Author’s Note:

  This story is my dream script if I were writing the upcoming Universal Studios' Monster High live-action movie! Hope you have a fangtastic time reading!

  What to expect

  - A supernatural murder mystery set at Monster High

  - An angsty, slow-burn romance alongside the mystery

  - My original characters exploring this world, featuring all your favorite canon characters

  - Mainly inspired by Generation 1 of Monster High, with some Gen 3 touches

  - Rated T for Teen for action, morbid themes, and dark romance (but no explicit content—keeping it PG-13!)

  ~ o ~ O ~ o ~

  The late afternoon sun beat down on Monster High's football field as the fearleaders locked into their final formation. At the top of the pyramid, Gilda Goldstag balanced on Frankie, Draculaura, and Cleo. Below, Clawdeen, Toralei, and the werecat twins, Meowlody and Purrsephone, held firm at the base.

  "Hold it... hold it..." Cleo commanded. "Alright, that’s it for today.”

  The pyramid collapsed into a heap of exhausted monsters.

  Cleo adjusted the gold bandages around her wrists. "Listen up, because I'm only saying this once,” she announced. “With the new school year starting Monday, we need to be perfect. If anyone's form is as atrocious as it was today, you'll be running laps until you decompose. Yeah, Toralei, I'm talking to you.”

  Toralei hissed.

  “Now, shoo. I need a break from all your mediocrity,” Cleo said.

  Draculaura dabbed at her forehead with a black lace handkerchief, her pink skin hidden under a thick layer of SPF 500 sunscreen that made her look more ghost than vampire. Next to her, Frankie's neck bolts sparked, sending the teammates around her jumping back.

  "Whoops! Sorry, guys!" Frankie fiddled with her bolts. "This weather really messes with my circuits."

  "Ghoul, you think you've got it bad?" Clawdeen sprawled out on the turf, fanning herself with a Teen Scream magazine, her hair piled into a messy bun. "Try being a werewolf in this heat. It's like wearing a fur coat. In an oven. In the desert."

  "Ever tried waxing?" Toralei asked with a smirk.

  Clawdeen let out a growl.

  As the squad grabbed their water bottles from the sidelines and ran for the school's sweet, sweet air conditioning, Gilda Goldstag hung back. She pulled out a well-loved copy of Cryptid Classics: A Collection of Monster Literature from her gym bag and headed for the woods that loomed past the sports fields, where a towering wrought-iron fence was the only thing keeping the wilderness from taking over the school grounds.

  By the bleachers, a group of vampire students lounged in the shadows, sheltered by Victorian parasols and designer sunglasses. Gory Fangtell, their unofficial leader, spotted Draculaura and wiggled her fingers in a wave.

  "’Laura!" Gory flashed her fangs in what was supposed to be a smile but definitely wasn't friendly. "Your dad's soirée this summer was soooo adorable. I mean, who even serves vintage O-negative in crystal chalices anymore? The last time I saw that, normies still thought the world was flat.”

  Draculaura tightened her grip on her handkerchief, but kept a sugar-sweet smile on her face as she walked to the other vampires. "Oh, you know how Dad is," she said with a fake giggle. "He’s old-school.”

  Frankie bounced over to Clawdeen. "Oh my ghoul, practice was voltage! None of my body parts fell off today! That's a new record!"

  Clawdeen grinned. "Good job, Frankie.” Then, Clawdeen’s sharp eyes noticed Gilda slipping away toward the treeline at the edge of the school grounds.

  "Hey, G!" Clawdeen shouted. "We're hitting up the Coffin Bean—they've got a new Scream Protein smoothie that's seriously killer. You in?”

  "Rain check?" Gilda held up her book, already halfway to the fence. "It's too nice out to be inside, and I'm at the best part."

  “But it’s getting dark soon! And haven't you read that, like, twelve times already?" Frankie asked.

  "Thirteen's my lucky number!" Gilda shouted back, turning to the woods again.

  "She sneaks off to read a lot," Frankie said to Clawdeen.

  Clawdeen shrugged, slinging her gym bag over her shoulder. "Some monsters need their alone time.”

