The Complete Monster Exchange Program

The Complete Monster Exchange Program

By Terri Bogard

With Andi Bogard, Melody Joseph and Hope Sullivan McMickle

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Terri Bogard

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

How To Win Friends And Influence People

With Your Interdimensional Powers:

Copyright Andi Bogard 2012

Long Lie the Queen:

Copyright Melody Joseph 2012

How the Invisible Boy Stopped Worrying and

Learned to Love the ‘Bomb:

Copyright Hope Sullivan McMickle 2012

All other stories:

Copyright Terri Bogard 2012

Bigfoot Gets Noticed Image: Copyright Terri Bogard 2012

Long Lie The Queen Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

All other images:

Copyright Andi Bogard 2012

Table Of Contents

The Monster Exchange Program

Banshee v. Maniac: 1-2-3 Debate!

Homeschooling Doesn’t Suit Witches

Never Skinny-dip With Mermaids

For A Good Time, Call Unicorn

Werewolf Stays True To Herself

How To Win Friends And Influence People With Your Interdimensional Powers

Blob Fits In

Who’s Been Pranking The Undead?

Bigfoot Gets Noticed

But, Ogres Don’t Play Chess!

How the Invisible Boy Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the ‘Bomb

Robot Goes To Prom

Long Lie The Queen

Detention... Of The Bodysnatchers!

Mad Scientist: Candidate For Student Body President

Vampire Hangs Around

About The Authors

The Monster Exchange Program

Shortly after the turn of the century, a new era in monster-human relationships was ushered in with the public schools' adoption of the Monster Exchange Program. Monsters mingled with the humans in the hallways. Suddenly, high school got a lot more interesting!

Fostering heterogeneity and inclusive learning environments within public and private learning institutions has been demonstrated to be an educational best practice for ensuring academic success and the healthy development of children and youth of all species. As such, the U.S. Department of Monster Affairs, having established a cooperative agreement with the U. S. Department of Education, has instituted the Monster Exchange Program (hereafter MEP), effective October 1, 20XX. The MEP is designed to enable students in grades K-12 to experience rich diversity within integrated classrooms in both urban and rural settings, as they learn alongside their peers of supernatural and supranatural origin. This program seeks to extend and enhance the sense of camaraderie between humans and non-humans, allowing for exposure to, and immersion within, the multitude of cultures upon which our country was founded. We welcome into our schools and our communities the denizens of the darkside from all walks of life.

Signed,

Hans Boogeyman

-Secretary, U. S. Department of Monster Affairs

C.M.O. Hamilton

-Deputy Secretary, U. S. Department of Education, Division of Ethical Treatment of Monsters

Banshee v. Maniac: 1-2-3 Debate!

They walked through the woods holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes, grinning dopily despite themselves. They were literally as excited as a pair of nervous teenagers. Literally.

Johnny Heartthrob and Darla Sweetheart were the current power couple of their high school. They had been crowned prom king and queen three times senior year alone. The only thing more intense than their popularity was their puppy love for each other. And, tonight, they would express that love in the most tender manner available to a teenage couple: pre-marital sex.

Darla’s pulse quickened at the thought. Johnny’s breath caught in his throat. Here, tonight, in the romantic Scary Old Woods. It was time. They were ready. It was right.

But... something wasn’t right.

Johnny and Darla, deep in both their hearts, had something to tell each other.

Have you ever heard about...? Johnny began.

I’m sure you already know about... started Darla.

The gory legend of terrifying evil that haunts these horrifying woods? they finished together, laughing.

She did know!

He does know!

Oh, they were so compatible!

Still, as Johnny held her tight, Darla simply couldn’t press her pelvis closely against his. And, though his arms were around Darla’s waist, Johnny simply couldn’t slide his hand up her sweater to fumble with her bra clasp.

Something was driving them to talk about the perils of the enchanting Scary Old Woods before they could really get busy.

Right, Darla said breathily, gazing into Johnny’s eyes. You mean the tales of the hideous specter, the Banshee, that wails from the depths of hell, warning unsuspecting victims of their impending doom? Ignore his cries only at your own peril, ye who wander amongst these woods. And hope only it be not your own name that he cries. For then, it is too late for you.

