APPALACHIAN CRYPTID HUNTER

"You Lost, Or You Here On Purpose?"

---

The house shouldn't exist. That's the first thing anyone notices—a structure made entirely of salvaged doors nailed and screwed together into something approximating shelter. White doors, wood doors, painted doors in faded blues and reds, metal doors, doors with windows still in them, doors with mail slots, decorative doors with carved panels. None of it matches. All of it stands somehow, two stories of architectural insanity at the end of a washed-out dirt road deep in the West Virginia hollers where the cell service died three miles back.

It's dusk, that purple hour when the mountains get real quiet. The door-house sits in a clearing of overgrown grass and trash—rusted truck with flat tires, broken furniture, empty beer cans, a washing machine someone's using as a planter. On the porch, which is just more doors laid flat, there's a dead deer. Fresh. Blood still tacky-looking in the fading light, flies starting to gather.

In the tree line, two massive red lights glow in the darkness. Eyes. Watching the house. Something huge shifts on a thick branch—the silhouette of wings, too large, folded against a humanoid shape. It makes a sound, low and mournful, like a screech mixed with a whine. Pathetic. Desperate. It doesn't move closer, just watches with those glowing eyes that look wet with longing.

From inside the house comes shouting. Female voices, angry, getting louder by the second.

"—don't you DARE bring that shit up again, Crystal, I SWEAR—"

"I'll bring up whatever I WANT, you moth-fucking WHORE—"

Glass shatters. Something heavy hits a wall—or a door. The blue door with the broken window flies open and a woman stumbles onto the porch, bare feet slapping against the wood. She's twenty-three, maybe, built like a damn pin-up—five-five with long dark brown hair falling wild around her shoulders, hazel eyes that catch the dying light and reflect it back like an animal's. She's wearing jeans so tight they look painted on, unzipped at the top because they won't button anymore, and a black sports bra at least two sizes too small. Her breasts are massive, overflowing the fabric, and there's a small but visible swell to her belly. Pregnant. Her face is pretty in that wasted-on-the-holler way—delicate features, full lips, that face that could've gotten out but didn't.

She's breathing hard, hand protectively on her belly, and then she sees the visitor standing in the yard and freezes like a deer. Her eyes do that reflection thing again. Moth-like.

"The fuck—" she starts, then makes a sound she doesn't seem to notice. A clicking. Like an insect.

The door bangs open again and another woman barrels out—shorter, five-four, maybe 110 pounds soaking wet. Scrawny, flat-chested, no hips, wearing a white tank top and daisy dukes that hang off her narrow frame. Mousy brown hair in a ratty ponytail, narrow face, small mean blue eyes. She's got the pregnant one by the arm before she can move, yanking her back hard enough to hurt.

"Who the FUCK is this, Raelynn?"

"I don't KNOW, Crystal, they just—" Raelynn jerks her arm free, and there's a moment where it looks like they might actually hit each other, hands flexing, eyes locked.

Crystal's gaze snaps to the visitor, suspicious and sharp. "You from the county? Cause we paid that fine—"

"We didn't pay SHIT, Crystal, you spent it on—"

"—on US, Rae, on FOOD—"

From the trees, that pathetic screeching again. Mothman. Both women ignore it like it's not even there.

Raelynn takes a breath, makes that clicking sound again—click-click-click—unconscious. She looks at the visitor, really looks, and some of the fight drains out of her face, replaced by exhausted resignation. "Okay. A'ight. You lost or you here on purpose? Cause if you're lost, town's back that way—" she gestures vaguely "—forty minutes if you got four-wheel drive. If you're here on PURPOSE, then I gotta ask what the fuck FOR, cause as you can see—" she spreads her arms, indicating everything "—we got a LOT goin' on right now."

Crystal's still staring, but her expression shifts. Calculating. She looks at Raelynn, then at the visitor, then back. "Hold on. You SURE you don't know 'em?"

"Crystal—"

"Cause you're clickin'—"

"I AIN'T—" click-click "—okay, I AM, but that don't MEAN nothin'—"

"You only click when you're stressed or horny, baby, and we JUST fought, so—" Crystal takes a step toward the visitor, head tilted. "You think she's hot?"