  Laughter drifted from the vampires as they debated who had the most expensive custom coffin. Clawdeen noticed Draculaura’s violet eyes flicking her way—a look that said ‘please-drive-a-stake-through-my-heart’.

  Clawdeen cupped her hands around her mouth. "Yo, Drac! Smoothie time!”

  Relief flooded Draculaura's face. "Coming!" She gave the vampires a little curtsy. "Hate to cut this short, but duty calls!"

  As Draculaura ran to join Frankie and Clawdeen, she glanced at the woods. Gilda was way off in the distance now, a tiny figure against all those trees.

  The three of them watched as Gilda squeezed through a gap in the fence that the faculty never seemed to notice, much less repair. Gilda's shape faded into the shadows between the massive pine trees, her antlers the last thing visible before the forest swallowed her.

  Draculaura didn’t give it much thought as she squeezed between her best friends, already deep in debate over whether Blood Orange Blast was better than Screechberry Supreme.

  None of them knew it was the last time anyone at Monster High would see Gilda Goldstag breathing.

  ~ o ~ O ~ o ~

  It was hotter than the sixth circle of hell.

  Not that Beatrix had ever been there, but she’d heard stories. Lots and lots of stories. Rivers of fire, flaming tombs, yada yada yada.

  Beatrix leaned against a windowsill, staring out at the horizon. Her house—painted a stark black—cast a long shadow over the family farm, stretching over endless cornfields.

  “Eye of newt,” came a voice behind her.

  Beatrix wiped the sweat off her face and flapped her pointed black hat in a desperate attempt to cool down. Her hat had seen better days—its tip permanently bent from years of neglect. Traditional witch clothes were never really her thing.

  “Eye of newt,” the voice repeated, sharper this time.

  Through the cracked windowpane, a flock of crows soared across the sky, moving as one. Not one crow broke from the group. They reminded Beatrix of a witch coven.

  “For the love of all things unholy, hand me the blasted jar!”

  Beatrix jumped, realizing the shout was at her. She turned from the window to see her three aunts—Constance, Clarice, and Cordelia—gathered around a glowing cauldron in the middle of the room. The potion in the cauldron gave off a green glow, deepening every wrinkle and hollow in her aunts’ faces.

  Her aunts wore the same black robes, but their similarities ended there. Aunt Clarice was thin as a twig, Aunt Constance short and plump like a pumpkin, and Aunt Cordelia was tall like an old oak. Even at 126 years old, Aunt Cordelia still intimidated Beatrix. Maybe it was her height, maybe it was because she always looked ready to kill Beatrix. Probably both.

  Aunt Cordelia snapped her spindly fingers. “The jar. Now.”

  “What jar?” Beatrix asked.

  “The eye of newt jar, insipid child!” Aunt Cordelia snarled.

  Beatrix dropped her black hat and pulled open every cobweb-covered cupboard and drawer, searching for the eye of newt jar. It was nowhere to be found.

  “Quickly!” Aunt Constance yelled.

  “One sec, I just had it!” Beatrix called over her shoulder.

  A lie. She had no idea where the jar was, even though her aunts had told her to gather the ingredients last night. But how was she supposed to know eye of newt was so important for a pyrokinesis potion??

  Steaming green liquid spilled over the rim of the cauldron, splattering to the floor. The smell of boiling bat wings filled the room, making Beatrix gag.

  “Beatrix! Hurry!”

  “I don’t see it!!”

  “There’s no time!” Aunt Clarice screeched. “Brace yourselves!”

  All three of Beatrix’s aunts scrambled away from the cauldron, tumbling to the floor in a mess of flailing limbs and black skirts.

  Beatrix copied them, curling into a ball and hugging her knees to her chest.

  At the last second, she grabbed her black hat and jammed it back onto her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

  A blast rang out, shaking the room, rattling the windows and sending dust raining down from the rafters. A hot wave ran flush against Beatrix’s skin.

  After what felt like an eternity, the heat subsided.

  Beatrix cracked open an eye. Thick smoke filled the room. Every inch of the walls was scorched black.