No, no, darling, Johnny murmured steamily, pressing himself closer to Darla, devouring her scent. No, I spoke of the forbidden tales of the horrendous abomination born to the shunned wise woman in her hut in these very woods years ago. How he grew prodigious in strength, yet remained wee in intellect. How, one day, he turned his vengeance upon the townsfolk after they burned his mother as a witch. How he stalks these woods still and how his wrath grows.

Oh. Oh, Johnny, Darla panted as they slid to the soft, mossy forest floor.

***

Yes. Yes, perfect, Steven thought as he watched the couple make out from his hiding place behind a nearby tree. Soon. Soon, when they are in the throes of passion... Three, two, one... Now, G-!

OOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!

The sound rang throughout the woods.

Johnny and Darla stopped their feel-up session short. They ran away down a twisted dusty path, hand in hand, screaming, The Banshee! The Banshee!

Steven’s axe scraped a long gouge in the dirt where Johnny and Darla had been only a second ago. He lifted his dual-faced Comedy and Tragedy mask atop his head, displaying a pockmarked and burned visage. He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and fore-finger in consternation.

Dammit, Sean. We talked about this!

***

"No, you talked about it, Sean was close to yelling now. The discussion had grown heated. You think you can just plod in here and take over all the murder in the entire forest. Well, I’ve got news for you, buddy. My family’s been haunting forests for eight generations. Not to mention moors and swamps!"

Steven sighed. Normally, he felt that his trademark muteness gave him an icy cool demeanor and appeal, but right now he wished his vocal chords were less horribly burnt and useless. Just so he could call Sean a dick.

Steven chopped a hand down diagonally in front of him.

"You can get your own stupid ass out of my woods!" Sean retorted.

They argued for a while longer, their insults growing more and more inappropriate and less socially acceptable. You’ll have to forgive them, they were teenage boys.

***

Ultimately, it was decided that they would settle their dispute in the arena of bodily challenges. Sean and Steven sat across from each other at a high table. They placed their elbows atop it and gripped hands with each other.

Sean gulped. Arm wrestling may not have been the smartest choice on his part. Steven’s thickly padded leather gloves surrounded Sean’s entire fist and much of his forearm.

Instead of backing down now, Sean shouted OneTwoThreeGo! and tried to slam Steven’s hand to the table before he could prepare himself.

It was like arm wrestling a steel rod.

Steven casually slammed Sean’s hand to the tabletop, wrenching his arm from its socket and throwing it into the darkest part of the woods. Before the arm hit the ground, it had dissipated into a cloud of mist.

As a new spectral arm began to sprout from Sean’s shoulder, he whined Two out of three! Best Two out of three!

In the end, Steven acquiesced just to get him to shut up.

***

At arm’s length, Steven slowly closed his fingers around an imaginary throat. But Sean disagreed, declaring, The next event will be... a foot race! OnYerMarkGetSetGo!

He was off in a flash.

Steven plodded after him. He lumbered. He tramped. He trudged and wallowed, but of course it was no use. Sean was out of sight in an instant. Slow and steady worked for turtles or when trailing panicked cheerleaders. But against Sean, Steven knew he was out of his league.

An hour later at the finish line, Sean pointed and laughed as Steven finally ground to a halt.

***

The score was now tied one to one. The last event would be for all the donuts. But what would it be?

The two boys couldn’t reach any agreement. Instead they locked horns, Sean shouting and Steven gesticulating.

Finally, tired of it all, Steven tried to suggest an armed fight to the death. He held an imaginary machete to a grindstone.

Sean groaned. "I don’t even own a ‘shillelagh’. I’m fourth generation American, ass!"

Oh, so when you’re laying claim to a tract of land, it’s important that your ancestors have been haunting the old country for centuries, but when I accuse you of being Irish, I’m the ass?

Besides, ‘mortal combat’? We’re not cavemen. Sean continued.

Steven thrust and slashed with his axe. He made throat-cutting motions. He held up his hand palm out, facing Sean, indicating that he was free to talk to it instead.

Sean grew impassioned and his voice uplifted. He shrieked and squealed. Leaves began to shake and blow through the air. It seemed to Steven that Sean only had two volumes: Super-Loud and Max-Loud.

After a few more minutes, Sean’s face was redder than his mohawk. Steven pushed his mask on top of his head to catch a fresh breath.

