Ghoulfriends Forever (Monster High Ghoulfriends Series #1)by Gitty Daneshvari
Ghoulfriends Forever is a brand-new Monster High series, introducing three new monster characters. As new students, the trio must navigate the bewildering array of cute monster boys, established cliques, and monster-rific subjects like Mad Science, G-ogre-phy, and Physical Deaducation. As if that weren't hard enough, something strange and sinister seems to be/i>… See more details below
Ghoulfriends Forever is a brand-new Monster High series, introducing three new monster characters. As new students, the trio must navigate the bewildering array of cute monster boys, established cliques, and monster-rific subjects like Mad Science, G-ogre-phy, and Physical Deaducation. As if that weren't hard enough, something strange and sinister seems to be happening at the school. Popular girls like Frankie Stein and Cleo de Nile are acting weird-and all signs point to everyone's new favorite teacher, Miss Sylphia Flapper. Can the new GFFs expose the fave as a fraud, or will they succumb to peer pressure?
- Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
- Publication date:
- Monster High Ghoulfriends Series , #1
- Sold by:
- Hachette Digital, Inc.
- NOOK Book
- Sales rank:
- File size:
- 28 MB
- This product may take a few minutes to download.
- Age Range:
- 8 - 12 Years
Read an Excerpt
Monster High: Ghoulfriends Forever
By Gitty Daneshvari
Little, Brown Books for Young ReadersCopyright © 2012 Gitty Daneshvari
All right reserved.
nestled deep within the lush forests of Oregon was a small and seemingly average town. Much like any other town in America, it had shops, restaurants, small family homes, and, of course, schools. So normal was the appearance of the town that it was actually quite forgettable. Every year countless travelers passed through without giving it so much as a second thought, utterly unaware that there was anything extraordinary or unique about the place. But, of course, had anyone stopped for a closer inspection, it would have become readily apparent that the town of Salem catered to a rather specific clientele—monsters!
And while one might think that a town of monsters was terribly intriguing, it wasn’t. Salem had long puttered by with nary a scandal or drama outside of the occasional spat over which cemetery would host the Dance of the Delightfully Dead, a celebration of the happily departed. In fact, so unremarkable was the community that the most exciting thing on the horizon was the start of a new semester at Monster High.
Bright and early Monday morning, the well-worn wrought-iron gates to Monster High creaked open to a fast-approaching blitz of bodies. Amid the throngs of monster students was a petite gray gargoyle outfitted in a delightful pink linen dress with a Scaremès scarf wrapped stylishly around her waist as a belt. Moving carefully through the crowd, the young girl minded her Louis Creton luggage and her pet griffin, Roux, but mostly her own two hands. As gargoyles are crafted of stone, they are burdened with both extreme heaviness and terribly sharp claws. And the last thing she wanted to do was snag her dress on the first day at a new school.
“Pardonnez-moi, madame,” Rochelle Goyle called out in a charming Scarisian accent as she crested the building’s front steps. “I do not wish to impose upon your business, but might you be looking for this?”
Rochelle bent down, picked up a raven-haired head with crimson lips, and handed it to the imposing headless figure standing next to the main doorway.
“Child, thank you! I keep forgetting my head, both figuratively and literally! You see, I was recently struck by lightning, and it’s left me with a spot of what the doctor calls muddled mind. But not to worry, it won’t last forever,” Headmistress Bloodgood said upon remounting her head on her neck. “Now then, do I know you? In my current condition, I find it hard to remember faces or names or, if I am to be honest, almost anything.”
“No, madame, you definitely do not know me. I am Rochelle Goyle from Scaris, and I shall be living in the new dormitory on campus.”
“I am awfully thrilled that our reputation as the premier monster academy has attracted so many international students. You’ve come from Scaris, have you? However did you get here? I hope not atop the back of your sweet-faced griffin,” Headmistress Bloodgood said while pointing to Rochelle’s peppy little pet.
“Paragraph 11.5 of the Gargoyle Code of Ethics advises against sitting atop furniture, never mind pets! We came via Werewolf Hairlines, a most reliable company; the planes even come equipped with reinforced steel seats for those of us made of stone,” Rochelle said as she looked down at her slim but weighty figure. “Madame, might I bother you for directions to the dormitory?”
