I Could Have Been Flying This Whole Time

Posted here on April 15 2020:

writing-prompt-s:

You are a human in world were all of the cryptic creatures you’ve ever known are real, every year there is a reunion where all of the local cryptics reunite and have a chance to talk with the humans.

This year for some reason you received an invitation to be the host of the ceremony, however, this is a position that only cryptids can have. Your neighbors all have the same invitations, that’s were you notice, you are the only human in a neighborhood of shape-shifters.

The envelope is addressed to me, from the Society of Cryptids in the Earthly Plane. 

My first thought, naturally, is that it’s a fundraising letter. 

I get them, about once a season- sometimes more often, sometimes less. You know how it is, you give once and you’re on the mailing list forever, right? Anyway, SoCEP, among other things, helps cryptids deal with territorial encroachment and adjust to, like, living indoors and so on. 

I threw the letter on the table to be Dealt With Later, as is standard operating procedure for non-urgent mail. (Come to think, when was the last time I got something in the mail that was literally actually urgent? Most of my bills are email or text-messages…)

About a week later, I got an odd phone call. It went to voice mail, so I just got the voice mail. “Miss Harris, I’m calling about your RSVP? We haven’t heard back from you, and we’d really urgently like to hear from you. If you can’t make it, of course, we understand, but we’ll need to line up a replacement.” It was from SoCEP, and so I finally opened the damn letter.

An invitation to host the state convention???? After looking up SoCEP bylaws (all online, fortunately), they clearly state that the host must be non-human. Must is underlined. 

So I called the number back, and got through to Dr. Matthias Pluck, a large gentleman of the Bigfoot persuasion, as he calls it. His rumbling voice sounded somewhat familiar on the phone. “Miss Harris, I’m so glad to finally hear from you,” he said. “Please, tell me you can make it.”

“I think you may have got the wrong person,” I said. “I’m Angela Harris, and I’ve been a human my whole life.”

“Hm, that does sound puzzling. Why don’t you come up to the institute, we’ll see if we can sort this out?”

“Harris is a common enough name,” I said. “Probably some confusion in the records? I donate, sometimes, if the databases got swapped…”

“I think… well, I’ll look into it. How quickly can you meet me?”

“Uh, I’m free all day.”

“Come up as quickly as you can.”

“Sure, what’s the address?”

It was a bit of a drive, but how often do you get to meet persons of the bigfoot persuasion?

Well, that’s an interesting question, I guess.

Matthias Pluck is, apparently, my next door neighbor, I know him as Matt, and he loans me his lawn mower if I let him borrow my washer and dryer. Nice guy, honestly. He’s just a tall kinda hairy guy, I thought. No crime in being tall and hairy.

“I knew we had the right Angela,” he said, immediately.

“Matt,” I said. “I’m human.”

“Angie,” he said. “Everybody- literally everybody in our neighborhood- is a cryptid. We all shapechange, but… surely you noticed?”

“No? What?”

He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“You didn’t think it was odd that I’m extremely tall? You live six houses down from the Octopus in Lake Thunderbird.”

“Jane is an Octopus?”

“She has six arms!”

“Well… so? My dad had wings, that doesn’t mean anything. Little stubby ones, it was some kind of birth defect.”

He sighed. “Our human disguises are perfect. No human can penetrate them at all. Fellow cryptids can get through them a little bit. If you were human, you wouldn’t have noticed her extra arms, or my unusual height. You see because you’re wearing a similar disguise.”

“I’m completely normal.”

“You’re harder to pick up on because you’re from one of the older lines, I think. You blend really well. Bigfoot is a younger species of magical creature. But Cryptids, in one way or another, have been around a long time. They’ve interbred, too. So probably several really ancient lines of cryptid, going back to ancient times, I imagine.”

“Listen, sometimes people have extra arms,” I said. “Or legs, or wing stubs, or tails or really weird thick hair oh my god Melissa is Medusa, isn’t she?”

“Of her line, anyway,” Matt said. “We invite you every year, you never RSVP.”

“I get those donation letters all the time,” I said. “Everyone gets them.”

“Every cryptid gets them- your parents really didn’t talk to you about this?”

I shrugged. “People have… weird things, sometimes. That’s normal.”

“It’s- I mean, at the base of it, you are correct, but your information has been skewed because since you were a small child you’ve been surrounded by disguised cryptids. Even before we were open about existing, we’ve lived among the humans. As have you. And your family. Most people have two legs and two arms and no extra appendages at all. There is, rarely, the odd tail, or missing limbs, but if you have an extra appendage you’ve been hiding and you aren’t featured in some paper or Ripley’s Believe it or Not, you’re one of us.”

This is one of those things that’s difficult to deal with at the best of times, but I was thinking as quickly as I could. “My parents died,” I said. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” I said, thinking. “Before the secrecy thing… stopped being a thing. I think I need to go home and, uh, do some research.”

He nodded, looking sympathetic. “That’s probably for the best.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to host this year.”

“Oh, no, that’s… you’re right. I’d ask you to consider perhaps hosting next year? And please, do come. We’d love to have you. Lines as old as yours are fairly rare.”

“What line is that? We live three houses down from a Medusa. I mean, I’m just learning about this and I don’t know much, but I know that’s an old one.”

“I’m aware,” he said. “There’s some resources for genealogical research of this type. I’ll put you in touch with someone who may be able to help do a deep dive.”

“But what line is it?”

“Well, you’re a dragon.”

“Excuse me?”

“A dragon.”

I thought it for a long minute. “Huh.”

“It took me a while to figure out because you don’t display the usual signs. Wing stubs, the scent of fire. It wasn’t until winter that I realized.”

“Realized what?”

“Heat just rises off of you. You’re never cold, are you?”

“No, I guess not. Hey, you know what I’m mad about right now?”

“You could have been flying this whole time?”

“I could have been flying this whole time,” I replied.

“Find a nice abandoned area to practice in or it’s going to be a disaster.”

“Yeah, thanks, Matt.” I wasn’t sure if I was being sarcastic or not.

“You’re coming to the thing this year. I’ll introduce you to the dragon who lives upstate.”

“Only one?”

“Yeah dragons tend to spread out.”

“Hm.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I mean I’m apparently a whole different species than I thought I was, but anybody could make a mistake like that I guess.”

“You know what’ll cheer you up?”

“Flying,” I said.

He laughed. “Go find an abandoned quarry.”

I did. And you know what? I’m still mad that I have had wings my whole life and just recently learned how to fly. I am going to accept the host position next year, because the convention this year was a lot of fun, and after a lot of practice I’ve mastered cooking a steak to the perfect doneness with my own flame. 

Things are going pretty good.

Note: this has been living in drafts for ages, I’m gonna try to go through and clear some of the drafts out.