"If you hate leaving me here so much, then why are you still driving?" Paul said shortly. His mother turned around from the passenger seat. She had a sad, sympathetic smile on her face.

"We have no choice, Paul," his stepfather whispered. "We'll see you for Midterm Break in three months. If things have changed, we'll transfer you back to Polk High. Otherwise, you'll go back to Summer Wood to finish the term."

"What situation? I'm sixteen years old, but you never tell me anything!" Paul yelled as the car turned under a large, iron gate.

"It's better that way, honey," his mother whispered.

Paul leaned back heavily in his seat. The car moved through the campus, stopping in a courtyard in front of the entrance. His parents exited the front seat, popping the trunk. But they did not have to carry the bags: a uniformed young man arrived with a small cart. He loaded it with Paul's bags and closed the trunk. Paul's stepfather opened his door.

"Come on, Paul. Let's not keep Headmistress Meloni waiting," he murmured, standing aside so Paul could exit the car. Paul did as he was asked, though unwillingly.

The Mail Hall was filled with busts and portraits of former school leaders. The dates went back hundreds of years, back when the school was a European entity. Judging by the origin of the oldest names, the school once had religious ties. But they followed the wrong religion, and they were driven out of wherever they came from.

Now the school was making other changes: The last two busts before the office entrance were of women. Paul eyed their busts carefully: Judging by their roles as deans or curriculum leaders, the school's teachings took a new turn as well.

"Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Longdale. I'm Margie Meloni, Headmistress and Dean of Music," the headmistress smiled, shaking hands with them both. She smiled and stuck out her hand. "You must be Paul. Welcome to Summer Wood."

Paul shook her hand weakly.

"You might be nervous now, but you'll soon find yourself having the time of your life. You see, Summer Wood tries to not only offer top-notch education, but a sense of education freedom as well. Our independent study courses are highly popular, and our resource center contains all subjects, enough to please any young scholar."

"Paul loves science and mechanics," his stepfather smiled. The headmistress smiled and nodded.

"We offer several lab courses for many different sciences, and we have local businesses offer study position for any student with a specialty in mind. What are your special interests?" she asked, looking up to the standing Paul. He played with his hands for a moment. Admitting his interest would show he wanted to be there, but he would rather do anything than be there.

"He enjoys astronomy and airplanes," his stepfather whispered, his voice frustrated. The headmistress wrote them down without question, a smile on her face.

"Every other morning, aside from weekends, there is an astronomy course. I've signed ou up."

"What about seeing the stars and such?" Paul's mother asked. The headmistress nodded, handing her a pamphlet from the desk.

"The visual part of the course happens the night after the class. The next morning off allows the students to sleep in, keeping them well-rested and content," she explained. "As for your other interest, the local airport's positions are filled, but an independent study on the history of wings is available. Does that sound good to you, Paul?"

Paul nodded quietly, leaning against the wall as if he was bored or uninterested. The headmistress wasn't fazed by this: She merely wrote down the information.

"What about the other subjects?" Paul's mother asked. The headmistress nodded, handing her a sheet of paper.

"The classic subjects are filled by our entrance exam or outside standardized testing. Paul has already been tested, so I've placed him in these classes based on them," she explained, handing Paul and his mother a schedule. Paul eyed it carefully. He'd be in classes all day, and hour-long break between each one.

"Looks like he has a lot of down time," his stepfather said gruffly. "He'll have time to study, correct?"

"That's why we provide such long breaks. Students can study before their next class, and teachers can give tutoring sessions before or after, as well as prepare for upcoming courses. Both sides benefit, especially around testing times. Here is a testing schedule, a meal lineup, and the shower and laundry schedules for your dormitory. Your dorm leader is Professor Haddunt, and his office is in that building, along with all other male professors of history and science that have chosen to live on campus."

"Can students live off-campus?" Paul asked. The headmistress laughed as his parents gave him a dirty look.

"Your parents can agree that living on-campus allows you to receive the best possible education. But we do allow some students to live off-campus. I'm afraid you do not qualify. Your being a first-time student means that you must stay on campus at least six days a week unless you drive, which you do not."

"We at least get one day off?" Paul asked. The headmistress smirked, holding up a card.

"This is a one-day pass, which allows students to take a school bus to the neighboring town of Brooke Mille. You'll get one if you are on your best behavior and show satisfactory daily marks in each course."

After a few more questions from his parents, Paul was led to the dorm by the waiting attendant. The campus was very large, but the attendant gave descriptions of each building.

He seemed brainwashed to Paul, like a puppet on a string. Paul felt like something was very wrong with this seemingly-perfect Summer Wood Boarding Academy.

Dr. Headway stopped his experiments when three of his "creations" were caught devouring two teenagers and their dog in a city park. Dr. Headway was placed in jail, leaving his labs in the hand of one devoted lab assistant.

The combined remains of a child, an old vacuum cleaner, and some stuffed animal parts, the lab assistant was grotesque yet fashionable. He was one of the few "creations" that were remotely proportionate, and he's the only one where he kept the original brain. Dr. Headway debated doing this: using the brain of a child was risky in case the child was immature, had undocumented mental impairments, or if the child could still remember life before his or her death.

