by CSyphrett, Martin Maenza and Doc Quantum
Continued from The Night Force: Night Forces
Abby Cable ran her fingers through her long, platinum-blonde hair, a visible black streak dancing in agitation. She stood in a garden of unusually vibrant flowers, their unique aromas filling the air. Seven statues adorned the small park around its edges, a low hedge isolating this section from the rest of the school grounds.
Those solemn statues reminded her of her own dead Alec Holland. The people he had fought in order to save her after her arrest were considered to be heroes, while Alec himself was reviled by many for turning Gotham City into a giant greenhouse, bringing its usual hustle and bustle to a grinding halt.
A few well-connected politicians had even considered pardoning Lex Luthor, the inventor of the device that seemingly ended the Swamp Thing’s threat. Cooler heads prevailed, though, when they were reminded of Luthor’s well-known history of sociopathic behavior, not to mention the fact that he was the arch-enemy of the world’s greatest hero, Superman. Still, while Swamp Thing was hated by many, he was loved by many others, including arborists and environmentalists, who had considered his radical green transformation of Gotham City to be akin to a paradise on earth. (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See “Natural Consequences,” Swamp Thing v2 #52 (September, 1986) and “The Garden of Earthly Delights,” Swamp Thing v2 #53 (October, 1986).]
Now Abby found herself barred from teaching in Louisiana thanks to her relationship with the Swamp Thing, deemed to be illicit under the law; it was this charge that had led to her being arrested and brought to Gotham City in the first place. (*) Since then she had subsisted on on whatever work she could find, at least until a rather strange offer arrived. The messenger had been none other than Boston Brand, also known as Deadman. He had arrived on her doorstep one fateful day last year, offering her a job in her field while speaking through the mortal body of a kindly old man. Abby couldn’t help but reflect on the strange turns her life had taken since she had departed from that small village in Transylvania many years ago, a long journey that had brought her here.
[(*) Editor’s note: See “A Murder of Crows,” Swamp Thing v2 #48 (May, 1986) and “Home Free,” Swamp Thing v2 #51 (August, 1986).]
“Mrs. Holland?” interrupted a voice as dry as dust and time.
“I still use Cable,” Abby replied, turning to face a tall figure who looked as if he had stepped out of an old monster movie. With a gasp, she found herself at a loss for words.
“I apologize,” said the speaker, a tall, large figure. As Abby regarded him with surprise, she couldn’t help but notice his mismatched limbs, sallow face, and rheumy eyes. Long, thin, dark hair fell below his shoulders, and his ragged, stained clothes hinted at a storied past. Wishing to ease her discomfort, he said, “I am Adam Frankenstein. Mr. Gallowglass said that your roommate has arrived, and commencement is about to begin.”
“Thank you,” Abby replied, offering a warm smile. Despite his eerie appearance, he strangely put her at ease, his presence reminding her of two men very dear to her. (*) “Would you mind showing me the way?”
[(*) Editor’s note: Abby is referring not only to Swamp Thing, but also to her own father, Gregori Arcane, who became the creature known as the Patchwork Man, and who looks much like Frankenstein’s monster; see “The Patchwork Man,” Swamp Thing #3 (February-March, 1973).]
“The island can be confusing when you first arrive here,” assured Adam. As Frankenstein’s monster started off in a shambling walk toward the compound of buildings at the center of the island, Abby followed.
Adam strolled along the thin paths branching from the park and other areas, reminding Abby of a spider’s web; the thought of it sent a slight chill down her spine. Odd, she thought.
They passed various buildings, which Adam commented upon as they went. “That’s the Bestiary,” he said. “Don’t let the strange sounds at night bother you too much.” A chime filled the air. “That’s the Clock Tower. It sounds on the hour and half-past. There’s a Map House just to the left of it.” Adam turned to his right. “Those are the natural areas,” he said.
“Yes, I know,” Abby said. “I’ll be holding my classes there.”
Adam nodded; it made sense to him that such a pretty woman would know about the beauty of nature. He often wandered the gardens alone, since it was one of the few things that eased his troubled soul. As they continued, they reached the cluster of buildings constituting the school proper.
Beyond the academic buildings were the four large buildings for student housing. On the other end was housing for instructors and staff. Abby recognized her bungalow, overlooking an empty stone dock that jutted out into the ocean, reminiscent of the bayou.