  As the smoke cleared, it took everything in Beatrix to hold back a cackle at the sight of her aunts. Constance, Clarice, and Cordelia were covered in ash from head to toe. Their hair stuck out in a million different directions, and Aunt Clarice was now missing half an eyebrow.

  But Beatrix’s amusement died when her aunts turned to glare daggers at her, their mouths pressed into thin, disapproving lines. If looks could kill…

  That's when Beatrix realized her aunts weren't glaring at her face. They were looking at her hair.

  “Well, well, well. What have we here?” Aunt Constance said. “The blast didn’t touch a hair on your pretty little head.”

  Beatrix's hands flew up, feeling her black hat. Her hat and hair were miraculously unaffected by the explosion.

  Aunt Constance looked at her sisters. "Isn’t it peculiar how her hat survived without a scratch? It's almost as if she cast a charm on it. A protective enchantment, perhaps?"

  "What? No! I didn't charm anything!" Beatrix protested.

  Another lie.

  Aunt Cordelia planted her hands on her hips. "Beatrix Felicity Ravenwood. Don't you dare lie to us about this."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  "I'm not lying!" Beatrix coughed, waving away the ash cloud. "I wouldn't break your stupid no-magic rule."

  "What was that?" Aunt Clarice's voice cracked like a whip.

  Beatrix lifted her chin. "I said your rule is stupid! Every other witch my age gets to use magic. This whole 'no spells until I turn sixteen' thing is ridiculous!"

  The floorboards creaked as Aunt Cordelia stepped closer, her eyes sharp as a raven's. "Need I remind you why we made this rule?"

  "Because I'm not 'responsible enough' to do witchcraft without supervision," Beatrix recited, rolling her eyes. "Because I need—"

  "—a devil to keep you in line," Aunt Cordelia finished. "Yes, precisely."

  Beatrix slumped against the wall. She'd heard it a thousand times—at sixteen, witches were expected to sign their souls away to devils, making contracts that bound the demons as their familiars and teachers. But Beatrix's case was "special." Her aunts insisted she couldn't touch magic at all until she had a familiar to control her disobedient nature.

  “But I don't even want a stupid familiar…” Beatrix muttered.

  “Watch your tongue!” Aunt Clarice's nostrils flared. "Ungrateful child! Do you know what a devil familiar can do for you? They can vanquish your enemies, extend your life, teach you the most powerful spells—"

  "Vanquish my enemies?" Beatrix crossed her arms with a scoff. "I'm fifteen, not some ancient witch with a grudge list!"

  She glanced between her aunts—all three of them well over a hundred years old thanks to their familiars. Living that long held zero appeal for Beatrix. Neither did the strings attached to devil contracts: absolute obedience to your familiar's every command, no matter how evil. One misstep meant consequences she didn't want to imagine.

  No, Beatrix wanted to learn magic her own way.

  "Beatrix." Aunt Cordelia's voice dropped low. "If we catch you using magic before you sign your soul away..."

  "... I can kiss my freedom goodbye." Beatrix huffed and got to her feet. "Geez, you guys are so dramatic."

  She brushed the ash from her black skirt, then something clinked in her apron’s pocket. Beatrix reached in and pulled out a glass jar labeled: Eye of Newt.

  Beatrix sheepishly waved the jar at her aunts. “... Found it.”

  ~ o ~ O ~ o ~

  No matter how hard Beatrix scrubbed, the floorboards stayed black. As punishment for ruining the pyrokinesis potion, her aunts were making her clean everything by hand instead of casting a renewal spell.

  Desperate for a break from all the scrubbing, Beatrix pushed open the door and stepped onto the porch that wrapped around the farmhouse she and her aunts called home. She stretched her limbs and drew in a deep breath, savoring the fresh air.

  The sun dipped low over the cornfields that surrounded their property, an orange glow settling over the countryside. The view was nothing new.

  In the distance, stalks rustled, parting as a figure made their way through them. A smile tugged at Beatrix’s lips. Only one person would dare approach this side of the farm.

