That's right! After the Eightfold plush did so well, doing another was an easy choice! The FORGE PLUSH is available for pre-order RIGHT NOW! You can find it right here.

Like the Eightfold plush I did with Makeship, this is limited time only Paranatural merch. As of this post, the Forge plush will be available for just 17 more days. Right now we’re shooting for the goal of 200 sold, a threshold I’m confident we’ll clear! This is a pre-order, so Forges will go into production and start shipping out in July (dang, just missed the June ship date—how appropriate, Forge).

I’ll be frank: selling 1,000 Eightfolds was incredible, and its success was a HUGELY stabilizing boon that let me visit my family for the holidays and support myself through turbulent times. I don’t expect to be able to grab that lightning-in-a-bottle blow-up again, but it remains extremely true that picking up a cool Forge plush from this campaign is a GREAT way to support me and Paranatural. If you’re able to afford to grab one or to help spread the word (I’ve made posts on Tumblr and elsewhere), it would be super appreciated! Thank you so much!

As Paranatural continues, I will hopefully be able to keep offering little things like this where you can pick up something fun and collectible to help support the comic, including merchandise and (I dream) little zines and such that I could make and ship myself. I’m always open to ideas and suggestions!

That’s all for now! Thank you so much for reading! And thank you for your support of Patreon and Ko-fi, it is the other backbone of my daily survival. I’m endlessly grateful!

~

[Transcript]

        “So many happy accidents today!” grinned Devilora, sounding like she’d seen a pleasing car crash on her way to work this morning. “How many years has it been, young man?”

        Peter Puckett blinked.

        “Oh! You’re that... scary school librarian! How many years? Gosh, a decade and then some!” Max’s father pointed to himself. “You remember me?”

        “Then it’s true what they say about elephants,” Max mumbled. It was probably for the best that everyone continued to ignore his running commentary.

        “I never forget a pretty face,” the Vice Principal oozed at Max’s father, crackling closer. “You’ll forgive me, then, for having trouble placing yours. Where is it that I know you from, young man? I only recollect that we’ve crossed paths...”

        “I was a janitor at Bayview Biddle School! Before I was fired. After, um... well after—”

        “The fire,” Devilora finished.

        Peter Puckett chuckled awkwardly, glancing sidelong at his son. Max, thankfully, seemed unfazed by the topic. They’d lost June to a fire—she’d bravely, brashly, rushed into a burning building to rescue a family friend trapped inside—which made the similarly torrid tale of how he’d met their mother far less joyful to recount. Perhaps his wife’s retellings of their meet-cute had defanged the story’s resonance somewhat, or maybe Max was simply unsurprised to hear his dad had lost a job thanks to calamitous disaster.

        “Er... yes. I left town for the mainland not too long after that.”

        Peter Puckett hadn’t been directly responsible for the blaze that scorched the Biddle School’s old annex... but he had let June on campus, which was pretty close to setting off a firework inside. She’d always blushed at the official story (faulty wiring, they’d said, and wasn’t maintenance your job, young Mr. Puckett?!), and though she’d gotten more responsible over the years while working as a metallurgist, back then June had been a hapless drifter with a habit for both smoking and for trespassing in old, extremely flammable locations. Given everything that happened because of the accident, though—meeting his future wife, for one—and everything strange that had been happening before the school caught flame... Max’s father couldn’t exactly pretend that he had many regrets. No one was hurt, after all, and they’d rebuilt that creepy section of the school right back from scratch.

        Rebuilt? Wait... but the annex was still standing when they put the fire out, right? They’d left it there, abandoned. For a second, though, he could have sworn that it had been burned all the way to the ground and then replaced. Peter Puckett wracked his mind, but in his memory—as of this very morning—the Blackened Annex still clung tight to Bayview Biddle School like a spider to its prey.

        “Ah, but it’s all coming back to me now!” beamed Devilora. “I thought someone was missing from the Biddle School’s milieu. How I missed the SCONES that I’d extort from you!”

        “Those were free in the teacher’s lounge—”

        “And crumbs are free for mice. A cat still hunts.” The Vice Principal rapped sharp nails against the counter. “Yes, indeed. The hunt continues...” Her nails screeched against the counter’s glass; she’d make due with its music until she found a proper chalkboard. “I did consider retirement after that dreadful incident, and I did take a sabbatical to find myself, it’s true... but it would seem that we were BOTH compelled to return to the scene of the crime. I’m the Vice Principal now—a role with far less PRETENSE than my last.” Devilora flashed her deadly dentures. “I have unfinished business at the Biddle School, you see. A hunger yet unsatisfied...”

        “For scones?” asked Max’s dad.

        “Eh-heh heh heh. Yesss. For scones.” Devilora licked her lips.

        “...Peter Puckett?”

        Between two blinks, as if it had scuttled out from beneath the shelves like a cockroach, a wallet had appeared at Principal Pleezdoo’s tiny feet. She’d picked it up, as any good samaritan would, and had found within it the name she’d yet to put to Peter’s face.