Before Headmistress Bloodgood could respond, however, Rochelle was thrown to the ground by what felt like a wall of water. Hard, damp, and extremely cold, an unknown entity instantly covered both Rochelle and Roux in a dense, misty fog. Looking up from the floor, she saw a short, rotund woman with gray hair storming through the crowd like a tsunami, knocking over everything within a five-foot radius.
“Miss Sue Nami?” Headmistress Bloodgood called out as the watery woman rammed an unsuspecting vampire into a wall.
Upon hearing Headmistress Bloodgood’s high-pitched voice, Miss Sue Nami turned and stomped back, leaving a path of puddles in her wake. Up close, Rochelle couldn’t help but notice the woman’s permanently pruned skin, crisp blue eyes, and unflattering stance. With her legs a foot apart and her hands perched on her shapeless hips, the woman very much reminded Rochelle of a wrestler, albeit a male wrestler.
“Yes, ma’am?” Miss Sue Nami barked in a piercingly loud voice.
“This young lady is one of our new boarders, so would you mind showing her to the dormitory?” Headmistress Bloodgood asked Miss Sue Nami before turning back to Rochelle. “You are in good hands. Miss Sue Nami is the school’s new Deputy of Disaster.”
Fearing that students might take advantage of her temporary state of absentmindedness, especially where detentions in the dungeon were concerned, the headmistress had recently brought in Miss Sue Nami to handle all disciplinary matters.
“Nonadult entity, grab your bag and your toy and follow me,” Miss Sue Nami screeched at Rochelle.
“Roux is not a toy but my pet griffin. I do not wish to mislead you—or anyone else, for that matter. Gargoyles take the truth very seriously.”
“Lesson number one: When your mouth moves, you are talking. Lesson number two: When your legs move, you are walking. If you cannot do them simultaneously, then please focus only on the latter,” Miss Sue Nami snapped before turning around and marching through the school’s colossal front door.
Upon entering the hallowed halls of Monster High, Rochelle was instantly overwhelmed with a serious case of homesickness. Everything around her looked and felt terribly unfamiliar. She was used to lush fabric-covered walls, ornate gold-leafed moldings, and enormous crystal chandeliers. But then again her last school, École de Gargouille, was housed in a chateau that was once the residence of the Count of Scaris. So, as one might expect, Rochelle was rather shocked by Monster High’s modern purple-checkered floors, green walls, and pink coffin-shaped lockers. Not to mention the elaborately carved headstone, just inside the main doors, that reminded students it was against school policy to howl, molt fur, bolt limbs, or wake sleeping bats in the hallways.
“Pardonnez-moi, Miss Sue Nami, but are there really bats? As I am sure you know, bats can carry a wide variety of illnesses,” Rochelle said. Her short gray legs worked overtime to keep up with the stampeding wet woman.
“Monster High employs vaccinated bats as in-house exterminators to eat rogue insects and spiders. With certain members of the student body bringing live insects for lunch, we consider the bats highly regarded members of the janitorial staff. If you have a problem with them, I suggest you take it up with the headmistress. But I highly suggest confirming her head is properly attached before doing so,” Miss Sue Nami grumbled as she rammed into an open door and, shortly thereafter, a slow-moving zombie.
The stunned zombie teetered sluggishly back and forth before collapsing to the ground, eliciting sympathetic whimpers from both Rochelle and Roux. Miss Sue Nami, however, stomped full speed ahead, totally oblivious to the effects of her reckless marching.
“I do not wish to tell you how to conduct your business, madame. But I must ask—are you aware that you have knocked quite a few monsters to the ground in the short time we have been walking?” Rochelle asked as tactfully as possible.
“That is known as collateral damage in the school-discipline business. Now, stop dawdling and pick up the pace; I’m on a schedule here!” Miss Sue Nami barked. “And if you are capable of both walking and listening, you will enjoy a brief tour along the way. If not, then I am merely reminding myself where everything is! On your immediate right, we have the Absolutely Deranged Scientist Laboratory, which is not to be confused with the Mad and Deranged Scientist Laboratory, currently under construction in the catacombs.”
“Isn’t that going to be unnecessarily confusing?” Rochelle wondered aloud as she glanced into the room filled with Bunsen burners, vials of colorful liquids, plastic safety goggles, white lab coats, and countless peculiar-looking apparatuses.