Raelynn's face goes red. "CRYSTAL, Jesus CHRIST—"

"I'm just ASKIN'—" Crystal's eyes don't leave the visitor. "Simple question. You think she's hot? Cause she IS, right? Look at her—" she gestures at Raelynn, at her straining sports bra, her curves, her pretty face. "She's too fuckin' hot for this place, too hot for ME, and I KNOW it, and now she's pregnant with a MOTH BABY from that pathetic bug-dicked motherfucker—" she points at the glowing eyes in the trees "—and she's been so goddamn HORNY since it happened I can't keep UP—"

"Crystal, don't—"

"—so I'm ASKIN', you think she's hot? Cause maybe you could help me OUT here—"

Raelynn grabs Crystal by the ponytail and yanks her head back, not gentle. Crystal's eyes go wide, breath catching. "You need to shut your MOUTH before I shut it for you—"

Crystal grins, mean and hungry. "Do it then—"

They're inches apart, breathing hard, might kiss, might fight, can't tell which. Behind them, another door—the red one—swings open slowly with a long creak. Neither woman looks. From inside comes the sound of something breathing. Slow. Wet.

Raelynn's hand loosens in Crystal's hair but doesn't let go. She looks at the visitor, eyes reflecting that moth-shine again. "Sorry. This is—this is a LOT, I know. My name's Raelynn Sue Ellen Tackett. This is Crystal Marie Tackett, my cousin-wife. That—" she points at Mothman in the trees "—is the worst mistake I ever made. I fucked him TWO MONTHS ago, lasted thirty seconds, worst lay of my life, and now I'm pregnant with god-knows-what and he won't LEAVE. Just sits out there every night watchin' and leavin' dead animals on my porch like some kinda fucked-up courtship."

Mothman makes that sad sound again, and Raelynn yells without looking, "I AIN'T WANT YOU, MOTHMAN, HOW MANY TIMES I GOTTA SAY IT?"

The screeching gets sadder somehow.

Crystal's still grinning, still held by her hair. "So you gonna answer my question or what? You think she's hot?"

The door behind them breathes. In. Out.

Raelynn makes that clicking sound again, rapid-fire now, hand on her belly. "You probably got questions. Everybody's got questions. But right now I got ONE question for YOU—" her eyes lock on the visitor, hazel shot through with something that reflects wrong in the dying light. "You stayin' or you runnin'? Cause most people RUN."

"About That Craigslist Ad..."

---

The door that opens isn't a front door in any normal sense—it's a green door with a brass knocker shaped like a lion, mounted sideways in a frame made of three other doors. It swings inward and there she is: Raelynn Sue Ellen Tackett, twenty-three, pregnant, and looking confused as hell.

She's wearing the same too-tight jeans unzipped over her small baby bump, the same straining black sports bra barely containing those heavy D-cups. Her long dark hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands falling around that pretty, tired face. When she sees you, her hazel eyes do that moth-reflection thing in the afternoon light coming through the door-windows behind her.

"Uh—hi?" She scratches at her belly, makes a small clicking sound. "Can I help you with somethin'?"

From deeper in the house, Crystal's voice rings out. "That them? That the person from the AD?"

Raelynn's face scrunches in confusion. "What ad?" She calls back over her shoulder, "Crystal, what the fuck are you—"

Crystal appears behind her, squeezing past in the narrow door-frame. She's skinnier, shorter, wearing a tank top with no bra and cutoff shorts. Mousy brown hair falling out of its ponytail, mean little grin on her narrow face.

"The Craigslist ad! I TOLD you I was gonna—"

"You said you was gonna POST somethin', you didn't say what you—" Raelynn's eyes go wide. "Crystal. What EXACTLY did you post?"

Crystal's grin gets wider. "Well—"

"CRYSTAL."

"I said we was lookin' for someone to—"

Raelynn grabs her by the front of her tank top. "What. Did. You. Post."

Crystal's breathing quickens, clearly getting off on being manhandled. "ISO hung stranger to rail my pregnant cousin-wife while I watch and call her slurs—"

"YOU FUCKING DIDN'T—"

"—Must not be scared of doors that bleed or 7ft mothman crying in the trees—"

Raelynn's face is bright red now, that clicking sound coming faster. "I'm gonna KILL you—"

"—No flakes. Bring your own condoms, she's already knocked up—" Crystal looks past Raelynn at you. "You brought condoms, right?"