A blond man stood on the porch steps talking to a dark-haired woman. As Abby would soon learn, they were both teachers as well. She recognized the blond man, having read about his exploits as a paranormal investigator a few years ago. In this setting he seemed easygoing and personable, exuding charm while maintaining an air of mystery.
Adam began, “That man is…”
“Johnny Peril,” said Abby, recalling the unusual name. (*) “But who is he talking with?”
[(*) Editor’s note: See “The Doorway Into Time,” The Unexpected #106 (April-May, 1968), and other stories.]
“Your roommate,” explained Adam. “Let me introduce you.” Together, they walked up the steps.
Johnny Peril smiled upon seeing Adam and Abby approach. Interested in the new instructor, he had made it a point to know who she was. Before Adam could say a word, Peril smiled and said, “Rose Psychic, this is Abby Cable!”
“Psychic?” asked Abby. “What an unusual last name,” she added, though she inwardly acknowledged that her own maiden name, Arcane, was equally strange.
“I was named by my adoptive parents,” explained Rose. (*) “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The two women shook hands as if they were old friends.
[(*) Editor’s note: See “The Secret Origin of Doctor Occult,” Secret Origins v2 #17 (August, 1987).]
“Commencement is about to begin, Johnny,” said Adam in his dusty voice, interrupting the exchanges.
“Oh, is it twelve already?” Peril examined his watch. “Hmm. Stopped. Must need a new battery.”
“Just nearly,” Adam said. “Cain and Abel brought the students in a little while ago.”
“Well, ladies,” Peril said, thrusting out both his elbows. “Let’s get this first duty out of the way so we can enjoy the rest of the day, hmmm?” With a certain amount of caution, the women accepted the offer and took each arm. The group strode toward the main buildings, Peril whistling lightly as they went.
***
“Come on, or we’ll be late!” a young voice cried as they raced across the cobblestones. The voice belonged to a boy with short red hair.
“I’m coming!” said another boy, this one with dark hair and a slight British accent. Timothy Hunter had stopped to wipe off his glasses, still trying to wrap his head around the whole idea. When that peculiar blind man named Mister E had suggested that Tim might thrive in a school like Grimoire Academy, the boy wasn’t sure what to expect. The place was vastly different from any other educational institute he had experienced.
Luckily, someone had noticed Tim’s confusion upon his arrival and offered to help. That someone was Rick Billings, a boy from the United States who spoke like a character in the Hollywood movies he watched with his father. Rick was only the third American Tim had ever met, following his meeting the strange Mister E and the beautiful Zatanna last month. Despite their differing backgrounds, Tim and Rick had hit it off splendidly from the moment they met that morning.
“Tim, hurry up!” Rick called out. “We don’t want to miss the opening. The Headmaster will give us demerits if we’re tardy.”
“Right,” Tim said. He slid on his spectacles and hurried up the walk. The two boys slipped in the back door of the auditorium just before it was shut.
***
Abby Cable and Rose Psychic followed Johnny Peril as he led them through the main school building. The hallway was pristine, with glossy floors that shimmered under the sunlight streaming in through the expansive windows.
“Come, ladies,” Peril beckoned, guiding them down a corridor and through a door. The trio found themselves standing at the back of a well-lit assembly hall, joining the other teachers who were already present.
They watched as a man approached the dais on the stage, capturing the attention of the assembled students. Conversations dwindled into hushed whispers, and with one stern look, the middle-aged man commanded silence. His mismatched eyes held an unyielding intensity — a piercing white flame in his blue right eye, and a glinting black diamond in his left. The scars etched across his face bore witness to the battles and losses he had endured.
“Good day,” he began, his voice resonating through the hall as he approached the microphone. “For those of you who I have yet to meet, I am Mr. Gallowglass, the headmaster of this extraordinary school. Today, on this momentous first day of January, 1987, we gather here for the thirty-fifth commencement of the Grimoire Academy of Applied Knowledge. While I could regale you with a lengthy speech, I will keep it brief, as there is much to do, particularly for our new students and faculty.”
In the audience, Tim Hunter shifted uneasily in his seat, feeling as though Gallowglass was speaking directly to him. It was the way the piercing gaze of the Headmaster’s one good eye swept the room, locking eyes with each student, leaving no room for evasion.