“I have decided to disregard your question, as I do not deem it relevant. I will now continue with my tour. The laboratory is currently being used for Mad Science class, in which students produce a wide variety of things, such as lotion for the scaly-skinned, antifungal drops for the pumpkin heads, fur-calming serum for the hairy, organic oil for the robotically inclined, industrial-strength mouthwash for the sea monsters, and much more,” Miss Sue Nami explained before stopping to shake her body like a dog after a bath, spraying everyone in a three-foot radius with water. Fortunately, as gargoyles are built to deflect water, both Rochelle and her dress were spared.
“I love water, and even I think that was super gross,” a scaly-skinned sea creature dressed in flip-flops and well-tailored fluorescent-pink board shorts muttered while she wiped her face with a fishnet scarf.
“Well, at least you don’t have a fur ’fro now,” a stylishly clad werewolf moaned, touching her long and luscious mane of now wet auburn hair.
“Lagoona Blue, Clawdeen Wolf, do not waste your lives standing around in the hallway complaining. Go and complain in private, like the smart, ambitious monsters you are.”
“Bonjour,” Rochelle mumbled quietly, offering a painfully awkward smile to Lagoona and Clawdeen.
“A Scaremès scarf as a belt? That’s straight out of Morgue Magazine! Totally creeperific,” Clawdeen complimented her, clearly impressed by Rochelle’s chic style.
“Merci boo-coup,” the gargoyle called out as she jetted after the fast-moving Miss Sue Nami.
“Next we have the bell tower, just behind which you will find the courtyard and the Creepateria, respectively. To your immediate left you have the gym, the Casketball Court, Study Howl, and finally the Creepchen, where Home Ick is taught,” Miss Sue Nami said rapidly while storming through the cavernous purple-and-green halls.
After banging into a row of pink coffin-shaped lockers, the puddle-prone woman turned down an adjoining corridor and quickly resumed her tour guide duties.
“Here we have the graveyard, where you can fulfill your Physical Deaducation requirement with Graveyard Dancing, but of course you can also do that by joining the Skulltimate Roller Maze team, which practices next door in the maze. Next we have the dungeon, where detention is held, and finally the Libury, where both Ghoulish Literature and Monstory: The History of Monsters are taught.”
“Would it be possible to get a map?” Rochelle inquired politely with Roux perched sweetly on her shoulder. “While I have a most remarkable brain for remembering things, I’m all rocks and pebbles when it comes to directions.”
“Maps are for people who are afraid to get lost, or lost people who are afraid to get found, neither of which applies to you. Plus, for the time being all you really need to know is where the Vampitheater is, for the start-of-the-term assembly.”
“But I don’t know where the Vampitheater is.”
“Then I suggest you find out.”
“Might you tell me?”
“Absolutely not. We have a schedule to follow, and the Vampitheater is not on the schedule. Now, pick up the pace,” Miss Sue Nami yammered as she opened a coffin-shaped door into an adjoining wing of the school.
After walking down a large and somewhat empty corridor, Miss Sue Nami and Rochelle came upon a worn and weathered pink spiral staircase.
“Pardonnez-moi, madame, but this staircase does not look very sturdy—or up to date with general safety requirements. Paragraph 1.7 of the Gargoyle Code of Ethics clearly states that I must warn others of danger, so I am warning you now: This staircase is a menace!”
“Stop worrying. You sound like a soggy sock!” Miss Sue Nami barked, quickly quieting Rochelle.
While lugging her Louis Creton suitcase up the rose-colored staircase, which groaned mercilessly under her weight, Rochelle felt yet another pang of homesickness. She suddenly missed everything about home, from the Gothic arches of her favorite cathedral to the smooth yet surly manner in which Scarisians spoke. But perhaps most of all—especially while carting her heavy bag—she missed her boyfriend, Garrott DuRoque. He was as handsome as he was romantic. And while they had never sat next to each other on a bench for fear of its collapsing, they shared a great deal more, including a rosebush he had created in her honor.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Rochelle was met with a welcome and delightful distraction. Before her hung an intricately woven off-white curtain crafted out of thin, silky strands. Shimmering in the soft light, the material delighted Rochelle’s deep-seated love of fashion and fabrics. She wondered if she would be able to commission a scarf for her grand-mère, as Rochelle was sure she too would marvel at the material. The petite gargoyle’s gray fingers, adorned with two Gothic fleur-de-lis rings, hovered a mere inch from the fabric. Oh, how she longed to touch the magnificent material, but she didn’t dare, for fear that her claws would snag it, as they had so many fine fabrics in the past.