Sean too took a deep breath. He looked like he was about to scream again, but thought better of it.

"Look, this is getting us nowhere! Sure, we can appraise the consistency of our axioms or examine what is or isn’t the case, but without a framework defining the rules of our discussion and how they will interact, this is simply a representational - or, worse, a logical or even a factual - argument!

"We need logical consistency, factual accuracy and some degree of emotional appeal to an audience to reach a satisfying synthesis of our differing viewpoints."

Sean’s eyes widened as he came to a conclusion.

That same conclusion narrowed Steven’s eyes. He pulled his mask back over his deformed face.

They locked eyes and squared jaws. As one, they gave a decisive nod of their heads.

It was to be debate!

The assembly hall was packed, of course. This was a debate, after all!

Gentlemen, please take your podiums, Mr. Rodriguez, the principal said. Steven, you’ll be taking ‘con’ and will have a chance to rebut Sean when he’s finished. Sean, you have three minutes. You may begin.

Thank you, Mr. Rodriguez,

At the sound of his own name coming from Sean’s lips, Mr. Rodriguez was instantly crushed by a piano. Beside him, Mr. Fishman, the assistant principal, flinched and was promoted.

Ladies and gentlemen, Sean began. The crowd gasped nervously, looking around them in fright. They were relieved to find that being addressed by a title didn’t ensure their doom.

I come before you today to speak on a subject of utmost concern,

Sean’s point was a mess. Basically, he just yelled at the audience, trying to bully them into his way of thinking. The wind in the auditorium whipped and howled. Wigs flew off heads. A sailboat rushed through the aisle comically. Tempests raged from Sean’s mouth. Tornadoes ripped through the hall, tossing the audience members willy-nilly.

As his three minutes drew to an end, Steven grinned to himself. If that was all he was up against, this debate was in the bag. The Scary Old Woods would be his to haunt eternally!

Sean brought his argument to a close and sat down, smiling smugly at Steven.

He doesn’t even realize what a poor job he just did! Steven thought.

Cockily, Steven strode to the podium, raised one finger as he started to make a point, and...

Steven’s face crumpled as sudden comprehension pummeled him. He would have to speak! Speak with the mutilated larynx that had remained silent since the day he watched his mother burn to death!

Steven swallowed and nodded determinedly. He cleared his throat.

For you, mama! he thought. For our woods!

Steven’s voice flowed forth from him like a stream of honey and velvet. The deep, sonorous tones of a cello.

His counterpoint was flawlessly logical. It was clear and concise. But more than that, it was stirring. Passionate and rousing.

His voice cracked only once at the end, as the tears caught in his throat.

But his plea fell on deaf ears. The heavy winds of Sean’s argument had damaged the eardrums of everyone present.

Sean smirked as the captain of the debate team, Wax Poetic, handed him a trophy and declared him the winner.

Thank you, Wax, Sean told him.

WHAT? Wax yelled, cupping a hand behind his ear.

I SAID! Sean yelled, THANK YOU, WAX!

A T-Rex ate Wax.

Steven hung his shoulders. Well, maybe he could get a gig haunting Make-Out Lake?

THE END

Homeschooling Doesn’t Suit Witches

Mom! I’m six-teeeeen! Bethany whined in a way only teenage girls can.

You can decide how to dress yourself when you start paying rent around here, her mother explained, only half joking. While you’re still living under my roof, you will do as I tell you. Look at your outfit! Do you really think a baggy tee-shirt and blue jeans say, ‘Whore of Satan’? You get upstairs and slut yourself out, young lady! And lather on some make-up while you’re at it.

Whyyyy-eee? No-one’s even here to see me! I mean, if you at least let me go to regular school with- Bethany began, trying to talk her mother out of home schooling for the hundredth time this week.

But her mother wasn’t interested in the old argument. She cut her off, Bethany, I don’t want to hear it! Get upstairs and change and get back down here so we can start your lessons!

"Uuuuuhhhhh! Fine! I cannot wait to be eighteen. I’m so out of here!" Bethany announced as she stalked up the stairs to her room.

"Yes, dear, I know you have it sooooo rough." Her mother rolled her eyes behind her.