Gallowglass pressed on. “First and foremost, let me remind you that the academic year here begins today and concludes on October 31st. Throughout the year, you will have three breaks in which you may return home and reunite with your families. However, beyond those precious weeks, prepare yourselves for a rigorous ten months of study and growth.”
He paused, his words hanging in the air, before he addressed both newcomers and experienced students alike. “If, for any reason, you have doubts about embarking on this educational journey with us, or if you believe that you may not be up to the challenges that await, know that tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, there will be a boat departing from the beach. It is your last chance to reconsider.”
Mr. Gallowglass held their attention with his imposing presence, his voice carrying a sense of gravity. “But for those of you who possess the fortitude to remain, let me share the structure of our classes. They are divided based on age groups, starting from first-year students all the way to those in their seventh years. And, for the exceptionally gifted among you, there are optional post-graduation studies that await. Once classes commence, you will be expected to work diligently and excel in your chosen fields. Responsibility and accountability are the guiding principles within these hallowed halls.”
The returning students listened intently, well aware of the expectations set by Mr. Gallowglass. Failure was not taken lightly, but neither were mistakes. Students were permitted to learn from their errors, but they were also expected to come prepared and give their utmost dedication. The presence of slackers would not be tolerated within the walls of Grimoire Academy.
“As such, certain areas of the school are strictly off-limits unless you are accompanied by a qualified supervisor,” declared the Headmaster. “I am not exaggerating when I say that anyone caught sneaking into these areas without permission will face severe consequences. Expulsion is not out of the question. I hope I’ve made myself clear.”
Abby glanced around the room, her eyes scanning the anxious faces of her future pupils. She couldn’t help but notice that the atmosphere was thick with tension and curiosity.
Gallowglass continued, his words laced with a sense of urgency. “Two specific areas I want to highlight are the Bestiary, where we house the most extraordinary and dangerous mythical creatures, and the Clock Room, with its portals to a myriad of worlds beyond time. Believe me when I say that the creatures in the Bestiary are not your average pets. The last thing I want is to have a conversation with any of your parents explaining why their child is dead.” His stern scowl pierced through the crowd, daring anyone to challenge his seriousness.
The Headmaster focused his attention on a particular third-year student who had been chatting with a friend instead of paying attention. “Am I understood, Mr. Cantrell?” he said, his voice carrying a warning.
Josh Cantrell, a brown-haired student whose face flushed red with embarrassment, replied in a hushed voice, “Yes, sir!”
The Headmaster nodded, as if coming to a decision. “Now, let me address another crucial matter. I feel the need to remind you all, at the beginning of each year, that Grimoire Academy of Applied Knowledge is not a ‘magic academy,’ a school for witchcraft and wizardry, nor any of those other oft-repeated phrases. Contrary to what some may believe, less than fifteen percent of our students possess the ability to practice magic. And the only reason that statistic is that high is because of a number of Homo Magi students here for specialized studies at Nommo Hall.”
Abby leaned in slightly, her interest piqued. She had already heard rumors about some of the students from Nommo Hall during the boat ride there, giving rise to an insatiable curiosity within her.
“However,” the Headmaster continued, “while we may not exclusively focus on magic, Grimoire Academy certainly doesn’t shy away from the supernatural. Our purpose here is to prepare you for a world teeming with supernatural threats and situations that ordinary society is oblivious to. Yes, we do offer some general instruction in magic for those with the gift, but the majority of our curriculum is designed to equip all students with the knowledge to face these peculiar challenges, and more. Magic is merely one piece of the puzzle.”
Abby furrowed her brows, absorbing every word. One of her questions had now been answered. This wasn’t a magicians’ school as she had originally thought, but an academy that trained students how to survive and even thrive in a world full of strange mysteries. She found herself intrigued by Grimoire Academy’s unique approach.
“Therefore, it is absolutely imperative that you refrain from using the term ‘magic academy’ while on school grounds,” the Headmaster warned, his intense gaze sweeping over the students. “Your teachers will make sure to remind you of this. We have our reasons, so please respect this rule.”
As silence settled over the assembly hall, Mr. Gallowglass’ one right eye seemed to bore into everyone present, as if emphasizing his words. Abby couldn’t help but feel both excitement and trepidation, for Grimoire Academy was unlike anything she had imagined.