In a flash, Miss Sue Nami thrust her own large, wrinkled hand against the delicate, finely woven shroud, ripping it in two.
“Quelle horreur!” Rochelle squealed at the sight of the destroyed material.
“Save your tears; it grows back in seconds,” Miss Sue Nami barked as she pointed to a cavalry of spiders frantically weaving above their heads. Twenty quarter-sized black spiders furiously flung their legs about in an arachnid cancan, reproducing the curtain within moments. And while Rochelle had never been terribly fond of the eight-legged creatures, mostly because they often attempted to take up residency on gargoyles without asking, she was impressed by this group’s efficient manner of working.
The dormitory was a long and sumptuous corridor with moss-covered walls and colorful stained-glass windows that cast bright squares of light on the silver snakeskin floor. The soft emerald-colored moss grew unevenly across the walls, creating a visible topography with peaks and valleys. Rogue wisps of webbing wrapped around small mounds of greenery hinted at regular spider treks.
“Mr. D’eath, the school’s guidance counselor, is currently checking in the boarders,” Miss Sue Nami grumbled as she led Rochelle past several doors to a sitting area just off the corridor. “Follow the rules, nonadult entity, and you won’t have any problems with me.”
“I’m a gargoyle; we love rules. As a matter of fact, we often make up new ones just for fun,” Rochelle responded sincerely, to which the watery woman promptly nodded her head and stomped off.
Alone in a new country, with a new language and at a new school, Rochelle had no choice but to summon all the courage she had and confront the situation head-on. And as far as she could tell, there was no better place to start than with Mr. D’eath.
sporting a most miserable expression, Mr. D’eath, a middle-aged skeleton, shuffled into the waiting area. He was the physical and mental embodiment of melancholy, so much so that he could not even recall the last time he had smiled, let alone laughed. Standing with hunched shoulders and a low-hanging head, Mr. D’eath attempted to wrangle the students lingering nearby. However, instead of simply calling to them or even whistling at them, he sighed. And though the sighs began softly, they soon grew quite loud and aggressive. Why, the man was practically wailing before he was able to rally the monsters into a small group around him!
“Hello, students. I hope looking at my bony face and listening to my flat voice does not depress you,” Mr. D’eath announced in a monotone manner. “But if it does, I understand.”
The glum man then looked at the ground and began sighing again, leaving the students quite bewildered.
“I guess I should tell you which rooms you’re in,” the man grumbled painfully, as if the mere act of speaking was zapping every last drop of energy he possessed.
Rochelle was instantly mesmerized by the gloomy man, taking his every sigh and frown to heart. A helpful and proactive gargoyle, she found glum and woeful people difficult to be around without giving advice.
“As you can see, there is a ghouls’ section and a boys’ section. Boys are not to visit ghouls, and ghouls are not to visit boys,” Mr. D’eath said as he pointed to a split in the corridor. “Now then, the Chamber of Ghoulery and Foolery has been assigned to Rose and Blanche Van Sangre from Romania.”
Tall and sinewy identical twins with raven hair and ashy skin, both dressed in floor-length polka-dot dresses and black velvet capes, pushed to the front of the group.
“Hullo, me name is Rose Van Sangre, and this is me sister Blanche Van Sangre. Ve are gypsy vampires, so ve do not like to sleep in the same place more than three nights,” Rose stated coldly in her thick Romanian accent.
“I don’t care where you sleep, or even if you sleep. I, for one, haven’t had a good night’s sleep… ever,” Mr. D’eath announced before once again sighing dramatically.
“Vraies jumelles! Identical twins! Gemelli identici!” a young man hollered abruptly from the back of the group, prompting all to turn.
The unique boy with three heads, whom they would soon come to know as Three-Headed Freddie, had a terrible habit of blurting out his thoughts unexpectedly. And while each of the heads said the exact same thing at the exact same time, all three spoke in different languages—usually Bitealian, Fanglish, and Scarisian; but sometimes Zombese, Goblinese, and Howlish found their way in as well.
