Twyla's room was on the fifth floor of the house. She shared it with her pet dustbunny. Dustin took to Frankie right away, even if she did leave him a little staticy.
"Do you need me to explain the rules?"
Twyla smiled. "I think I get the gist. Frankie, truth or scare?"
"Truth," said Frankie.
"Where did you live before Monster High?"
"Bavaria, mostly." Frankie wiggled her toes to make her slipper flap against the bottom of her foot. "We were pretty big homebodies. Mom and Dad are the quiet types. No siblings. Not a lot of neighbors either. I was homeschooled for the first few days, but Dad's education was pretty spotty so that was not sustainable."
"I see," said Twyla. "How old are you exactly?"
Frankie made a sound like a buzzer, which was a lot more accurate than most people's attempts. "It's your turn now. Truth or scare?"
Twyla's eyes flashed in the glow from the setting sun. "Scare."
Frankie had made Cleo kiss Webby at the last Ghoul Squad creepover. She usually tried to come up with better scares than that, but she'd been distracted. Twyla had been missing.
Frankie didn't feel like making Twyla kiss Dustin, and not just because she would probably get a dustball. She followed Draculaura's lead instead and asked, "I scare you to… tell me what your biggest dream is."
For a moment she thought a stray spark had hit Twyla, but then she realized the Boogey Monster was just shocked. In a non-literal sense.
"I don't know?" she asked. At least it sounded like a question. "I never really thought about it."
"Well, what do you like?" asked Frankie.
Twyla seemed to bite off an immediate response, which had Frankie dying of scientific curiosity, but she shoved half a slice of pizza in her mouth. Dreams were a pretty big deal after all. It seemed strange that Twyla didn't have a single one after fourteen whole years, but Frankie's learning-curve standards had always been a little skewed.
"I like… children?" she said eventually. "I think. Oh, but I also like quiet?"
"School librarian! Oh, I know!" Frankie waved the other half of her pizza. "You should work at Monster High when you graduate. I'll work there too, as a Mad Science teacher, of course. Then we can still be friends!"
Maybe it was just the sunset, but Twyla looked flushed even though the house was a steady 15.5° Celsius.
"I'm sorry about the cold," said Twyla, as if reading her brain parts. "I asked the House to warm up. It usually listens better. I don't know what's gotten into it tonight."
"Your house is sentient?" asked Frankie.
"Don't take a sample."
"I wasn't going to," she insisted, tucking the sample jar surreptitiously back in her bag. "Well, the cold doesn't bother me because: dead bodies, but if you're cold we could always share a bed. Yours looks big enough for two. Sorry, Dustin. Three. With the sleeping bodybag I brought, we'll be even warmer!"
"Oh," said Twyla. "Okay."
Frankie changed in the bathroom. When she came out, Twyla had changed into her pajamas as well. She was wearing a sleep hood with little bunny ears to match Dustin. It was the cutest thing Frankie had ever seen in her unlife. She wanted to take a picture to send to the Ghoul Squad, but it wasn't worth making Twyla self conscious. Maybe she would take Frankie up on her offer someday and join them for a group creepover.
That would be creeperific.
"Is your dad going to be gone all night?" asked Frankie, settling into her side of the four-poster. Twyla rolled over to face Frankie, but she didn't remove her sleep mask, which also had bunny ears. This time, Frankie couldn't resist snapping a quick picture on her iCoffin. She did not send it to the Ghoul Squad.
"He probably won't be back till tomorrow afternoon, so we should be able to sleep in as late as we want."
"Is he away for work?"
"You could call it that." Twyla's voice had always been a little gritty, but now it was extra coarse.
"What would… you call it?" asked Frankie.
Twyla rolled back over to face the ceiling. "He's the Boogeyman. His job is to give children nightmares."
"Oh…" Frankie frowned. "I'm not sure I see the economic incentive."
Twyla laughed, louder than normal, like she'd been surprised into it. Frankie made people laugh without meaning to all the time. For once, it seemed like a good thing.
"Me neither. When I was old enough… I started to follow him each night, through the shadows. Most Boogeys don't learn how to do that till they're older, but I learned by copying him."
"Why did you follow him?" asked Frankie.
"I can… feed on negative energy," she said. "I would consume the nightmares that he gave to children. I could make them go away."
"That sounds… unhealthy?" Frankie wasn't familiar with Boogey physiology, but negative energy couldn't be good for anyone. It had 'negative' right there in the name.
"Well, he seems to be getting slower in his old age. These nights, he's usually just fanging out with Wewe Gombel. I wonder why." Frankie couldn't be certain with the sleep mask, but she was pretty sure Twyla rolled her eyes. "I used to be a lot busier. That's why I was homeschooled before Monster High too."
"Well, that's g- Wait. Homeschooled by who? Your dad?"
"Oh, uh, my education was… autodidactic."
"You homeschooled yourself?"
"The house helped assign reading sometimes. Although I still think it favored a Eurocentric patriarchal literary canon." This last part was said in a slightly louder voice, apparently for the house's benefit.
"How.. How does it feel to consume negative energy?" asked Frankie.
"I don't know," said Twyla. "I don't exactly feel myself after consuming too much of it. More overwhelmed than anything. Is that how it felt to take in too much electricity?"
"Maybe," said Frankie. "I had to get rid of the excess electricity by creating Znap. Do you have any outlet for the negative energy you consume?"
"Maybe it's not the same." Twyla fiddled with her sleep mask for a moment but didn't remove it. "Consuming negative energy must be part of my Scaritage. I mean, it comes so naturally."
"So you don't know any more about your Scaritage than I do?" asked Frankie.
Twyla shook her head, and a multitude of bunny ears flapped gently against her face. "Not really. My father is the quiet type too."
"What about your mom?" asked Frankie.
She thought Twyla had fallen asleep, but a few minutes later, just as Frankie was about to fall asleep herself, there was a whisper so soft it could have been one of Dustin's snores.
"She's even quieter."