“Mr. Bones, Baron Weirwulf, Miss Eve,” continued Mr. Gallowglass, his tone somewhat relaxed. “Please come up front.”
Timothy Hunter’s eyes widened in shock as he watched one of the three teachers rise and begin shuffling to the front. This was Mr. Bones, adorned in an eccentric light purple suit that seemed to belong to another time, with a fringe of white hair encircling his pale skull. From his forehead extended a long and pointed widow’s peak. Scruffy white sideburns completed his peculiar appearance, reminiscent of a character straight out of a Charles Dickens novel. But it wasn’t just his old-fashioned appearance that caught Timothy’s attention; it was the fact that Mr. Bones had sickly blue skin and eyes as yellow as old newsprint, giving him the appearance of a reanimated corpse. Adding to this disturbing image was a thick tie with a small white skull at its center. As the teacher’s wicked grin met Timothy’s gaze, a shiver ran down the boy’s spine. Mr. Bones, the butler of Ghost Manor, had long known how to cultivate an unearthly air about him, in order to regale his audience with tales of the dead. (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: Mr. Bones first appeared in “Who’s Staying in the Secret Room?” Ghost Manor v2 #1 (October, 1971).]
The second male teacher, Baron Weirwulf, appeared somewhat ordinary in contrast to the enigmatic Mr. Bones. Still, with his wild mane of dark brown hair and full beard, paired with his outmoded suit, the Baron resembled a character who could have stepped out of the pages of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. One could almost imagine him devouring a blood pie made from the meat of disobedient children. And that name of his, coupled with his distinctive Eastern European accent, only served to deepen the sense of otherworldliness that surrounded him. Timothy couldn’t help but wonder if the Baron might transform into a ferocious wolf under the next full moon. (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: Baron Weirwulf first appeared in “Baron Weirwulf’s Library,” Haunted #17 (July, 1974)]
Determined to keep a safe distance from both of these teachers, Timothy vowed to tread lightly and avoid doing anything to provoke their ire. However, when it came to Miss Eve, he harbored no such qualms.
Timothy watched as Miss Eve, Mr. Bones, and Baron Weirwulf made their way toward the stage. He couldn’t help but be captivated by Miss Eve’s enchanting beauty, wondering what it was about her that drew him in. He wasn’t the only one affected, either, for every other schoolboy seemed to share his fascination with her. At the same time, however, there was something peculiar about her presence, an eccentricity that matched the strange ambiance of Grimoire Island. Perhaps it was the mischievous smile she wore, or the raven perched on her shoulder, but whatever it was, Miss Eve fit in well on Grimoire Island. (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: Eve first appeared in “When Is Tomorrow Yesterday?” Secrets of Sinister House #6 (August-September, 1972).]
“Mr. Bones will be number one, the Baron two, Miss Eve three,” instructed the Headmaster. As the three teachers took their places at three spots along the stage, Mr. Gallowglass turned his attention to the students gathered in the room. His eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on a disheveled, gray-haired boy named Murphy. “Mr. Murphy,” the Headmaster called out.
Timothy glanced over at Gray Murphy, who sat in the front right corner and looked up, his eyes meeting Gallowglass’ gaze. “If you would please start the counting with one, we will divide you up into thirds for the island tour,” the Headmaster instructed, his tone leaving no room for negotiations.
Frowning slightly, Timothy realized that he and his newfound friend, Rick, would be separated for the duration of the tour. They had been sitting together in the auditorium, enjoying each other’s company, and the thought of being apart dampened Timothy’s spirits. “This is rubbish,” he muttered softly under his breath.
Rick overheard Timothy’s complaint and whispered, “No worries, pal. We’ll find each other again at the dorms after the tour.”
Timothy managed a small smile, grateful for Rick’s comforting words. As the students began to divide themselves into groups, Timothy couldn’t help but feel a twinge of anxiety at the thought of exploring Grimoire Island without his newfound friend by his side. Still, he held onto the hope that they would be reunited soon.
Once the students were assigned to their groups and on their way, Mr. Gallowglass quietly slipped out of the room, leaving Timothy to contemplate the adventures that awaited him on Grimoire Island.