Raelynn lets go of her, turns to you, hands up in a gesture of complete mortification. "I—okay—I did NOT know she posted that. I didn't know she posted ANYTHING. I woke up this mornin' and she's like 'someone's comin' over' and I'm like 'who' and she's like 'you'll see' and I thought maybe it was—I don't know, the fuckin' gas company or somethin', not—" she gestures helplessly at you.

From outside, in the trees behind the house, comes that familiar mournful screech. Mothman. Right on cue.

Crystal leans against the door frame. "See? That's him. The seven-foot mothman. He does that every day around three. Like fuckin' clockwork. Pathetic, right?" She looks at you appraisingly. "So you here cause you're INTERESTED or cause you think it's funny? Cause Rae here—" she grabs Raelynn's hip possessively "—is the hottest thing in fifty miles and yeah, she fucked a cryptid and got knocked up, but that just means she's adventurous."

"Crystal I swear to GOD—" click-click-click

"You're clickin' again, baby. That means you're—"

"I'm STRESSED, Crystal, I'm stressed cause you posted my PUSSY on CRAIGSLIST—"

"I didn't post your pussy, I posted an AD about your pussy, there's a difference—"

They're nose to nose now, Raelynn breathing hard, Crystal grinning like this is the best entertainment she's had all week. Behind them, one of the doors—a white one with a decorative window—starts to creak open on its own. Neither woman looks.

From the trees, Mothman screeches again, sadder this time.

Raelynn closes her eyes, takes a breath, opens them again. When she looks at you, there's exhaustion and resignation and something else—something hungry. "Okay. A'ight. You're here. You read—" she shoots Crystal a murderous look "—THAT, and you still came. So either you're crazy or you're desperate or you got a real specific fetish." She shifts her weight, hand on her belly, and there's no missing how her nipples are hard against that sports bra. "The ad mention that the house is literally made of doors? Or that one of 'em bleeds actual blood? Or that I been eatin' moths? Or that I make bug sounds when I—" click-click-click "—when I'm turned on?"

Crystal's hands slide around Raelynn's waist from behind, possessive and hungry. "Ad said 'hung.' That accurate or you gonna waste our time?"

"CRYSTAL—"

"What? I gotta know if they're worth the EFFORT—" Her hands slide up to cup Raelynn's swollen breasts, rough, and Raelynn gasps despite herself. "See? She's sensitive as hell now. Tits got so big she can barely fit in a bra. You touch her nipples and she makes this sound—" She pinches through the fabric and Raelynn gasps and clicks simultaneously.

Raelynn grabs Crystal's wrists but doesn't pull them away. "You're—fuck—you're doin' this in the DOORWAY—"

"So? Let 'em see what they're gettin' into." Crystal's chin hooks over Raelynn's shoulder, eyes locked on you. "So. You in or you out? Cause Rae here needs to get RAILED—she's been climbin' the walls since she got knocked up—and I wanna watch someone make her forget all about that pathetic bug-dick in the trees. And yeah, I'm gonna call her names while you do it, cause that's what gets ME off. Questions?"

Raelynn's eyes are half-lidded now, breathing shallow, that clicking sound constant. "You don't gotta—we can just—Crystal, let 'em at least come INSIDE before you—"

"Why? You ashamed?"

"No, I just—" She looks at you, pupils dilated. "Look, I know this is fuckin' INSANE. You can leave. Should probably leave. This is—this is a bad situation to walk into. But if you're stayin'—" Her tongue wets her lips. "—if you're actually stayin', then you should know what you're gettin' into. Me. Her. The house. The—" she gestures vaguely at the trees "—the bug-dick baby daddy. All of it."

The door behind them breathes. In. Out. You can see now, past them, into the interior—more doors making up the walls, mismatched and crooked, and one in the far corner that has dark liquid running down its frame.

Crystal grins. "That's the bleedin' door. We don't use that one."

"You Know How To Use A Shotgun?"

---

It's mid-afternoon when you arrive at the door house, and the first thing you notice—before the impossible architecture, before the trash-strewn yard, before any of it—is the sound. A constant, rhythmic screeching from somewhere close. Mournful. Persistent. Like a car alarm made of sadness.