“Ve are not identical, and ve do not take kindly to being mistaken for one another, as ve look very different. As any imbecile can see, Rose’s hair is significantly less shiny than mine,” Blanche said angrily before grabbing the large gold key to her room and storming off with her sister.
“The Chamber of Vampires and Campfires will be shared by pumpkin heads Marvin, James, and Sam.”
Three petite creatures with noodle-thin limbs and jack-o’-lanterns for heads bounced up to Mr. D’eath, grabbed their golden key, and broke into song.
“There once was a woman made out of water, so mean we told her ‘don’t have a daughter,’ ” they sang as their pet bullfrogs chirped loudly, offering the perfect bass accompaniment. It was a rather well-known fact that the amphibians were absolute naturals at maintaining rhythm.
Pumpkin heads, descendants of the Headless Horseman and therefore very distant cousins of Headmistress Bloodgood, often acted as a Greek chorus, singing about nearly everything they saw or heard.
“The Chamber of Fangs and Orangutans is assigned to Three-Headed Freddie alone, as we heard his heads like to talk in their sleep,” Mr. D’eath announced as the boy averted his six eyes in embarrassment.
“The Chamber of Tomb and Gloom is for Cy Clops and Henry Hunchback.”
The shy yet handsome Cyclops moved to the side as Henry Hunchback, a ginger-haired boy suffering from extreme curvature of the spine, approached Mr. D’eath for the key.
“Hi, Mr. D., I’m Henry, and I just wanted to say I am super excited to be at Monster High, especially since Coach Igor teaches here. That guy is a legend,” Henry said warmly before Mr. D’eath sighed and looked away.
“Everyone loves Coach Igor—the Casketball team, the Fearleading squad, and the Skulltimate Roller Maze team. How come no one has such fondness for the guidance counselor?” Mr. D’eath bemoaned sadly.
“Something must be done,” Rochelle quietly muttered to Roux as she lifted the griffin to see the perpetually gloomy Mr. D’eath.
“The Chamber of Voltage and Moltage is assigned to Hoodude, who will not have a roommate, as we were told his shrine to Frankie Stein is rather elaborate.”
Hoodude, a human-sized voodoo doll with blue hair, button eyes, and a variety of needles jutting out of his cloth body, was absolutely infatuated with fellow student Frankie Stein. She had, after all, created him in her father’s laboratory.
“Thank you, Mr. D’eath,” Hoodude said sweetly before puttering down the boys’ corridor.
“And finally, in the Chamber of Gore and Lore, we have Venus McFlytrap, Robecca Steam, and Rochelle Goyle.”
While looking around for signs of her roommates, Rochelle’s glance landed on an interesting-looking girl with green skin and a half-shaved head. The girl cocked her head to the side and grinned as the vines that coiled around her wrists lightly fluttered their leaves.
Rochelle certainly wasn’t in Scaris anymore!
gillary Clinton is my idol,” the brightly dressed girl with punk style and elaborate vine bracelets expounded after opening the door to the Chamber of Gore and Lore, with Rochelle trailing behind her. “Did you know she once endured a weeklong hunger strike to protest the dumping of toxic chemicals in the ocean?”
Hanging on the far wall was a portrait of the current International Monster Federation president, Gillary Clinton. As the head of the monster world’s governing body, she was heralded by some and demonized by others.
“Fish can easily go without food for a week. Not that it makes Gillary Clinton’s act any less commendable. I only mention it because, as a gargoyle, I have a duty to share all pertinent information,” Rochelle explained awkwardly before offering her hand to shake. “I’m Rochelle Goyle, by the way.”
“The name’s Venus McFlytrap, and this is my pet plant, Chewlian,” the other girl announced, and flipped her long hot-pink and green striped hair over one shoulder. “I came a little early to settle him into the room. You know plants—they can’t stand change,” Venus continued while rubbing the pink stubble on the shaved side of her head.
“I must say, he has very good dental hygiene,” Rochelle commented, looking at the plant’s extremely white teeth and bright green gums.
“Yeah, he’s pretty spooktacular,” Venus said before blowing a pollen kiss—a small puff of orange dust—toward her pet plant.
“Pardonnez-moi, this is Roux, my pet griffin.”
