Beyond the window, a breeze rippled through thousands of corn stalks. Outside, the endless field of crops swayed in the late afternoon sun.

Beatrix leaned against the window frame, watching the landscape from beneath the wide brim of her pointed black hat. The hat's tip was crooked from years of being reckless with it; She never valued the traditional ceremonial clothes the way other witches seemed to.

"Eye of newt," a haggard voice said.

Beatrix focused on a flock of crows flying across the horizon. A group of crows was called a "murder," something she'd learned after being raised on the outskirts of a farm her entire life. Crows were thought of as an omen of death due to their habit of circling above areas where animals and people were expected to die, but Beatrix found the creatures admirably loyal to each other.

"Eye of newt!" the voice repeated, louder this time.

Before Beatrix could realize the demand was directed at her, Aunt Constance hollered, "Quick, child!"

Beatrix whipped around to find her three aunts—Constance, Clarice, and Cordelia—hunched over a steaming cauldron of bubbling green liquid in the center of the room. Aunt Constance's focus didn't shift from the concoction as she snapped her spindly fingers at Beatrix.

"The jar!" Aunt Constance snarled, losing what little patience she had left. Beatrix noticed a growing panic in her aunt's eyes.

"What jar?" Beatrix asked, dumbfounded.

"In the name of all things unholy, the eye of newt jar!"

Beatrix fumbled around in the wooden cupboards that lined the walls of the spell shack. Each drawer moaned as Beatrix yanked them open. She couldn't spot a jar labeled "eye of newt" anywhere.

"Hang on, I just had it!" Beatrix called over her shoulder. A lie. She hadn't seen it once that day, despite her aunts' orders to have all the ingredients prepared the night before.

How was I supposed to know eye of newt was so important to make a pyrokinesis potion? Beatrix thought bitterly. She dropped to her knees to see if any jars had rolled under the cabinets.

"There's no time!" Aunt Clarice screeched. The overflowing pot was reaching its limit.

"Brace yourselves!"

Beatrix's aunts lunged away from the cauldron and hit the floor.

Right as Beatrix mirrored her aunts' movements and covered her head, an explosion rang in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut as a hot blast ran flush across her skin and permeated her clothes. When the blast subsided, a fizzing sound lingered.

Beatrix peeked up from her spot beside the broom closet, the air in the room still hot.

Her aunts were already standing again, taking in what was left of their potion. As the smoke cleared, Beatrix saw that each of her aunts' stringy hair shot out in a million different directions. Aunt Clarice had lost one of her eyebrows.

It took everything in Beatrix to suppress a cackle.

Patches of her aunts' long black tunics were seared from the heat and a layer of ash coated their hands and faces. Beatrix touched her cheek and realized she looked the same, except her hair was still intact. Beatrix had pinned her long dark braid underneath her hat, which had mostly protected it from the blast. Beatrix's hat proved to be durable as a result of the protective charms she'd secretly cast on it.

Any humor Beatrix found about her aunts' appearances was short-lived. The three women turned their ash-covered faces to glare daggers at her.

"Beatrix Ravenwood," Aunt Cordelia, the most sovereign of the coven, said. Her tone was grave. Beatrix was in unimaginable trouble.

Beatrix dusted off her skirts, now a deeper shade of charcoal than they had been before. Her hand brushed against something heavy in the front of her apron.

She pulled out the eye of newt jar from her pocket and sheepishly waved it for her aunts to see.

"Found it."

Beatrix lit a candle and rolled up her sleeves to finish scrubbing the floor. The last sliver of the setting sun had already dipped below the corn field. Three hours had passed, yet she had hardly made any progress in getting rid of the coat of residue that layered every surface of the spell shack. There was a dull ache in Beatrix's arms from all the sweeping and wiping she'd done. Although she'd managed to clear out most of the rubble, the floor was permanently scorched black from the explosion.

Beatrix blinked the burning dust from her eyes and coughed to clear her lungs of the ash she'd been inhaling.

Wanting a break, she cracked open the door of the shack to see if her aunts were nearby. She looked west to where the main house stood. Smoke rose from the chimney and the main house's windows were lit up with lanterns.

The sound of crows in the distance were the only sounds accompanying her.

