followed her gaze.
To the reflection.
To Jackie.
---
Nothing.
Everything looked normal.
Perfectly normal.
---
And somehow—
That made it worse.
---
Because last night—
It hadn't been obvious either.
It had been subtle.
Quiet.
Wrong in a way that didn't look wrong.
---
Draculaura's fingers curled slightly into her sleeves.
That wasn't right…
The thought echoed again.
Louder this time.
---
"Meet Joe Normie…"
The film continued.
Smiling human.
Friendly face.
Crowd behind him.
Not friendly.
Not safe.
---
Jackie's shoulders tightened.
Barely noticeable.
But Ghoulia saw it.
She always saw it.
---
"Don't fall for their tricks or treats!"
Frankie leaned forward. "Wait, what about trick-or-treating?"
"Traps," Cleo said flatly.
Frankie blinked. "…Oh."
---
Abbey's voice carried from across the room. "This seems exaggerated."
"No, Abbey! Look!" someone insisted.
---
Ghoulia wasn't looking at the screen anymore.
She was looking at patterns.
At inconsistencies.
At everything that didn't add up.
---
Jackie adjusted his glasses again.
Left hand.
Always left.
---
But—
Last night—
That sleeve had been burned.
Right side.
---
Her pen pressed harder.
Contradiction.
---
Draculaura leaned slightly closer.
"Ghoulia…"
Soft.
Careful.
"What are you thinking?"
---
Ghoulia tapped her notebook once.
Then twice.
Then pointed—
Not at Jackie.
But at the reflection again.
---
Draculaura swallowed.
Because she understood.
She didn't need translation this time.
---
Something wasn't lining up.
Again.
---
"Lock your doors!"
"Stay inside!"
"Run if discovered!"
---
"Mr. Rotter, this can't be right!" Frankie said, standing slightly. "Monsters hiding? Normies hunting us?"
Mr. Rotter didn't blink.
"That is the unfortunate history of Halloween."
---
Heath leaned back. "Mr. Rotter, dude—uh, sir dude—we watch this every year. Nothing ever happens."
Deuce nodded. "Yeah, dude."
---
"Those who forget the lessons of history…" Mr. Rotter began.
"…are doomed to repeat them."
---
"I repeated history once in middle school," Heath muttered. "Burned my book."
Clawd chuckled.
Weakly.
---
"Students," Mr. Rotter continued, "this is no laughing matter."
His gaze swept the room.
Slow.
Measured.
---
And for just a second—
It lingered—
On Jackie.
Before sighing.
---
Draculaura felt it.
That same cold feeling.
Again.
---
Ghoulia circled something in her notebook.
Hard enough to tear the page slightly.
---
Because now—
It wasn't just a feeling.
---
It was a pattern.
---
"Even if normies seem trustworthy," Mr. Rotter said, "all rules go out the window on Halloween."
---
Jackie's reflection—
Didn't lag this time.
---
But Ghoulia didn't relax.
---
Because that didn't mean it wasn't there.
---
It just meant—
Whatever it was—
Was getting better at hiding.
---
"Who knows what they might be capable of?" Mr. Rotter finished.
---
Silence.
---
Then—
The projector clicked off.
Lights returned.
Noise flooded back in.
---
But not for Ghoulia.
Not really.
---
She stared at her notes.
At the contradictions.
At the gaps.
At the things that almost made sense—
But didn't.
---
Draculaura wrapped her arms around herself slightly.
"…That wasn't just nerves, was it?" she whispered.
---
Ghoulia shook her head.
Slow.
Certain.
---
No.
---
Because nerves didn't do that.
---
And as the class began to empty—
As voices rose—
As everything returned to normal—
---
Ghoulia looked up.
At Jackie.
---
And for the first time—
---
She didn't just see someone who didn't make sense.
---
She saw—
---
A mystery.
---
One that was getting harder—
---
And harder—
---
To ignore.