The last bell of the day at Monster High didn't ring so much as it released.
Like the whole school had been holding its breath and finally decided it was allowed to exhale.
Lockers slammed open. Voices bounced off the walls. Chains rattled, fins flicked, wings stretched. The tension from the Clawditorium didn't disappear—it just got buried under noise.
But Jackson felt it following him anyway.
Or maybe Holt did.
It was getting harder to tell where one ended and the other started by the minute.
---
Holt moved through the hallway with his usual ease, hands in his pockets, head slightly tilted like nothing in the world could possibly weigh on him.
Which, technically, was true.
At least on the surface.
Frankie waved as she passed. "Hey, Jackie! You heading out?"
"Yeah," Holt called back casually. "Just need some air."
Clawd gave a nod. "Cool. See you tomorrow, man."
Deuce added, "Don't disappear this time."
Holt smirked. "No promises."
Jackson muttered in the back of his mind. That's not reassuring.
Relax, Holt replied. I always come back.
That's not what I meant.
Holt didn't answer that one.
---
Outside, Monster High looked almost normal again.
Almost.
The sky had that late-afternoon orange tint that made everything feel like it was glowing with secrets. The wind moved through the courtyard, tugging at banners and leaves and whatever else the school hadn't nailed down properly.
Holt kept walking.
Past the gates.
Past the chatter.
Past the last echoes of classmates splitting into groups and plans and arguments about what "taking back Halloween" even meant.
And then—
He turned down the side path.
The one no one really paid attention to.
The one that led behind the school.
Toward the alleyway.
---
It was quieter there.
Not peaceful.
Just less watched.
Graffiti-tagged brick. Old storage crates. A flickering light that never seemed fully committed to staying on.
Holt stopped near the back wall.
"Alright," he said under his breath. "Your turn."
Jackson's voice stirred faintly. You sure this is a good idea?
Holt snorted softly. Since when do we do "good ideas"?
That's not comforting.
"Didn't say it was."
---
He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes briefly.
The shift didn't happen instantly.
It never did.
It started like pressure easing behind the eyes. Like sound turning inward. Like the world stepping slightly out of focus so something else could step forward.
Holt exhaled slowly.
"Alright," he murmured. "Tag out."
---
The change wasn't visible from the outside.
No flashing lights.
No dramatic transformation.
Just a quiet recalibration of presence.
His posture softened. His shoulders dropped slightly. The sharp edge of Holt's confidence dulled into something more uncertain.
Jackson blinked once.
Then again.
And suddenly—
he was fully there.
---
He steadied himself against the wall.
"…Okay," Jackson whispered.
His voice sounded different in the empty alley. Smaller. Less rehearsed.
More real.
You okay? Holt's voice echoed faintly now, further back.
"Yeah," Jackson said automatically.
A pause.
"…No."
Holt didn't argue.
Yeah. Fair.
---
Jackson ran a hand through his hair, exhaling.
The weight of the day pressed back in immediately.
The assembly.
The shouting.
Frankie's speech.
Bloodgood's warning.
The way everything had started splitting into sides that didn't feel like sides so much as cliffs.
And underneath all of it—
the Hall of Halloween.
That image wouldn't leave.
Monsters and humans together.
No hiding.
No fear.
Just… history that felt too hopeful to be real.
---
"I don't think that place was supposed to exist," Jackson murmured.
Holt's voice, softer now: Probably not.
"…So why does it?"
Silence.
That was the problem.
Neither of them had an answer that felt solid enough to stand on.
---
Jackson pushed off the wall.
He adjusted his bag strap, trying to reset himself into something normal.
Whatever that meant anymore.
Footsteps echoed faintly from the street beyond the alley.
He tensed slightly.
Too late in the day for most students to still be around here.
He stepped further back into shadow without thinking.
---
And that's when he heard it.
"Hey! Jackie?"
His stomach dropped.
Clawd.
Frankie's voice wasn't there, but Clawd's was enough to make everything feel suddenly less private.
"Man, I thought that was you," Clawd called out.
Jackson froze.
Not from fear.
From timing.
Perfect.
Of course.
---
He turned slowly.
Clawd and Draculaura stepped into the edge of the alley, both of them carrying that post-school exhaustion mixed with curiosity that meant they were definitely not just "passing by."