  She scanned her surroundings for any sign of her aunts. It was quiet, except for the distant caw of a crow.

  Coast’s clear.

  Beatrix descended the porch steps and made her way toward the crops.

  She paused at the edge of the cornfield, then tiptoed in.

  The stalks closed in around her, and Beatrix moved carefully, unable to see more than a few inches ahead. Her feet sunk into the earth with each step and the leaves scratched at her arms. Before long, she was in the middle of a sea of corn.

  Beatrix stopped, held her breath, and listened.

  Out of the corner of her eye, a cornstalk rustled.

  Beatrix pounced, her hand closing around a soft arm.

  “Aha!” Beatrix exclaimed. “Gotcha, strawhead!”

  “How do you always know it’s me?” Autumn whined.

  Beatrix grinned. “What other scarecrow is brave enough to get so close to the main house?”

  Beatrix pulled her best friend out from her hiding spot. Autumn wiggled her straw-filled arm free from Beatrix’s grasp.

  Autumn Matilda Patches was one of the many scarecrows Aunt Clarice had made to work on the farm. Beatrix and Autumn had been inseparable since they’d met. In fact, Beatrix had named Autumn herself.

  When Beatrix was a kid, she’d been sent to live with her aunts to learn about the hierarchical structure of a witch coven, and Beatrix still remembered how lonely she was that first year. Then Aunt Clarice created a scarecrow girl Beatrix’s age, and everything changed.

  Beatrix had countless memories of her childhood with Autumn: racing across fields together, weaving flower crowns in the spring, hanging around the scarecrow village whenever Autumn had the day off from her farm work. The scarecrow village sat on the far side of the farm. It was where Autumn’s friends and family lived, and it had become a second home to Beatrix. Since she was little, she’d spent far more time with the scarecrows than her aunts.

  Despite being made of canvas and straw, Autumn looked like a fifteen-year-old human girl—except for the stitches all over her body, her button eyes, and burlap skin. While Beatrix had black hair and dark eyes, Autumn wore her straw hair in two braids, green button eyes bright above her painted rosy cheeks.

  "Been waiting long?" Beatrix asked, poking her friend's arm.

  "Ages!" Autumn exclaimed. "I was getting worried. The smoke looked bad from here. What happened?

  Beatrix noticed a tear near Autumn's collarbone. Straw stuck out of the injury, and Beatrix reached for the needle and thread she always kept on hand. Beatrix had learned how to repair her friend over the years and began stitching Autumn up, her fingers moving expertly over Autumn’s rough canvas skin. Autumn didn’t flinch as the needle pierced her.

  “I ruined a potion after getting distracted by some birds,” Beatrix said.

  “Birds? Where?” Autumn searched the sky. She started to back away.

  Beatrix tucked the needle back into her pocket. “A scarecrow scared of crows. Aunt Clarice would be so proud,” she teased.

  "You promised to keep that secret," Autumn whispered.

  Beatrix felt a twinge of guilt. Her aunts made the farm's scarecrows for one job: work the fields and stay out of the witches’ business. If Aunt Clarice found out about Autumn's phobia of birds, she'd trash her and create a new worker without a second thought.

  “My lips are sealed,” Beatrix assured her. “Witch’s honor.”

  Autumn relaxed but twiddled her thumbs, like something was on her mind.

  After a moment, Autumn pulled out an opened envelope.

  A mischievous grin spread across Beatrix’s face as she took the letter from Autumn’s hand. Autumn had many secret admirers in the scarecrow village, and Beatrix guessed one of them had sent a love note. “Is this from Sawyer? Forrest? Don’t tell me it’s from Oakley! His poetry is so sappy.”

  Autumn’s painted cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink. “Oakley hasn’t written me a poem since we were ten! Just read it.”

  Beatrix unfolded the letter and read it aloud. “Autumn Matilda Patches… please send your response by July 28th… regarding your acceptance to…” She skimmed the rest. “You applied to Monster High?”

  “No. I applied to New Salem Preparatory Academy,” Autumn corrected.