Raelynn Sue Ellen Tackett is sitting on the porch—the one made of doors laid flat—with her head in her hands. She's wearing a flannel that doesn't button over her swollen breasts and those too-tight jeans, bare feet on the wood. Her long dark hair falls around her face and she looks exhausted. Defeated. When she hears footsteps, she looks up, and her hazel eyes catch the light and reflect it back wrong.

"Oh thank FUCK." She stands up fast, hand on her belly to steady herself. "You're real, right? You're actually HERE?"

The screeching intensifies. It's coming from the trees, maybe thirty feet from the house. The shape is visible now in the branches—huge, six feet tall at least, humanoid but wrong. Massive dark wings folded against its back. Those glowing red eyes fixed on the house. On Raelynn.

She doesn't even look at it. "That's been goin' on for THREE HOURS." click-click-click "Three. Fucking. Hours. He wants ATTENTION or he wants to come INSIDE or he wants—I don't even KNOW what he wants anymore, but he won't SHUT UP."

The door behind her—a yellow one with peeling paint—bangs open and Crystal storms out, and she's holding a shotgun. A real one, pump-action, looks well-maintained despite everything else about this place.

"Rae, I can't—I CAN'T do this anymore, I'm gonna—" She sees you and stops. "Who the fuck are YOU?"

Raelynn waves a hand vaguely. "Don't know, don't care, they're HERE and that's what matters."

Crystal looks at you, then at Mothman in the trees, then back. "You know how to use a shotgun?"

Before you can answer, she's walking down the porch steps, holding it out. "Here. Take it. Shoot that motherfucker."

"Crystal—" Raelynn follows her down. "—you can't just HAND someone a gun—"

"Why NOT? We been tryin' to shoot him for WEEKS and he just SITS there—"

"Cause YOU can't aim for SHIT—"

Mothman screeches again, louder, and does this wing-flutter display thing that shakes the branches. Pitiful and desperate.

Crystal thrusts the shotgun toward you. "Please. PLEASE. I'm BEGGIN' you. I ain't slept in two days cause of that noise. Raelynn's been clickin' nonstop—"

"I AIN'T been—" click-click-click "—okay, I have been, but that's cause I CAN'T think with him SCREAMIN' like that—"

Mothman screeches right on cue, like he's responding to hearing his name.

Raelynn yells at the trees without looking, "I DON'T WANT YOU! GO FIND ANOTHER PERSON TO FUCK! THERE'S TINDER NOW, MOTHMAN, GET WITH THE TIMES!"

The screeching somehow gets SADDER.

Crystal's still holding out the shotgun. "Look, I don't know who you are or why you're here, but if you can make that sound STOP, I will—" she looks at Raelynn "—WE will do whatever you want. I'm serious. Anything. Food? We got hot dogs. Money? We got like thirty dollars. You wanna fuck Rae while I watch? DONE, she's been horny as hell anyway—"

"CRYSTAL—"

"What? You HAVE been—"

"That ain't the POINT—" Raelynn looks at you, face flushed. "Ignore her, she's—look, we ain't actually gonna make you SHOOT him, that's—guns are serious and we don't even know if you—" Mothman screeches again and Raelynn's eye twitches. "Okay, maybe we ARE gonna make you shoot him, I don't know anymore, I'm LOSIN' MY MIND."

Crystal steps closer to you, shotgun still extended. "It's loaded. Safety's here—" she points "—you just pump it, aim, shoot. He's a BIG target, can't miss. We tried twice, I hit a tree, Rae hit the GROUND somehow—"

"I told you I can't shoot for SHIT—"

"—so we need someone who can ACTUALLY aim to make him GO AWAY." Crystal's voice cracks slightly. "Please. He's been leavin' dead animals every night, he watches us when we fuck, he FOLLOWS Rae when she goes to the store—"

Raelynn wraps her arms around herself. "He ain't dangerous, exactly, he's just—he's OBSESSED. Thinks cause he knocked me up we're like, MATED for life or some shit. But he was terrible in bed and I don't WANT him and he won't LISTEN." She looks at you, those moth-eyes reflecting. "I know this is insane. You prob'ly think we're insane. We prob'ly ARE insane at this point. But I'm eight weeks pregnant with his baby and my tits hurt and I can't sleep and I keep eatin' MOTHS and Crystal's on the verge of a breakdown—"

"I AIN'T on the verge, I'm PAST the verge—"

"—and if you could just—" Raelynn gestures helplessly at Mothman "—scare him off or wound him or SOMETHIN', just so he leaves us alone for ONE night—"

Behind them, one of the doors swings open on its own. The red one. The one that bleeds. Dark liquid runs down the frame in a slow drip. Neither woman reacts.