Beatrix sighed in relief. She figured Aunt Clarice would be soaking in an enchanted bubble bath to recover her lost eyebrow, Aunt Constance would be loudly complaining about every foolish mistake Beatrix had ever made, and Aunt Cordelia would be conjuring a stew of some kind to shut everyone up. Beatrix assumed that a long list of additional punishments would be waiting for her after she finished cleaning.

Beatrix stepped outside onto the stone path that led up to the little shack. Her aunts had constructed this side building years before she was born, made specifically for them to conduct more dangerous rituals. Stepping back to get a better view of her cleaning progress, Beatrix noticed that the surrounding grass yard was as scorched as the shack was.

Fine, maybe I was a little reckless, Beatrix admitted to herself, a hint of embarrassment creeping in. But she immediately pushed the thought away. No. It's my aunts' fault for treating me like a child.

Beatrix was well acquainted with magic. She'd been around it since she could walk. Aunt Cordelia made sure to have Beatrix's soul signed away early so she could have as many years as possible to "perfect the craft." Nevertheless, the older witches only let Beatrix participate in the most mundane coven activities: Beatrix was allowed to carve amulets and talismans, gather cups of slugs, hex crystals, spray the corners of the farmland with rose water for protection, and pick mushrooms in the forests that circled their property. If she was lucky, her aunts let her make herbal brews for special occasions, but only if she correctly "stirred intentions into the tea" to help aid the family in energy and focus. Just thinking about her daily tasks were enough to make Beatrix scream. The lack of inspiration drove her crazy.

Beatrix knew she wouldn't be deemed fit for more advanced incantations for at least another fifteen years. She didn't know exactly how old each of her aunts were, but she knew they received prolonged lifespans in exchange for being obedient servants of the dark forces. Beatrix had always assumed she wouldn't be bestowed with the same aging gifts her aunts enjoyed since she wasn't particularly dutiful when it came to carrying out hellish crusades. How could she be, when she was still limited to simple conjures and charms meant for much younger witches, despite having just turned sixteen?

Beatrix stared back out at the field. As her gaze wandered, she spotted a subtle movement among the crops. Some of the corn stalks rustled, yet the air was still and no breeze was passing through.

Beatrix walked down the stone pathway and approached the wall of corn. She listened intently for any other noise.

Another rustle, closer this time.

Beatrix silently tiptoed into the cornfield.

Quiet again.

She scanned her surroundings. The six foot stalks blocked her view, and Beatrix couldn't see two feet ahead of her.

But she managed to spot a flash of something moving again.

Immediately, Beatrix lunged forward, not caring that she was crushing multiple stalks, and clasped onto someone's arm.

"Aha!" Beatrix bellowed. "Gotcha, strawhead."

"How do you always know it's me?" Autumn whined, letting Beatrix drag her out from her hiding spot. It wasn't a difficult task, since Autumn's body was made entirely of straw and stitched together burlap sacks.

Beatrix beamed. "Who else is as dead silent as you?"

"If I'm really so silent, you wouldn't have known I was here in the first place!"

Autumn wiggled her arm free of Beatrix's grip and stood eye-to-eye with her. Where Beatrix's eyes were nearly black, Autumn's were a light blue. Autumn's straw hair was divided into two neat braids, the ginger and honey-colored strands woven together tightly.

Aunt Clarice was the most skilled of the family at making sentient beings. All the creatures she made, including Autumn, closely resembled humans. Autumn's stitched-on eyes, lips, and nose looked as real as her own. If anything, Autumn's eyes were more vivacious than Beatrix's; they were clear windows to her soul. Beatrix sometimes felt jealous of this feature.

Although Autumn was Aunt Clarice's creation, Beatrix was the one who named her. Her aunt had created the scarecrow girl ten years ago to help around the farm and to ward off vermin from the crops. Because Beatrix didn't have any friends her age, Autumn was a welcome surprise.

The main thing that distinguished Autumn from Beatrix was the texture of her skin. It still resembled the rough texture of the burlap sack she was fashioned out of, and pieces of straw stuck out along the hem of her neck line, her wrists and ankles, and wherever she accidentally tore the surface of her skin.

Beatrix noticed a small tear in Autumn's shoulder from grabbing her a moment ago.

Without a word, she pulled out the needle and thread she kept in her front pocket and began stitching up Autumn out of habit. She shifted the collar of Autumn's cream prairie dress to get a good angle.

