Chapter 14: My Dad's Not Bad, Huh?
Sally
Oh. My. God.
He actually said it.
He told.
See, if I had known that this was the consequence of messing with Reaper's temper, I probably wouldn't have made fun of his interior decorating skills.
...I really should drop that, shouldn't I?
The class is unbearably silent. Remember all the times I said I enjoyed being able to hear myself think? Yeah, I'm taking all those back right now.
I really don't want to think too much at this moment, thank you.
Everyone's staring at me...how great. I hate attention, and now I'm probably in the biggest, brightest lime light in the whole damn Underworld.
Woop-dee-freaking-do.
"You've got to be kidding me," the substitute finally groans, glowering at my general direction. Aw, who am I kidding? He's glaring daggers at me and no one else. I'm tempted to look around in confusion and mouth "ME?" at him, but that wouldn't be very productive, now would it?
I really would love nothing more than to be back in my room, preferably under a nice, soft blanket, with a cup of hot chocolate (melty spider eyes for the win!) and Jack snuggled up next to me.
Okay, just take that last thought and throw it out the window. Hard. And far, far, far away. As in, let it go. Yeah. Do that. Now.
I digress.
But trust me, there is nothing more (I said that twice...darn it) that I wish to happen than for me to vanish on the spot-right now-and just die. Or something. Maybe not die, 'cause I can't (I'm undead, so...) but I don't want to be here. In front of my classmates. And two teachers who are definitely never going to make my favorite-ghouls list anytime soon. And Jack...
Oh.
OHMYGOD, Jack heard it all, too!
No! No, no, NO! He can't know about this! Everything's going to change! I just know it!
Damn!
"Finkelstein's not going to be happy about the way you're treating his protégée," comments Professor Corpse lightly, waggling his eyebrows with amusement. So if he isn't a sleepy, absentminded instructor, he's playful?
I mean, he is actually one of the younger teachers.
Don't think too much on that. I don't like him.
I like Ja—
Shutting up now...
"That old duck-face doesn't intimidate me in the least," snarls Reaper with a scowl, shoving the other away from him, "and neither do you."
Corpse scoffs and crosses his arms. "Maybe not me. But we both know you practically fear him."
My dad is scary. Especially when he's creating something. With the lightning effects, the evil laughter, and the "IT LIVES!", it doesn't really come to a surprise that he's one of the "Scariest Ghoul Undead" in that Witch magazine. Go ahead and laugh, but those things have the best cookie recipes. That's the only reason I started reading them. It had nothing to do with the fact that Jack was always at the top. Number two, to be exact. Right after his dad. Even wearing that really cute pin-stripped suit. That I was NOT staring at. Ahem.
"I. Am. The. Grim Reaper! Nobody—especially a deranged professor that can open his head like a can—scares me!" And to prove his point, he basically destroys the chalkboard with a fist. It shatters like glass. How irresponsible! We could have gotten hurt! What a bothersome loner...
Maybe he's upset that we didn't like his designs?
Okay. I'm done with that joke. He wouldn't make a good decorator anyway. I'd never hire him, at least.
Yup.
Definitely.
"Is that so?" a voice oozes out from the side, and there, standing in the doorway, is probably the last monster I wanted to see at this moment.
My father.
The room turned deadly silent as everyone took in the bored look of Doctor Finkelstein, who in turn was eyeing Reaper in distaste. He had his arms crossed in his usual manner, but the iciness in his glare told them that what was about to happen would be nothing like the norm.
"It's hardly comforting to know that one of my colleagues looks down upon me," he finally drawled, leaning against the doorframe with most of his weight on his left foot, "but I find it no better to know that they don't hold an ounce of fear towards me, either."
"What makes you certain that you should be feared, old man?" retorted an equally-disgruntled Grim Reaper, picking up a shard of what once was a blackboard. "What are you doing here anyway?"
"Though I have no reason to answer to you, I might as well let you know that I could hear the ruckus from his room from the first floor. Tell me, what floor are we on currently?"
"...the thirteenth."
"Precisely."
"So, what now? You came all the way up here just to say that we were being too loud?"