Draculaura tilted her head. "Jackie? What are you doing back here all alone?"
Jackson blinked.
Think. Say something normal.
"Uh…" he started. "Just… heading home."
Clawd crossed his arms slightly. "Through the alley behind school?"
"…Short cut."
Draculaura smiled gently, but it wasn't fully convinced. "You've been doing a lot of 'short cuts' lately."
Jackson shifted his weight.
Inside, Holt muttered faintly. Oh this is gonna be fun.
Not helping, Jackson thought sharply.
I'm observing.
That's worse.
---
Clawd stepped a little closer, tone easing. "Look, man… you've been kinda off since that whole Halloween stuff started getting intense."
"I'm fine," Jackson said quickly.
Too quickly.
Draculaura's expression softened. "You don't have to be 'fine' all the time, you know."
That hit something quieter.
Not painful.
Just… honest.
Jackson hesitated.
"I just… need some air," he said again, softer this time.
Clawd nodded slowly. "Fair."
But he didn't leave.
Neither did Draculaura.
---
A silence settled between them.
Not uncomfortable.
Just loaded.
Like everyone knew there was something underneath the words nobody was saying out loud yet.
Draculaura glanced toward the school gates. "Today was… a lot."
"Yeah," Clawd agreed. "Frankie really got everyone going."
Jackson's fingers tightened slightly on his strap.
"…Yeah."
---
Draculaura studied him for a moment.
Not suspicious.
Just careful.
"You know," she said gently, "you don't have to agree with everything everyone's saying just because they're saying it."
Jackson looked at her.
That landed too close to things he hadn't said out loud yet.
Clawd nodded. "We know you're… you know. Jackie."
Jackson blinked. "Yeah?"
Clawd scratched the back of his neck. "Like… you're chill. You don't really jump into the whole 'take sides and charge ahead' thing."
Draculaura smiled faintly. "And that's okay."
Jackson didn't respond immediately.
Because the truth was—
he wasn't sure what side he was even supposed to be on.
---
A breeze moved through the alley.
The light shifted slightly.
Jackson glanced down for a second.
Just a second.
Long enough to steady himself.
When he looked back up—
Draculaura was still watching him.
Not in a way that felt like accusation.
In a way that felt like recognition.
And that made it worse.
---
Clawd exhaled. "Look, man… if you need anything, just say so. We're all kinda dealing with this Halloween mess together, right?"
Jackson nodded slowly. "Yeah."
But his voice didn't fully match it.
---
A beat passed.
Then Draculaura stepped slightly closer.
"Jackie…" she said softly. "You know you can talk to us, right?"
Jackson opened his mouth—
And for a split second—
Holt's presence flickered in the back of his mind like a reflex.
Too close.
Too risky.
Don't.
Jackson stopped himself.
"…I know," he said instead.
Not a lie.
Just incomplete.
---
Clawd gave a small nod. "Alright. Just checking."
Draculaura smiled gently. "We'll see you tomorrow?"
Jackson hesitated.
Then nodded again. "Yeah."
---
They turned to leave.
For a moment, Jackson thought that was it.
That he'd made it out clean.
That the alley would stay his for just a little longer.
---
But then Clawd paused halfway out.
Looked back.
"Hey," he called.
Jackson froze again.
Clawd hesitated slightly, then added:
"You're a good guy, Jackie. Don't forget that stuff when everything gets weird, okay?"
Jackson didn't answer immediately.
Because something in his chest tightened at the words.
Not guilt.
Not relief.
Something in between.
---
"Yeah," Jackson finally said.
"…Okay."
Clawd smiled slightly.
Then he and Draculaura left.
Footsteps fading.
Back toward the school.
---
Jackson stood alone in the alley again.
The silence came back slower this time.
He leaned back against the wall, exhaling.
You heard that? Holt asked quietly.
"…Yeah."
Jackson swallowed.
"…I don't feel like a 'good guy' right now."
Holt didn't joke this time.
Yeah, he said softly. I know.
---
The sky above Monster High dimmed another shade.
Somewhere inside the school, the day kept going like nothing had changed.
But out here—
in the alley behind it—
Jackson stood very still.
Caught between what everyone thought he was…
and what he was starting to suspect he might actually be part of.