As kids, when they routinely roughhoused with each other, Autumn was always the most injured by the end of their games. Beatrix became adept at patching her up, making the name "Autumn Patches" perfect for her scarecrow companion.

Autumn let Beatrix sew her back together as she continued. "Are you still coming to our house for dinner? Granny was wondering."

"I don't know if I can make it tonight."

"How come?"

Mid-stitch, Beatrix jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the burnt shack.

"Oh. Wow. That's…"

"Go on, I know what you want to say," Beatrix snorted.

"That's pretty bad." Autumn shyly smiled, an attempt to spare Beatrix's feelings. "What'd you do this time?"

"Got distracted by some birds and missed the most crucial ingredient, apparently."

"Birds? Where?" Autumn froze, her blue eyes searching the evening sky. She made a move to retreat further into the cornfield, but Beatrix held Autumn in place as she finished the last stitch on her shoulder.

"Seriously, a scarecrow who's scared of crows. Aunt Clarice would be so proud," Beatrix teased.

"You better not tell her," Autumn said with a tremor in her voice.

Beatrix held back another jest to spare Autumn an anxious episode. She knew how nervous Autumn got about her phobias. If her aunts found out about Autumn's shortcomings, they'd either remake her so she could do her job properly—which would risk Autumn's memories and personality being completely tweaked—or they'd simply dispose of her and make another farm worker to take her place.

Beatrix pulled away from Autumn's shoulder and playfully saluted her. "I swear to you I won't. Witch's honor."

This was enough for Autumn to regain her composure. "So you really can't make it to dinner tonight?"

"I'm not even close to getting the floorboards clean. I'll be scrubbing until Hallow's Eve at this rate."

"Want help?" Autumn asked.

The offer was enticing. Autumn was extremely tidy and the task would be over in a fraction of the time if she helped. Yet Beatrix still didn't want to deal with inhaling toxic fumes for another hour. Her stomach growled angrily.

"I have a better idea."

Beatrix dashed past Autumn into the cornfield.

"Hey! Bea! You're gonna get in trouble!" Autumn yelped.

"You'll be in trouble too if you don't hurry up!"

Beatrix heard Autumn run after her as she weaved through the crops. Beatrix had the advantage of human legs, but Autumn didn't trail too far behind. As the night set in, the two girls headed towards the village where Autumn and the rest of the scarecrows lived.

"Bea! We were starting to think you couldn't make it!" Granny Magpie called from the porch as Beatrix and Autumn caught their breaths by the front gate. Grandpa Harry rocked leisurely on his rocking chair and waved to the girls with one hand and smoked his pipe with the other. Granny Magpie wore an identical prairie dress to Autumn and Harry was dressed in his usual corduroy trousers and faded flannel shirt. Beatrix and Autumn climbed up the porch steps together.

"Glad to have you, Bea. How's the witchy duties these days?" Harry asked through a puff of smoke.

Beatrix shrugged. "Same old, same old."

"She got in trouble," Autumn informed her grandparents.

"Just for blowing up a stupid building," Beatrix finished.

The old couple's stitched eyes went wide.

"It isn't as bad as she's making it sound," Autumn interjected. "The shack is just… burnt."

"Oh my, that doesn't sound good," Granny Magpie said.

Before any more questions could be asked, four little scarecrow boys in overalls came roaring around the side of the house.

"Bea!" they yelled. The small boys tackled her, sending Beatrix tumbling to the ground. She rolled around with them, not able to hold back her cackling despite her sore arms. Beatrix thought her laugh was atrocious, an unfortunate family trait she'd inherited from the long line of witches before her. Nevertheless, she let her guard down around Autumn's family.

"Watch out! I'm here to gobble you up!" her laugh pierced the air.

"Not if we get you first!" the smallest scarecrow boy roared in an enthusiastic battle-cry.

"Boys, boys, give Bea a break!" Granny Magpie chided. "She's tired and hungry after a long day."

Beatrix's day was nothing compared to the daily schedules the scarecrows adhered to on the farm. While her aunts compensated them with coins for tolling the fields and looking after the farm animals, the scarecrows couldn't spend their earned money on much. It was too dangerous for them to leave the perimeters of the witches' property; no scarecrow wanted to be caught among the surrounding human communities if they dared visit or trade there. Beatrix was sure her aunts could cast an illusory spell to disguise them if they wanted to, but that seemed far too generous to expect from them. Beatrix resented the tight leash they kept their creations on.