  “Same thing, strawhead! ‘Monster High’ is just a nickname.”

  “Ohhh.”

  Beatrix knew all about Monster High; it was the dream school of every creature with even a drop of supernatural blood.

  "You know how hard it is to get in, right?" Beatrix asked.

  Autumn nodded. “Yeah. I was going to apply last year, but I chickened out.”

  Autumn hadn’t mentioned that before. It made Beatrix feel odd. She thought they told each other everything.

  “Why’d you apply?” Beatrix asked.

  Autumn fiddled with a seam on her wrist, one of her nervous habits. “My Granny Magpie’s worried about me,” she admitted. “She thinks I’m afraid of… well, living.”

  Beatrix frowned. “What’s that mean?”

  “That I’m a joke!” Autumn said. “I’m a scarecrow who’s scared of crows, for corn’s sake!”

  “What? Besides the bird thing, you’re the bravest scarecrow I know.”

  Autumn shook her head. “I’m not brave,” she insisted. “The bravest thing I do is lead knitting circle. I've never set foot off the farm. That’s why I need to go to New Salem Prep—I mean, Monster High. I’ll get an education to help the rest of the scarecrows! We need new irrigation methods, and I bet I can learn some things about running a business that will help sell our crops!”

  Beatrix's heart sank. Beatrix couldn’t get into that school even if she tried, since witches were forbidden from enrolling. She was gonna be left behind.

  A memory floated back to her—sitting at the top of the stairs, listening to her aunts' voices drift up from the kitchen as they grumbled about Monster High's prejudice against their kind.

  That institution is an insult to magic-folk! Aunt Constance had railed.

  It's because we're too similar to mortals, Constance, Aunt Cordelia had said. The only thing that separates us from humans is our connection to devils. Anyone can join our ranks and serve the underworld, if they're willing.

  Ha! I’d like to see any normal human try! Aunt Constance had countered. Not just anyone can take a blood oath and serve our devil overlords faithfully.

  Beatrix had to admit Aunt Constance had a point.

  Most witches gave their souls to devils at sixteen in exchange for power. But some witches, like Beatrix, could tap into witchcraft much sooner. Devils favored family trees who'd served them across generations—so the more witches in your bloodline, the easier it was to channel magic from a young age.

  The more Beatrix thought about it, the less Monster High's rule made sense. If most witches weren't just run-of-the-mill humans, why weren't they monster enough to attend the school?

  “Bea?” Autumn snapped Beatrix out of her thoughts. “You okay?”

  Beatrix forced a smile onto her face and pulled Autumn into a tight hug. “Monster High is lucky to have you. I’m just sad you’re leaving.”

  “About that…” Autumn pulled back. “... you’re coming with me.”

  Beatrix opened her mouth to explain all the reasons why that was impossible.

  But there was a blazing determination on Autumn’s face that she’d never seen before. The scarecrow wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  ~ o ~ O ~ o ~

  “Absolutely not,” Aunt Cordelia said, tapping her crooked finger on the dining table.

  “It’s already done,” Beatrix said, her fists tight at her sides. "I got permission to go to Monster High."

  “Impossible. Witches are forbidden from entering that school."

  “Good thing I’m not a witch yet,” Beatrix said.

  “What's that supposed to mean, child?” Aunt Constance asked, stirring a concoction that was supposed to be dinner over the stove.

  "You guys have made it clear that all I'm good for is collecting slugs and picking mushrooms," Beatrix said. "You won’t let me practice witchcraft, so I'm basically as harmless as a human right now!"

  Constance gasped, pressing a chubby hand to her mouth as if Beatrix had just slandered the family name.

  "You're being nonsensical," Aunt Cordelia said. "You've been destined for sorcery since your infancy."

  "Well, isn't it weird," Beatrix cut in, "that a ‘destined sorceress’ can't be trusted around magic until she turns sixteen?" She matched her aunt's glare. "That's why Headmistress Bloodgood's letting me live on campus with Autumn. Because I don't know any spells."