But Dr. Headway was lucky: he found a child prodigy who died in a tragic pool accident, and he acquired the remains in a private auction in the science community. He had to fork out over a million dollars, mainly because of the brain and the organs that failed in the drowning were so valuable. But it was worth it: Sammie, as he was lovingly named on the day of his creation, became Dr. Headway's best and only created lab assistant.

Sammie was lonely though: without Dr. Headway's guidance, he was relying on hypnotic programming done during his first days. This programing was accurate, but limited. When Sammie accidentally made a wrong turn, he began walking in circles until a shelf was knocked over, causing him to go into Lab Emergency mode, breaking the spell of unknown territory.

A week after Dr. Headway was gone, Sammie accidentally lost grip on a supply, something that had never happened before. He immediately began running into a wall over and over, and it took a particularly heavy blow against the cinder blocks to knock him out of it.

But Sammie continued his duties despite these setbacks. He emptied and empty waste basin every evening, he soaked unused glassware overnight, he swept clean floors every morning and evening, and he still provided the spoiled basics for Dr. Headway's meals.

Sammie was self-sustainable: his body was a vacuum cleaner's inner drum, and his flesh and organs were maintained by inner parts that were charged by the movements of his teddy bear arms and stuffed deer legs. But parts still needed to be mended, thus causing more and more breakdowns.

Sammie accidentally tore open his arm three months into Dr. Headway's six-year sentence. He did not have the capabilities to mend himself: he simply had not the knowledge nor the physical skills and parts needed. So he had to operate on one functioning arm, since using the one that needed mending triggered more strange antics, such as rolling on the floor or continually opening and closing a door until something triggered another program (usually the rattling or falling of shelved equipment).

Sammie's condition only worsened: a leak in the lab was beyond his repair knowledge, and with the place flooding fast, he was faced with drowning again.

But something happened that even Dr. Headway would not expect: Sammie's sense memory kept him swimming, swimming towards the only exit in the entire place. It led to Dr. Headway's kitchen, which was soon filled with water as well.

But the miracle happened when Sammie's programing was rewritten simply by his actions: by saving himself, he was in a survival mode written by himself. His child-like antics of exploring the house and checking out trinkets kicked in, and he spent his days wandering the upper floors of the house as the lower ones filled with water.

It was this that kept him from being found when the city was forced to come in and fix the leak. Because they remained on the heavily damaged lower floor, they never saw Sammie flipping through books with his nose in the attic, or kicking around collectible action figures with his feet in play.

With that crisis done, Sammie never encountered another one (aside from having no fingers/hands to play with some of the toys he found). He found an old room of Dr. Headway's son, the boy that started his creation theories: the theory that zombies were real and could be trained to live and walk among us. Dr. Headway's son could never be revived: too many of his parts were damaged in the car accident that killed him. This brought up his next theory: that pieces and parts from numerous entities could be combined to create an immortal, self-sustaining creature.

It sent him to prison (for not as long as anyone involved liked), but it also created Sammie, the innocent boy who spent the last days before Dr. Headway's returning rolling around in some old house paint, creating an interesting yet un-cleanable design in the upstairs bedroom that Dr. Headway once shared with his wife, who now lived upstate with her new husband and several new children (and Dr. Headway's other child, a daughter who wanted nothing to do with him).

Dr. Headway still slept in this room, and it was his first stop when he came inside. He found Sammie laying between several empty paint cans, covered in paint.

"I almost forgot about you, buddy," Dr. Headway smiled. "They told me all of my creations were gone. But you were always a fighter."

Sammie responded by looking at the doctor, but he did nothing else.

"Sammie, they're going to come check on me once a month, starting today. You have to go. I can't let them slaughter you like the others, so you have to go," he whispered sadly. Sammie sat up as best he could, but he fell over awkwardly. "I'm sorry I have to do this, Sammie," he said quietly, picking up the light frame and carrying him to his workshop in the backyard.

He activated the device that brought life to Sammie's intricate frame, along with many others. He changed the settings, then strapped Sammie (whose programming had kicked in and he began cleaning up the dusty workshop) into the device. He connected all the parts, then smiled to Sammie.

"If I couldn't bring back my son, I'm at least happy that I could have you instead," he smiled, tears pouring down his face. He flipped the final switch, and Sammie's invented body stopped functioning, causing Sammie to twitch before slumping over in the seat.

Dr. Headway covered Sammie's lifeless body with a sheet and left the room. He could never create another creature: he would have monthly visits for the rest of his life to make sure of this. But he would never forget what he did create, the creatures he trained and loved with all his heart.

Dr. Headway locked the woodshed and threw the key into the overgrown bushes on the edge of the property. He was moving soon: his house would be condemned because of the moldy first floor and basement. He would never have the chance to find the key and revive Sammie like he wanted to do deep inside. But he knew his decisions were best, and he continued a quiet life in the country with character creation rather than creature creation.