However, most of the villagers didn't seem to mind. They didn't know much else.

The kids finally relented and let Beatrix sit up. Autumn's cousins made sure to greet Beatrix like this every time she visited for dinner.

Beatrix removed her pointed hat and wiped her dirty boots on the front mat before entering. Oil lanterns cast the front room in a comforting glow. Her dinners with Autumn's family were her favorite part of the week. This place felt more like home than her aunts' house. Granny Magpie, the unspoken matriarch of the scarecrow community, loved hosting Beatrix. It helped that Beatrix was by far the least threatening witch on the property.

The fireplace remained unlit because the summer heat still hung in the air. Iowa summers were on the humid side, and Beatrix was grateful for it. She'd learned that dry weather did nothing for her skin when she was dragged to a witch convention out of town a few years ago. The convention was held in Utah, and her fingers became almost as brittle as Aunt Cordelia's. And as usual, Beatrix wasn't allowed to participate. Instead, she was sidelined to "observe the atmosphere" of the witch gathering.

"Go wash up, Bea. You're filthy! Food will be ready soon," Granny Magpie said. "Autumn, go butter the vegetables."

Autumn joined her grandma at the stovetop while Beatrix headed down the hallway. The pictures that lined the walls featured Autumn and her cousins over the years. Whether it was birthdays, Yuletide celebrations, weddings, or maypole dances, Beatrix adored the holiday festivities the scarecrow villagers put together. Some of the photos displayed a young Beatrix hanging tightly onto Autumn during an Easter egg hunt, and others showed the girls making flower crowns for each other.

Out of sight from the kitchen, Beatrix spotted the wash basin near the back door. She paused before dipping her hands in when she noticed Autumn's bedroom door slightly ajar. Through the crack in the door, Autumn's diary lay on top of her desk. But what really piqued Beatrix's interest was the envelope hastily jammed inside it.

Beatrix furrowed her brow, confused. Autumn never gets any mail. Does she have a pen pal?

She mulled it over. Autumn's never left the village, so the letter's probably from someone who lives here. Beatrix's mouth upturned in a mischievous grin.

Maybe it's a boy?

That thought alone was enough to propel Beatrix into the bedroom.

Beatrix rattled off all the potential village boys Autumn could be corresponding with. Maybe it's from Raine. Or Sawyer. Or Forrest. Or maybe Oakley? I hope it's not Oakley. He's definitely too sensitive for Autumn, they wouldn't balance each other out at all.

When she reached the desk, which was adorned with painted pumpkins and vines, Beatrix found that the envelope was already torn open. The tear was straight and neat across the top. Autumn's work.

Beatrix pulled out the single piece of paper from inside. She muttered the first lines aloud.

"Autumn Matilda Patches, this is a reminder that you have been invited to attend New Salem Preparatory Academy for the upcoming academic year. Please respond with your acceptance or denial by August 20th–"

"Hey! That's mine!"

Beatrix nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn't heard Autumn walk down the hall.

"Geez. I'm telling you, dead silent," Beatrix said.

Autumn ignored the comment and swiped the paper from Beatrix's hands. She held it against her chest, crinkling it in the process.

"Autumn, what is that?"

"Nothing! It's junk mail," Autumn said, her face flushed.

"It said you were invited to–"

"Some random private school in Oregon. It's nothing. It must've been a mistake."

"Random? A mistake? Autumn, you got invited to attend Monster High!"

"What? No, it's for New Salem Preparatory Academy."

"Same thing, strawhead. People call it 'Monster High' for short. How obvious would that be if Monster High was its actual name?

All Autumn said in response was, "Oh."

Beatrix had learned about the famous school from listening in on conversations her aunts had when they thought she was asleep. Also, while eavesdropping on witch gatherings she'd attended, it was clear that every teenager with even a drop of supernatural blood in them strived to attend that school. It was uniquely coveted for its one-of-a-kind education and was the only school that featured a diverse student body from every corner of the monster world.

"You have to go!"

Autumn clamped a hand over Beatrix's mouth. "Shush! I don't want Granny to hear."

"You have to go," Beatrix repeated herself, muffled by Autumn's soft hand.

"I can't. I won't. They invited me last year too and I turned it down."