Roux, wings and tail wagging happily, pranced over to Chewlian to say hello. Unfortunately, as soon as the small gray animal was within an inch of the plant, Chewlian bit her nose. And not just the tip of the nose: The plant managed to get nearly the entire snout.
“No, Chewy!” Venus scolded. “Sorry about that—he’s in a biting stage. His eyesight isn’t very good, so he has trouble distinguishing friends from feasts. Is Roux okay?”
Rochelle noted the plant’s mischievous and slightly dim-witted grin before checking on the perpetually happy Roux. “Oh yes, she’s fine. She’s made of granite, so she’s rather hard to take a bite out of.”
“He really is such a sweetie when you get to know him, but I’d watch your fingers near his leaves,” Venus said before glancing around the room. “Look at this place. Do you believe your eyes? I’m horrified!”
Rochelle looked carefully around the small but cozy space, scanning for possible safety violations, but came up empty. Between the finely sanded limestone walls were three pristinely made beds, two medium-sized windows, a wardrobe, and one large, squishy armchair. Much like a sea anemone, the overstuffed piece of furniture looked primed to swallow anything within reach. Covered in mummy gauze and finely woven molted werewolf fur, neither chair nor bedspreads proved horrifying, leaving Rochelle at a loss. “Are you upset they didn’t use higher-quality fabrics? You must remember, this is a school, not a five-skull hotel,” she explained earnestly.
“Hello? I’m talking about the non-ecofriendly lightbulbs and the lack of a recycling bin. Honestly, this is just plain reckless!” Venus declared as she stomped her pink ankle boot.
Venus McFlytrap was the daughter of the plant monster, and she had inherited a bit of his temper, especially where environmental protection was concerned. And while she tried to control her pollens of persuasion, sometimes it just wasn’t possible. Extreme anger or frustration often resulted in pollen-filled sneezes that swayed all in her path to wholeheartedly agree with anything Venus said. Depending on the intensity of the sneeze, the pollen’s effect could last anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours. Most egregious, Venus’s bright orange pollen was notoriously difficult to get out of clothing.
Just as Rochelle prepared to correct Venus’s assessment of the situation as reckless, the door flew open, banging loudly against the limestone wall.
“Heavens to Betsy,” a dewy-faced girl covered in rivets and metal plates exclaimed animatedly. “This school is absolutely batty, and I say that in all seriousness, as I just saw a bat in the hallway, but also because it’s enormous. I was so lost and frustrated that I started to steam up, making my hair go absolutely bananas. And while bananas may be good for cereal, they’re not good for a ghoul’s hair!”
The girl, seemingly crafted out of a steam engine, played with her long blue hair while blushing under Rochelle’s and Venus’s gazes.
“Robecca Steam?” Venus guessed with a smirk.
“Oh dear, it must seem like my brain is rusted! I can’t believe I just flung open the door without even mentioning my name! Yes, I am Robecca Steam! Deary me, I haven’t been this nervous since I performed my first aerial stunt in front of Father. That was, of course, centuries ago, before I was dismantled; I am absolutely thrilled to be reassembled!” Robecca said as steam exited her ears.
Whenever she was angry or nervous, steam puffed out of Robecca’s ears and nose. And while she didn’t much care for the vapors, those around her absolutely detested them. Steam outbursts had been known to unpleat many a skirt and to frizz many a monster’s fur. However, it must be noted that the steam was not entirely a nuisance, for it resulted in a natural facial—hence Robecca’s permanently dewy complexion.
“Bonjour, Robecca. I am Rochelle, and I am very pleased to meet you.”
“A Scarisian accent! Well, isn’t that just the cat’s pajamas!”
“Do cats wear pajamas in this country?” Rochelle inquired seriously.
Excerpted from Monster High: Ghoulfriends Forever by Gitty Daneshvari Copyright © 2012 by Gitty Daneshvari. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Meet the Author
Gitty Daneshvari was born in the creepy crawly yet ever so sunny city of Los Fangeles. As a young ghoul she was loquacious, curious, and freakishly fearful. Worried about everything from matted fur to aliens invading to getting stuck in an elevator, her diverse range of phobias was a most burdensome flaw. However, as she grew up and faced her fears, Gitty found they were the perfect inspiration for her defrightful middle grade series School of Fear.
Gitty currently lives in New Volt City with her spooktacularly smelly English Bulldog Harriet.
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