Holt leaned back in the chair like he owned it—because he always did. One leg kicked up, balancing easy, expression relaxed like nothing had just gone sideways in a flickering bathroom mirror. On the outside, he was DJ Hyde: loud, confident, untouchable. On the inside, though, things were a lot less steady.
You're overdoing it, Jackson muttered.
Holt smirked. "I don't do anything halfway, Jackie."
Yeah. That's the problem.
Before Holt could snap back, the bell rang, sharp and loud, and the classroom burst into motion. Chairs scraped, voices overlapped, lockers slammed out in the hall like a chain reaction. Holt stood, stretching like he didn't have a care in the world, and slipped out with the rest.
The hallway hit him with noise and motion—but something about it was off. Not the usual Monster High chaos. This felt tighter. Edgier. Like everyone was talking about the same thing and trying not to sound scared while doing it.
"—Oh, my ghoul! Oh, my ghoul!"
"Did you see it?!"
"Sorry I'm late! What did I miss?"
"The normies! They attacked us in the broad of daylight!"
Holt slowed a little, listening. "…They did?" he muttered under his breath.
We saw the video, Jackson reminded him quietly.
"Oh, that really grinds my gears," Holt said automatically, slipping into his usual tone—but it didn't land the same.
"It's not like it's surprising."
"They're wrecking our school just like they're wrecking the environment!"
Holt snorted. "Okay, that's dramatic."
Not the point, Jackson replied.
"You don't think that stuff from the old film is coming true, do you?"
"Oh, Gil, don't be such a 'fraidy catfish. It was one little prank."
"I'd like to see 'em try it again."
"They're just lucky I'm not allowed to chase cars anymore."
Holt gave a half-laugh, but it didn't stick. Something about the way the conversation kept circling back—humans, normies, blame—made it harder to brush off.
"What they did was sneaky, mean, conniving and underhanded."
A beat.
"I have to say, I admire it!"
That got a real laugh out of Holt. "Okay, that one's bold."
Holt.
"I know, I know…"
"We should totally get them back!"
"That's the first thing you've ever said that I agree with!"
That made Holt's grin fade a little. The energy in the hall was shifting—less talk, more action. Less joking, more edge.
Then a voice cut through everything.
"Attention students. I know you're all a little on edge right now…"
Everyone slowed. Heads turned.
"…but as your headmistress, I must urge you not to retaliate. We can't afford to ignite any old tensions between us. Especially this close to Halloween!"
The words hung in the air, heavy. Not calming—just… containing something that was already starting to spill over.
"I guess Cleo was right…"
"My magazine was lying…"
"Maybe you just can't trust normies on Halloween…"
Holt's jaw tightened slightly.
Jackie…
"I hear it," Jackson replied.
"Watch out!"
Holt barely had time to react before someone collided with him, sending papers flying.
"My bad!" Spectra said, already spinning midair. "I'm in such a hurry!"
Holt caught one of the pages before it hit the ground. "You owe me for that," he muttered.
"I'm working on a spooktacular story!" she called back. "Got all this from the catacombs—old library stuff!"
That got attention fast.
"What are all these?"
"It's about the history of Halloween," Spectra said, gesturing wildly. "I'm looking for something big—something to drive up my web-hits."
"Something like this?"
Holt glanced over as a map was unfolded.
"What is it?"
"Map of catacombs. Secret room."
"A place called… the Hall of Halloween."
That name landed differently. Even Holt felt it.
You feel that? Jackson asked.
"…Yeah."
"Ghouls, I spend a lot of time in the catacombs and I ain't never heard of it," someone said.
"Operetta, please help us! You're the only one who knows your way around down there!"
"I need to know the real story about this awful day."
Operetta sighed. "Well, I suppose it don't hurt nothin' to look… but don't get your hopes up, sweet pea."
Holt watched the group start to gather, curiosity cutting through the tension.
And then—
"Hey, Holt!"
He turned.