        “The sweet young janitor boy! And such a charming student before that!” The Principal beamed up at Peter Puckett. “I’d never seen such, er... creative mopping. The ceiling was so clean, and the dripping after... it was like... refreshing indoor rain!” She stretched to set his wallet on the counter. “It’s me, Miss Pleezdoo! I was a guidance counselor back then! Here, you must have dropped this...”

        “Fancy that,” said Devilora. “And here I’d missed it, too. When it comes to fun trinkets lost low to the ground, it would appear it’s we, the tall, who come up short! Nyeh-heh heh!”

        “Oh! Thank you, I... I was wondering where I’d—thanks!” A bewildered Peter Puckett studied the wallet that Principal Pleezdoo had returned. “I’m glad to see you’re, um, still doing good deeds, Miss Pleezdoo.”

        “In her spare time, perhaps,” grinned Devilora. “She’s my UNDERLING these days, and it’s dark deeds that keep the naughty kids away from DRUGS and DANGER.”

        “...I’m the principal, Devi. I’m not your—you’re under me—”

        “As a crocodile lies beneath the funny little birds that clean its teeth. A role your pretty plumage suits quite perfectly. Eh-heh heh...”

        Isaac blushed. Adult romance was a bewildering enigma. Now that he knew his favorite teacher—er, not his favorite teacher, rather, but the teacher he was forced to interact with most of all—was kind-of-sort-of-dating the mysterious insomniac Garcia, it was like he’d gained a second set of special spectral senses. Everywhere he looked he saw potential secret romance. How messy was the drama in the teacher’s lounge? What if Mr. Starchman smooched Coach Oop? That was no concern of his, Isaac quickly reassured himself. He was cool about all this. A stalwart ally.

        Forge, meanwhile, through Johnny’s eyes, was glaring at the throng with equal fire in his heart. There was June’s true love, the man she’d fallen for so many years ago... and in the shelter of the secrets she had kept from him, unassuming Peter Puckett stood before the Witch herself in blissful ignorance. Devilora was enjoying it, this game that she was playing. Forge clenched his fists. The wicked spectral had been vanquished, exorcised of all the power she had used to prey upon the fears of Bayview’s children. June had saved that girl she’d haunted. She’d set her wrongs to right. How dare that hag return—somehow—and tarnish her good deeds?!

        If only he could reach her with his hatred! If only his new host could hear his voice, could wield his flames—

        “Well, I’m... glad you’re both still kickin’!” Max’s dad said diplomatically. “I feel like you two average to a decent, ethics-neutral education. A bright boy like my Max deserves the best... but hey, you’ll do! That’s public education.”

        “Nyeh-heh heh. Yesss,” hummed Devilora. “Max and all his special friends are in GOOD HANDS... or rather, just beneath them... dangling safely from the puppet strings that DISCIPLINE provides...”

        As Vice Principal Devilora DuNacht’s creepy hands unfurled to pinch his cheeks, Max considered asking to be homeschooled for the first time in his life. Before she could get close, though... Johnny’s hand snapped out and grabbed her by the wrist.

        “NYYYEERRCK! DETENTION!!” Devilora screeched as she recoiled. Was it just her, or was that spiky scoundrel’s touch as scalding as a stovetop?!

        “Miss Devilora, I already told you! You c-can’t give out detention here!” Finally finding her courage, Principal Pleezdoo swept the Vice Principal towards the Corner Shore’s exit like a flustered yellow roomba on a mission. “I’m so sorry, all you kids! You get enough of this at school! Devi, dear, let’s go get scones or something. Souvenir shop snacks are not a healthy breakfast! Lovely to see you again, Peter!”

        Principal Pleezdoo forced Devilora into her tiny car like a disappointing Christmas tree. Their bickering and Devilora’s shrieking slowly faded as they drove away uphill.

        “...Are you my bully or my bodyguard?” Max said sarcastically after a beat, turning to a Johnny mystified by his own actions.

        Forge flexed his armored fingers. Had his will controlled his host and moved his body? Or was it just that Johnny chose to move the way he’d wished...?

        “...Bully with exclusive rights,” Johnny huffed. “Old bag can get permission if she wants to freakin’, uh... like lay a finger on your ugly weirdo face. No offense to your dad that you look like.”

        “Offense to me,” Max clarified.

        “Offense to you,” Johnny agreed.

        “They say the worst offense is the best defense,” Max’s father wisely said. “The best defense for the fondness it distracts from. I’m glad you’re making such good friends, son!”

        “You’d say that if I fell into a shark tank at the zoo, dad,” Max replied.

        “It was an aquarium,” his dad corrected him.

        “C-c’mon, we gotta go!” Isaac cut in, barrelling between the other boys. “We’re... we’re gonna be late for school, right? Let’s get moving!”

        With a few shrugs and sighs, the unlikely trio set out for Bayview Biddle School.