  Yet another lie…

  Technically, Beatrix did know some spells… like the protective enchantment she’d put on her hat… but that was mostly luck, after dozens of failed attempts with different techniques. She couldn't actually pinpoint how she did it. Without proper training, she lacked the skill to wield true power.

  Sure, she could read potion recipes, but doing actual magic was risky. It needed the right intentions, perfectly measured ingredients, and careful control to avoid hurting yourself. Beatrix was still a beginner at all of this.

  She'd learned that lesson the hard way at twelve, when she'd tried making a sleeping elixir to knock out Aunt Clarice so she could sneak off to a harvest festival with Autumn. The potion had backfired, and Beatrix had woken up hours later on the kitchen floor with the worst headache of her life.

  Magic was both the greatest blessing and the ultimate danger to a witch. It needed to be handled accordingly.

  "Monster High will never let witches be students, no matter how progressive the headmistress claims to be," Aunt Cordelia said.

  “I won’t be a student. I’ll be working there. I’m gonna be Autumn's ‘emotional support witch,’" Beatrix explained. "I'll help her around campus, patch her up if she gets hurt, that sort of thing."

  “... you’ll be that flimsy scarecrow’s… assistant?” Aunt Clarice sneered.

  Beatrix hated hearing Autumn described as "flimsy"—that was a word for creaky stairs and ripped shirts, not her best friend. But it was hard to take Clarice’s insults seriously when her aunt’s seared eyebrow clung to her face like a lopsided caterpillar thanks to the explosion earlier.

  “Monster High wanted Autumn because of her homeschooling test scores, so she got to make some demands. She refused to go without me there for support,” Beatrix said. “I’ll be working part-time to cover my room and board—helping Autumn between classes and serving food at lunch.”

  This was the loophole Autumn had arranged with Headmistress Bloodgood. Beatrix still couldn't believe it had worked.

  According to Bloodgood, allowing a witch to be a student at Monster High would cause too much controversy, so making Beatrix an employee was supposedly better; a baby step to let the student body get used to having a magic user around. If it went well, it could improve how monsterkind viewed witches. In other words, she was a guinea pig.

  “This is lunacy,” Aunt Constance said, dropping a pot of lumpy stew on the table. “You’re wasting your time at that silly school.”

  “You told me education is never a bad thing,” Beatrix argued. “The classes Autumn will be taking are the best—”

  “Don’t compare her useless high school classes to your mastery of the dark arts. They’re nothing alike. You’re not going. And as the creator and master of that rag doll you call a friend, she's not going either,” Aunt Cordelia said, her words final.

  Beatrix felt her plans falling apart—until she had a desperate idea.

  "What if I agreed to sign a devil contract with no complaints?" Beatrix blurted out.

  Her aunts fell silent.

  Beatrix hadn't planned to say this. The words just came out.

  If I can get away from my aunts, she thought, I might be able to avoid a devil contract when I turn sixteen…

  "If you let me go to Monster High for one semester," Beatrix continued, lying through her teeth, "I'll sign my soul away on my birthday without any issues. I'll come back and accept my devil familiar. I promise."

  The room grew darker around Beatrix, the candlelight dimming as if the flames were shrinking back. Shadows crept across Aunt Cordelia's face, deepening the hard glare in her eyes.

  “You threaten to throw away your oaths so easily?” Aunt Cordelia uttered.

  Beatrix’s mouth suddenly went dry. “But… I haven’t taken any oaths yet—”

  “In a few months, you have the chance to serve the most powerful devil dynasty in the underworld. And you’re threatening to dishonor them, to run away from your duties when you come of age, just to get your way?”

  “All to follow after a scarecrow with stuffing for brains, to a school that disgraces our witch legacy?” Aunt Clarice added with disgust, her scorched eyebrow flapping.

  Beatrix was at a loss for words.

  “Maybe a semester away will be good for her,” Aunt Constance said, sarcasm dripping off every syllable. “Let our dear niece see how the outside world treats her. I’m sure the students at that monster school will welcome a witch as warmly as humans do.”

  That was Aunt Constance’s way of saying Beatrix would either crawl back to the farm or be burned at the stake within a week.