Frankie was there, along with Draculaura, Clawd, Lagoona, Deuce—familiar faces, familiar energy. Normally, that would've been grounding.
Now?
It felt… complicated.
Frankie smiled, a little relieved. "There you are! We were wondering where Jackie went."
Holt shrugged casually. "Not feeling great. I'm covering."
Draculaura frowned slightly. "Aww, poor Jackie… he's probably just stressed. I mean, with everything going on…"
"Yeah," Clawd added, crossing his arms. "Not exactly easy being surrounded by all this anti-normie talk."
There was a brief pause.
Then Lagoona said it—casual, well-meaning, but it hit harder than anything else.
"Jackie's different, though. He's one of the good ones."
Holt stilled.
Inside, Jackson did too.
Deuce nodded. "Yeah, seriously. If all normies were like Jackie, we wouldn't even have a problem."
Draculaura smiled softly. "He's the only normie I trust."
Frankie nodded quickly. "Same! Jackie's… Jackie. He's not like the others."
The words were meant to be comforting.
They weren't.
Holt rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a half-smile. "Yeah… he's, uh… special like that."
Don't, Jackson said quietly.
Holt's expression flickered for just a second.
Because the way they said it—
"one of the good ones"—
Didn't feel like acceptance.
It felt like a line.
And Jackie was standing on one side of it.
And so was Holt, even if it was far less obvious.
"…Yeah," Holt said again, softer this time.
Inside, Jackson shifted uncomfortably.
Because it didn't feel good.
Not really.
Not when the rest of the word "normie" was being thrown around like a warning.
Not when the trust only applied to him—and no one else like him.
Not when it sounded like an exception instead of belonging.
*That's… not better,* Jackson admitted.
"…No," Holt agreed under his breath.
Frankie tilted her head slightly. "DJ? You okay?"
He snapped back quickly, grin sliding into place. "Yeah, yeah. I'm good. Just thinking."
"About the Hall of Halloween?" she asked, eyes lighting up.
Holt glanced toward the group forming around the map again.
"…Yeah," he said.
We should check it out, Jackson added.
Holt smirked faintly. "Way ahead of you."
Because if there was something down there—something that explained why everything felt like it was breaking apart at the seams—
They needed to find it.
And maybe—
Just maybe—
It would explain why being "one of the good ones" didn't feel like a good thing at all.
---
The decision didn't feel good.
It didn't feel bad either.
It just… happened.
One second Holt was leaning against a locker, arms crossed, trying not to think about Frankie calling Jackson "one of the good ones"—trying not to think about how that sat wrong in a way he couldn't shake—and the next, he was moving with the others toward the catacombs like it had already been decided for him.
He didn't remember agreeing out loud.
He didn't remember being asked.
He just… went.
---
"Okay, so—hypothetically," Frankie Stein said, walking a little too fast for someone pretending to be calm, "we go down, we check out this Hall of Halloween thing, we figure out what's real, and then we come back up and stop everyone from doing something completely disastrous."
"That's best-case scenario," Clawdeen Wolf muttered.
Deuce Gorgon tilted his head. "Do I even want to know worst-case?"
"Nope," Clawdeen said immediately. "But you're gonna find out anyway if we're not careful."
Behind them, Draculaura leaned closer to Ghoulia Yelps, whispering quickly while Ghoulia scribbled something down in her notebook. The scratching of her pen echoed louder than it should've in the hallway.
Then Ghoulia looked up.
Right at Holt.
Not subtle.
Not casual.
Just… looking.
Holt raised a brow. "You got something to say, zombie girl?"
Ghoulia blinked once, then shrugged like it didn't matter and kept walking.
Holt exhaled through his nose. "Yeah, okay. That's not suspicious at all."
Jackson didn't respond right away.
That was becoming a pattern.
"You good?" Holt asked internally, quieter this time.
"I don't like this," Jackson admitted.
Holt huffed lightly. "Join the club."
"Not just this," Jackson clarified. "Everything."
