PIPER
Bars are always packed full of idiots on Halloween. I didn't expect my new favorite little cocktail joint, Moonshine, to be any different. I was so desperate to get my newly single ass out of the house that I didn't care.
“That’s a great costume,” a male voice near my ear says. The bar is crowded, so I don’t judge him for standing close to me. He isn’t actually touching me, just hovering near my shoulder while he waits his turn to order a drink.
“Thank you.” I prepare a half smile before I turn around, ready to patiently accept yet another well intentioned compliment that's completely off the mark.
“You must not read from the book!” The voice quotes with a light chuckle, trying to match the cadence of the line fromThe Mummy.
“Oh! You know the movie!” I’m excited someone finally ‘gets’ my Halloween costume. A white button-down, long khaki skirt, and loosely tied black scarf. I was excited to think of something I could wear with my glasses. I can’t see shit without them, and contacts have always bothered my eyes. The costume has turned out more obscure than I expected. I’ve already endured a half-dozen incorrect guesses about who I’m dressed as??1. It’s exciting to find someone who actually gets it. I spin in place, avoiding touching the other patrons, to find out what my new favorite person looks like.
Large red eyes examine me from a wholly inhuman face. He’s tall, made taller by the skinny, curling, feather-like antennae rising from his head. His frame is slender, with narrow shoulders, and a thick fur collar around his neck. His skin is dark, covered in the softest looking fur I’ve ever seen. A strange urge flutters through me to reach out and stroke my fingers along his arm, curious if he feels as velvety as he looks. A pair of moth wings are folded neatly against his shoulders, out of the way of the crowd.
I’m taken back when I realize, this is not a Halloween costume. He is a real-life Mothman.
Then I notice that, actually, heiswearing a Halloween costume. A blue shirt with a small insignia on the chest, and plastered to each side of his head is a pointy piece of plastic.
“Spock?” I ask.
“Yes!” One of the strange mandibles around his mouth tips up in an expression that could only be interpreted as a smile.
It’s surprisingly endearing. I surprise myself by blushing in response. I’m not usually attracted to people this quickly. Most of the time, I have to feel a connection before I find someone hot. Being newly single might have opened my eyes to a world of possibilities.
“You’re Rachel Weisz fromThe Mummy. Right?” He breaks the silence between us, and I realize I am staring.
“Oh, yeah! Yes!” My nervous fingers adjust my glasses and make sure my hair is secure in its bun.
“It’s a great movie,” he says.
“Right? It was something of a bi-awakening for me.” An awkward laugh bubbles out of me. “I probably shouldn’t say that to a stranger.”
People, men in particular, get weird about the bi thing sometimes??2.
“I get it. The same, basically. I had a little crush on Brendan and Rachel both,” he says so smoothly that I instantly relax. A guy can’t be too bad if he had a childhood crush on Brendan Fraser, right?
“What are you drinking?” His antennae point to the bar behind me. The movement is fascinating.
I’ve seen plenty of cryptids in public spaces since the Decrypting fifteen years ago, when mythical creatures stopped being myths and started joining human society. Passing a Kraken on the street is different than trying to flirt with a handsome Mothman who is clearly trying not to encroach on my personal space.
“Getting some Beetle Gin and Juice shots for me and my friends. Girls night.” I nod to the table of women waiting for me in the corner. Crap. Was that a shut-down? Spending almost four years with the same man made me rusty at flirting. Not that I was ever very good. How do you imply you are newly single and potentially ready to mingle?
“How many?” He seems undeterred.
“Six?” When I hear the insecure rise of my tone that turns the word into a question, I correct. “Six. Two for each of us!” My voice is more decisive this time, like feigning confidence might get him to find me attractive.
The Mothman’s antennae rise, and he catches the attention of the bartender behind me. “Six of the themed shots.” He gestures toward me. The bartender nods and starts pouring from a premixed pitcher. “On my tab, please.”
“Oh no, I can pay for my own drinks!” I blurt, sliding my at-ready credit card from my sleeve and holding it toward the Mothman using both hands, like it’s some kind of placard to prove I’m a real adult, with real money. Not a lot of money, but I’m not here to scam free drinks out of people.
He glances down at the piece of plastic clenched between my fingers. Crap. That was the wrong thing to say. Flirting involves buying each other drinks. This is a sign he’s interested. Isn’t it? Or maybe I’m just taking too long at the bar, and the guy wants me out of the way. I should say something to encourage him to stay and talk to me. Something hot, or sexy, or funny. I’ve never been very good at hot, or sexy. I’d better stick with funny.
Crap. I’m still holding out my credit card like an idiot.
“Do you…Do you frequently find human behavior illogical?” I’m already cringing internally.
“Yes.” His smile doesn’t falter. Maybe I am reading his expression wrong. I am so far out of my element here.
I glance around his arm, to where my friends Anam and Kelly wait. Either one of them would know how to flirt with a Mothman. They’re good at this kind of stuff, and by ‘stuff’ I mean talking to people. Anam catches my eye from across the room. I try to give her a pleading expression without actually moving any of the muscles in my face. She might be able to catch a glint in my eye that telepathically shouts,‘help me, I’ve forgotten how to flirt’.