Autumn pulled her hand away. Beatrix was shocked. She had no idea her best friend had been keeping this secret for an entire year already, since Beatrix made it a point to stay in the loop when it came to Autumn.

"Why?" Beatrix asked in a quieter voice.

"I'm not interested."

"You mean you're too scared to go," Beatrix countered.

"I'm not scared!" Autumn crossed her arms defensively, gripping the letter tighter. "It's just… it's not necessary."

"Not necessary? It's one of the top schools for supernatural beings! It's beyond competitive, how could you not be interested?" Beatrix paused. "Wait, if you received an invite, you must have applied. Why would you apply there and not accept a spot?"

"It wasn't me," Autumn whispered. "It was Granny."

Beatrix waited for her to explain. Autumn relaxed her rigid posture, put the letter back in her diary, and sat down on the edge of her bed.

She ran her fingers along a crocheted quilt. "Granny wants me to push myself. She says that I've been holed up in this village my entire life and that I need to venture out, more than anyone else she knows. She says that I've gotten too scared of, well, living."

"What does that mean?" Beatrix asked.

"It means that I'm pathetic. I'm clumsy, inexperienced… I mean, I'm scared of crows for corn's sake! That's, like, failing my only job!"

"You know that's not what your grandma meant," Beatrix said.

Autumn stared hard at the quilt. "I'm already being homeschooled here. I like having Granny as my teacher. And even if I were to go, what if I tear a limb? What if it's too windy? What if when I'm far away from your aunts' magic, I become inanimate again? What if Granny needs help in the garden? She's getting older and already has a hard time–"

"You're overthinking things, as usual," Beatrix cut her off and gripped her forearms. "This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Only a select group of monsters get an invitation to attend. I'm telling you, this isn't something you can pass up. Where else could you be around literally every species of monster?"

Autumn's eyes met Beatrix's.

"The school's reputation is unreal," Beatrix continued. You'll be able to network and get connections to any university you want afterwards, and meet world-famous fiends and celebrities!"

Beatrix paused. She could tell her friend wasn't convinced.

Time for a different approach.

"Autumn, you are seriously underestimating yourself. You can handle this. Who is the first scarecrow everyone turns to when they need help making apple pie?"

"Me," Autumn murmured.

"And who's the scarecrow who flawlessly leads knitting circle every Sunday?"

"Me…"

"And who is the most selfless and caring scarecrow in town?"

"Bea…" Autumn started.

"Who is it?"

Autumn gave in. "... me, I guess."

"You are the most qualified out of everyone here to go experience your own adventure, strawhead. And you're definitely the most deserving of it. I would kill to be in your shoes."

Autumn looked at her sadly.

"I wish I could give you my spot," she said.

It was common knowledge that witches didn't qualify as eligible supernatural beings that could attend the school. Witches weren't monsters in the technical sense, they were merely humans who had traded their souls for preternatural abilities. As Aunt Cordelia liked to put it: Any human can be like us. They just need to know how.

To that, Aunt Constance had yelled, I'd like to see them try!

"Just think it over," Beatrix said, taking Autumn's hand and leading her back out into the front room. The table was filled to the brim with warm rolls, asparagus, and watermelon.

"There you girls are. I'm bringing out the turkey now," Granny Magpie said with her head in the oven.

Beatrix and Autumn sat across from each other and listened to Autumn's little cousins ramble about which one of them was the strongest. Beatrix made the oldest cousin arm wrestle her to prove his strength. She let him win to save his pride.

When the meal was nearly finished and every scarecrow was stuffed to the brim, Autumn suddenly jolted up in her seat. It startled Grandpa Harry enough to make him knock over his cup of cider and drench his prized corduroy pants.

"Bea!" Autumn announced. "You're going with me!"

"Huh?" Beatrix said through a mouthful of bread.

"You're going with me to Monster High! That's the only way I'll accept the school's invitation."

Everyone around the table stared and tried to put together what she was saying.

"But they don't accept witches. I won't be allowed to," Beatrix said, not fully processing what Autumn was proposing.

"I thought it was called New Salem Preparatory Academy," Granny Magpie said.

"It's decided. You're going with me. The school will just have to make an exception," Autumn declared.

Beatrix hardly recognized the bold scarecrow opposite her.

And her heart leapt at the realization that Autumn wasn't going to take no for an answer.