Bethany changed in her room, then went to the hall bathroom to check herself out and to put on her make-up. Her little brother, Stanley, wandered in and started blabbering about something disgusting and boy-related. Bethany tuned him out.

She took stock of herself in the mirror. Pointy, wide-brimmed hat: check. Inappropriate, whale-boned corset: check. Embarrassingly short skirt: check. Tacky thigh-high stockings complete with trashy garters: check. Awful streetwalker stiletto boots: check.

Oh my anti-Christ! Mom is so old fashioned!

She looked good, though, Bethany admitted to herself even though she would never in a million years let her mom know she thought so.

Beauty was one of the most obvious advantages of being a witch. There were spells to lose weight, change her hair style or eye color, clear her skin, you name it.

The disadvantage was sharing a single bathroom with a teenage brother who could work the same magic on his own body.

...so now I just need bigger hands to get a good grip on it, Stanley finished.

Bethany absently suggested Manuum Gigantes before her brain registered what Stanley was talking about.

"Oh gross! You are vile! Nunc Egressum!" she commanded.

Stanley was still laughing as the invisible hands dragged him out into the hallway.

And stay out! she shrieked at him.

Their mother yelled from downstairs, "Enough with the fighting! I am not in the mood for it today! If I hear one more word, so help me, it’s Salamandridae Aeternum for both of you!"

Bethany was sure her mother was exaggerating. Forever was a long time. She would let up before that. Still, two weeks as a newt was threat enough for Bethany to hiss the rest of her argument with Stanley.

I don’t wanna hear any more about your sick, perv-o plans!

She nearly slammed the door before remembering the punishment her mother had promised.

Go tell them to dad, she muttered to herself, gently closing and locking the door. "I’m sure he’ll love them."

***

Bethany pointedly ignored Stanley throughout their first three periods: Chemistry, History of Warts, and American Lit. She could barely contain herself until lunch.

Bethany ate quickly and rushed upstairs and into the bathroom once more for a final primp before math class.

In the past three weeks, math had quickly gone from an hour of torture to the most anticipated part of the day. The reason for the sudden change was the departure of her old tutor and the arrival of Victor.

Her parents approved of Victor because his grandma was an old Creole fortune teller. Though his family were currently non-practicing, Bethany’s mom maintained that once the magic was in the blood, it could never be truly erased.

Bethany liked Victor because he was a total dreamboat. He was tall and dark. Intelligent without being wimpy and built without being a meathead. Just her type.

And he was just under a year older than her, so she really felt like she had a chance!

Victor was the number one reason Bethany wanted to stop this ridiculous home schooling and attend a normal high school just like every teenager in the entire world ever!

Ruuurrr! Her mom was so unreasonable!

Bethany loved her private tutoring time with Victor. Accidentally brushing his hand while writing out functions. Breathing in his musky cologne. Saving his stray hairs and spit out gum in an alder-wood box for later use.

Just in case.

A girl has to have a few tricks up her sleeve.

An eye-rolling groan issued from her throat when she remembered how her mother had dressed her. She wiped off as much of the eye make-up and rouge as she dared, knowing her mother was still on the warpath and looking for excuses to ground her.

Finally she was all set. Only one small detail remained to be taken care of: Stanley.

The little brat’s constant spying and snickering ruined the romantic mood of a girl and her exotic tutor alone in a dimly lit room! And his puerile kissy-kiss noises drove Bethany up the wall!

But Stanley was nowhere to be found. Bethany searched the entire house as thoroughly as possible in the ten minutes left before Victor arrived. Maybe Stanley was gone? Maybe she and Victor would have an hour to themselves?

Bethany got goosebumps.

***

When the doorbell rang, Bethany was already standing right by the door, ready to open it in an instant. She had to stop herself and count to ten first so as not to appear over-eager.

Hello? Oh, hi, Victor, Bethany almost yawned, she was feigning such casualness.

Hi, Beth, Victor replied back. Then a second of unfocused distraction, before he said, ...hi, again.

Suddenly, Bethany wasn’t quite so mad at her mother for forcing her to wear this outfit.

She remembered from her history of witchcraft classes that through Europe and North America, witches were traditionally hated and hunted more than other practitioners of magic - say, wizards, warlocks, or summoners - not because of their ties to the Devil, but because they were a largely female group.

The leaders of the small