"I was...until I heard a very particular comment. Yours, to be specific." There was no secret what that comment was, yet Sally couldn't help but hope that maybe it wasn't what she was expecting. Maybe Finkelstein heard something else. Anything else.
Not about her, preferably.
"You don't believe that my daughter is one of the most highly intellectual beings in the Underworld," calmly stated the old professor, leaving his post by the door and sauntering over to Reaper. He nonchalantly slapped the shard of chalkboard from the other's hand with a snarl. "Weapons are prohibited on school grounds."
"Like I care," scoffed the demon, gesturing towards his abandoned scythe. "And, so what? What's wrong if I don't think that brat has the brains?"
Finkelstein momentarily considered stabbing Reaper with a piece of broken blackboard that was conveniently within reach of his hand. But that would be assault, which is also prohibited. Even if he didn't care. Because he really did not.
"My child has tested the same exact exam you took prior to becoming a teacher. And since I am part of the charges of this Academy, I do know that it is twice as high as yours. In fact, it was the perfect score, and you can only imagine how often qualified graduates strive—and fail—to achieve that."
Now, the silence was stunned.
But, considering who was in the class...
"Oooh, you just burned, ya creep!"
...would that really last?
Oogie continued to howl from his seat. It was amazing how he was the first to recover from the shock of the events that had surprisingly taken place in the half-hour they were there.
As Reaper's mouth twitched in annoyance, several giggles erupted from the back of the class, particularly those who were near the Boogie Man. Jack finally seemed to snap back to reality as his mouth formed a devious smirk.
"All talk and no action! I can't believe the Grim Reaper—Death himself—is fwightened by a mean ol' doctow!" he bellowed out, causing more peals of laughter from his peers.
Another twitch.
"That's pathetic!"
"Lame!"
"Why the hell was I scared of you awhile ago?"
"LOSER!"
'This is good,' Sally suddenly thought to herself, reveling in the taunts her classmates threw at the offending monster, 'maybe they don't really care about what Corpse said...'
And so she slowly, very inconspicuously, sunk to her seat, all the while avoiding making too many movements.
And because whoever ruled the Underworld decided that she had been tortured enough, they let nobody notice.
Finally.
"SHUT UP! NEED I REMIND YOU WHAT HORRORS I CAN CAUSE YOU BRATS?"
"Hey! Inside voice!"
"Why you little—"
"ENOUGH!" A whip cracked and everybody cringed. Finkelstein held the offending object with a shaking hand as he glared murderously at his colleague. "Grim, if you ever talk with such indecency at my students again, I swear I'll make you remember just why I'm in charge of this school!"
It was obvious that Reaper was waging war inside his dark, creeped-up head. His two choices were, in retrospect, simple: keep annoying the old quack and get hell from the Academy, or walk out with whatever pride he had left and save it all for another—and hopefully better—day. Any other normal teacher in his situation would probably choose the latter hands-down. Normal. As in, without anger-management issues, a scythe that bent reality itself, or a body filled to a brim with black magic. And if Sally was asked, without terrible interior decorating skills.
Well...she wasn't really asked; it was just a point that needed to be stated.
Ah, whatever was Grim supposed to do?
After a few more moments of careful consideration, he finally gave a low whistle and shook his head. Forget it. He'd have revenge later. Right now, he was wasting more time butting heads with a bunch of morons who clearly would never be on his side.
Psh. Jerks.
"I don't need this," he remarked with a shrug, leaning over to grab his handy-dandy weapon. Resting it carefully over his shoulder, he turned around and walked towards the exit, ignoring both other proctors ("Don't you dare leave!").
Briefly, without facing them, he murmured in an eerie voice, "Don't think I'll forget you, Rag-Doll..."
And he left.
Stupid creepy wanna-be interior decorator...
A/N: Update! Yay!
I really wasn't too fond of this chapter. Mainly because I'm excited about the next one! I think I might try one LONG chapter instead of two or three short ones...hmm...what sounds better? Might take a while though. I got lots of things coming up...
I hope I haven't disappointed a lot of people! I know I'm a slow updator (how would that be spelled?) ...and this story seems dead...but it isn't! So please bear with me!
Thanks for reading everything so far! It means a lot!