Free The Afterlife Academy by Frank L. Cole Page A

nodded.
    “Really?”
    “Of course. But not in the way you’re probably hoping. What do you think, Trutti?” He peered up at the smaller demon. “How should we let Gorge make it up to us?”
    Trutti was nibbling on a wiry fingernail. He snapped his fingers and began to chant, “Let’s play…Old Maid, Old Maid, Old Maid!”
    Hoonga’s eye brightened. “Excellent idea!” He forced Gorge to turn around and face a twisted metal table. Covered in stains, it had razor-sharp edges and had been created with one purpose in mind: absolute torture. A single deck of musty playing cards sat in the center of the table.
    Gorge whimpered. “Not Old Maid. Anything but that!”
    Hoonga clicked his tongue. “Oh, come now, you know you want to play.”
    “I do not!” Gorge insisted.
    Hoonga ignored the red demon as he took up his deck of playing cards. Trutti continued to chant from atop Hoonga’s shoulder, growing louder and louder. Old Maid was by far the worst game and caused the greatest amount of anguish for Hoonga’s victims.
    After a rousing, or torturous, depending on your perspective, game of Old Maid, Gorge was free to go.
    An hour later, the intercom buzzed, and the sniveling voice of Hoonga’s secretary filled the room, temporarily breaking Hoonga’s concentration.
    “Master Hoonga?” the voice inquired.
    “Yes, Tharice, what is it?” Hoonga responded.
    “I have a message for you.”
    “Go on.”
    “Someone will be paying you a visit later this evening to discuss an important matter,” Tharice said.
    Hoonga’s eye twitched. “Who said this?”
    The static crackled on the intercom. “I apologize,” Tharice said. “He wouldn’t give me his name. But he did say you would be expecting him.”
    The intercom fell silent, but Hoonga didn’t move.
    “What is it, master?”
    “Not now, Trutti.” Hoonga walked to his desk. “I need time to think. Leave me for a while.”
    “Leave you? You want me to
go
?” Trutti asked in disbelief.
    Without another word, the enormous Cyclops shooed Trutti off his shoulder, and the lesser demon darted from the room.

C harlie weaved his way through the crowded hallway toward his Spanish classroom. He felt awkward and exposed with the weight of the unusual book sagging in his backpack. All around him, kids whispered to one another at their lockers, and he wondered if they were still talking about what had happened yesterday with Mo.
    “Look!” Walter cheered. “It’s your girlfriend!”
    Charlie looked up, then quickly ducked his head. Melissa Bitner, perfect ponytail whipping behind her in slow motion, was walking straight toward Charlie.
    “She’s looking right at you!” Walter’s voice was filled with glee.
    “No she’s not,” Charlie muttered under his breath. “She’s probably—”
    “Hey, Charlie.” Melissa stood in front of him, hugging her chemistry textbook to her chest. “I feel bad about what happened yesterday. Are you okay?”
    She was all by herself. Where were the other popular girls who usually followed her around? Charlie had never shared an actual one-on-one conversation with Melissa before.
    “Uh…um…I…have Spanish class.” They were the only words he could piece together in his mind.
    “Oh my gosh,” Walter groaned. “You are horrible. Just say something normal to her.”
    “Mo thinks he’s so cool because he can pick on people,” Melissa said. “But he’s really just a big idiot.”
    Charlie swallowed.
    “Come on! Don’t do this. Just agree with her. Nod or something!” Walter pleaded in Charlie’s ear.
    “Yeah…you’re right,” Charlie managed to say. “He is an idiot.” He kept his eyes glued to the floor and Melissa’s light-blue flip-flops.
    “That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” Walter asked.
    Melissa laughed. “So, are you heading to Spanish class? Is that what you said? Who’s your teacher?”
    Charlie found an ounce of courage and raised his eyes, but only halfway. He ended up staring at