And for the first time that day—
neither version of him had anything easy to say.
---
Outside the school grounds, Monster High looked almost normal again.
Almost.
The sky had that late-afternoon stretch to it—gold thinning into orange, shadows lengthening across the cracked stone pathways. Gargoyles perched overhead like they were pretending not to watch anyone in particular.
A breeze moved through the courtyard, tugging at Jackson's hoodie.
For a moment, he stopped walking.
Just stood there.
Looking up at the main tower.
At the windows.
At the flags that never quite stopped moving, even when there was no wind.
"You ever think about how this place feels different after something happens?" Jackson asked quietly.
Holt didn't respond immediately.
Yeah, he finally said. But I think it's just you noticing it more when you're already thinking too much.
Jackson gave a small, humorless smile. "That sounds like something Dad would've said."
That pulled Holt quiet.
Not for long.
But enough.
---
They started walking again.
Down the front steps.
Past the gates.
Out toward the road that led away from Monster High and into the messier, quieter stretch of New Salem's outskirts.
The world outside the school always felt… less curated. Less watched. Less forgiving.
Jackson kept his hands in his pockets.
His fingers brushed the edge of something small there—a folded scrap of paper he didn't remember putting in there.
He didn't take it out.
Not yet.
---
The road home wasn't long, but it always felt longer when his thoughts were loud.
And today, they were.
Holt hummed under his breath.
Not a tune. Not quite.
More like a rhythm trying to form and giving up halfway through.
"You ever miss it?" Jackson asked suddenly.
Miss what? Holt replied, too quickly.
Jackson hesitated.
Then, carefully: "Before. Before Monster High. Before all of this."
There was a pause.
A real one this time.
Long enough that Jackson almost thought Holt wouldn't answer.
Yeah, Holt said finally. I do.
Jackson swallowed. "Me too."
They walked a few more steps in silence.
The wind shifted.
Somewhere far off, a dog barked once and stopped.
---
They passed an old streetlight that flickered even though it was still daytime.
Jackson glanced at it anyway.
"Dad used to fix those," he said before he could stop himself.
Holt didn't joke this time.
Yeah?
"Yeah," Jackson said. "He said broken lights were like people. Sometimes they just needed someone to tap them in the right place."
He tried to laugh a little at that, but it didn't land.
The memory didn't come in pictures.
Not clearly.
Just fragments.
A hand adjusting a bulb.
A voice, warm and tired, saying "Hold it steady, Jack."
And Holt—quiet for once—just listening.
---
They turned down a narrower street.
Older houses here. Paint peeling. Mailboxes slightly bent like they'd been leaned on too many times.
The kind of place that didn't ask many questions.
Which Jackson appreciated more than he liked admitting.
"You think he'd understand all this?" Jackson asked.
Holt knew exactly what he meant.
Their father.
The one who used to make things work again.
Fix things.
Hold things together when they didn't want to stay whole.
Maybe, Holt said carefully. Or maybe he'd just say we're overthinking it again.
That earned a faint exhale from Jackson that might've been a laugh if it had more air behind it.
"Yeah," Jackson said. "That sounds about right."
---
They slowed as they approached their street.
The house wasn't far now.
Familiar shape. Familiar porch. Familiar quiet.
But something about it always felt slightly unfinished, like a sentence someone never quite ended.
Jackson stopped at the edge of the sidewalk.
Looked up.
The windows were closed.
Curtains still.
No movement inside.
For a moment, he didn't step forward.
Neither did Holt.
---
You okay? Holt asked.
Jackson didn't answer immediately.
Then: "Do you ever feel like we're still waiting for something to come back?"
Holt didn't joke this time either.
Yeah, he said. All the time.
Jackson nodded once, almost to himself.
"Me too."
---
A car passed slowly behind them.
Normal world stuff. Tires on pavement. A distant radio playing something too cheerful to match the mood.
Jackson shifted his bag higher on his shoulder.
Then finally started walking again.
Toward the house.
Toward whatever version of home waited for him there.
Holt stayed quiet as they crossed the yard.
Not gone.
Just… present.
Like he always was.
And somewhere deep in the back of Jackson's mind—beneath everything else—the memory of their father lingered.
Not as a warning.
Not as a lesson.
But as something simpler.
Something like:
Keep going.
So he did.