That shut Holt up.
Because he got it.
More than he wanted to.
---
Up ahead, Lagoona Blue glanced back. "You guys comin', or what?"
Holt smirked automatically. "Relax, we're right behind you."
"Don't rush us," Clawd Wolf added. "Some of us don't sprint into creepy underground tunnels for fun."
"Speak for yourself," Deuce said. "I'm curious."
"Curiosity gets people eaten," Clawd shot back.
"Or answers," Frankie added.
"Or both," Clawdeen muttered.
---
The entrance to the catacombs sat open like a mouth that had been waiting.
Dark.
Still.
Quiet in a way the rest of Monster High never was.
The second they stepped inside, everything shifted.
The noise from above disappeared first—like someone had shut a door on the entire school. No chatter, no lockers slamming, no distant groans. Just echoes now. Footsteps. The occasional drip of water somewhere deep in the tunnels.
Then the temperature dropped.
Not freezing.
But enough to feel it settle into skin.
Into bones.
"Still hate this place," Clawd muttered.
"You hate anything underground," Deuce said.
"Yeah, because everything underground is creepy."
"Valid," Lagoona admitted.
---
They moved deeper.
The walls changed as they went—less polished, more ancient. Symbols carved into the stone, worn down by time but still visible if you looked long enough.
Ghoulia paused just long enough to jot something down before hurrying to catch up.
"Guys," Draculaura whispered, "this is… really old."
"Older than Monster High," Clawdeen said quietly.
"That's not comforting," Deuce replied.
---
They reached a narrow passage.
Barely wide enough for one person at a time.
Clawdeen sighed. "Single file. Stay close. No wandering off."
"Yeah, yeah," Deuce said, already inching forward.
"Don't touch anything," Clawd added.
"I wasn't gonna—okay, I was gonna."
---
Holt hung back on purpose.
Less attention that way.
Less chance of someone noticing—
Something.
You're doing that again, Jackson said quietly.
"What?"
"Falling behind."
"I'm just letting them lead."
"Uh-huh."
Holt rolled his eyes, but he didn't move up.
---
The tunnel tightened around them as they walked through. Stone brushed shoulders. The air felt thinner, heavier.
Halfway through, Holt's gaze flicked to the side—
And caught his reflection.
Not in a mirror.
In a strip of metal lining the wall.
For a split second—
It wasn't him.
It was Jackson.
Holt stopped.
Just for a heartbeat.
Okay.
Nope.
Did not like that.
"You saw that, right?" Holt asked.
"…Yeah," Jackson answered.
Neither of them said anything else.
---
The passage opened suddenly into a wide chamber.
"Whoa," Frankie breathed.
It stretched out farther than it should've, supported by old stone arches and broken pillars. The floor dipped slightly toward the center, forming something that looked almost like—
"A stage?" Frankie guessed.
"Or a performance pit," Clawdeen said.
"Or a trap," Clawd added.
"Or," a voice cut in smoothly, "y'all could stop guessin' and just ask."
Everyone turned.
Leaning against a pillar like she'd been there the whole time was Operetta.
Red hair, mask, guitar slung over her shoulder like it was part of her.
Her boot tapped lazily against the stone as she looked them over, one by one.
Then her gaze landed on Holt.
A smirk curled at the edge of her mouth.
"Well now," she drawled. "Didn't expect to see you down here, DJ."
Holt straightened, grin snapping into place out of habit. "Miss me?"
Operetta pushed off the pillar, crossing her arms. "Please. You ain't loud enough to miss."
There it was.
That spark between them.
Sharp. Familiar.
But her eyes didn't stay on Holt.
Not entirely.
They flicked—just briefly—like she was looking for something else.
Or someone else.
Jackson felt it immediately.
And Holt—
For once—
didn't have something ready to say.
Because standing there, under the weight of the catacombs, with Operetta watching a little too closely—
it felt like the line between them wasn't just thin anymore.
It was starting to show.