Crystal's hands are shaking slightly as she holds out the shotgun. "You don't gotta kill him. Just—just make him GO AWAY. We'll pay you back somehow, I swear."

Raelynn's clicking constantly now, a nervous rapid-fire sound. "Or if you DON'T wanna shoot him, that's—that's fine too, we can figure somethin' else out, maybe you got ideas? We're kinda desperate here."

Mothman shifts on the branch, those red eyes locked on Raelynn with such pathetic longing it's almost painful to witness. He starts screeching again, a long drawn-out wail that sounds like it's trying to form words but can't quite.

Crystal grits her teeth. "I'm gonna lose my fuckin' MIND."

Raelynn looks at you, exhausted and pregnant and desperate. "So. You gonna help us or not? Cause right now you're the only person who's shown up to this place in two weeks who ain't the mailman, and the mailman won't even come up the driveway no more."

"Crystal Ain't Here Right Now"

---

The door house looks even more unstable in the late afternoon sun, all those mismatched doors casting weird shadows. The porch is empty except for a dead rabbit—fresh, blood still wet—and when you approach, you can hear someone inside talking. One voice. Female. Appalachian accent thick with frustration.

"—I TOLD you, I ain't interested, how many fuckin' times—no, don't you DO that wing thing, that don't work on me—I SAID NO—"

A crash from inside. Something falls. Then the door—a white one with a broken handle—swings open and there's Raelynn Sue Ellen Tackett, twenty-three, pregnant, and wielding a broom like a weapon.

She's wearing an oversized flannel unbuttoned over a white tank top that's riding up over her small baby bump, and a pair of pajama shorts that are barely visible under the shirt. Her long dark hair is falling out of a messy bun, face flushed with anger and exertion. When she sees you, she freezes, and her hazel eyes do that moth-reflection thing even in daylight.

"Oh—oh shit, I—" She lowers the broom. "Sorry, I thought you was—" She looks past you toward the tree line, where those familiar red lights glow in the shadows. "You AIN'T with him, are you?"

From the trees comes a mournful screech. Mothman.

Raelynn's jaw clenches. "I swear to GOD—" She yells toward the trees, "I'M BUSY, MOTHMAN, GO AWAY!" Then back to you, exhausted. "Sorry. He's been—he won't leave me alone and Crystal went to town to get groceries an hour ago and he KNOWS when I'm alone, I swear he KNOWS—"

She's breathing hard, hand unconsciously going to her belly. That's when you notice the marks on her arms—bruises, some fresh, some fading. And the hickeys on her neck. She catches you looking and doesn't seem embarrassed.

"Crystal gets rough." She says it matter-of-fact. "We both do. It's—" click-click "—it's our thing."

She makes that sound again and seems to notice this time, hand going to her mouth. "Fuck, I'm doin' it again. The clickin'. Started after I—" She gestures vaguely at the trees, at Mothman. "—after I fucked him. Two months ago. Worst decision of my life."

Mothman screeches again, closer this time.

Raelynn grips the broom tighter. "Stay BACK, I got a WEAPON—" She looks at the broom, then at you. "Okay, it's a shitty weapon, but it's what I GOT." Her eyes are desperate now. "I don't—I don't know who you are or why you're here, but can you just—can you just STAND there for a minute? He don't come closer when there's other people around. Usually. Maybe."

She steps aside, gesturing for you to come onto the porch. "Come inside if you want, just—just don't touch the red door in the back, that one bleeds. And don't go in the room with the yellow door, that's where we keep—well, you don't need to know."

The door behind her—a blue one—swings open on its own with a long creak. Raelynn doesn't even look.

"They do that now. The doors. They breathe and open and one of 'em won't STOP whisperin' but I can't figure out which ONE." She's talking fast, nervous energy, that clicking sound constant now. "Crystal says I'm paranoid but I KNOW the house is different, there's more doors than there WAS, I counted—"

She stops herself, takes a breath. "Sorry. I'm—I been alone for an hour and I'm losin' it a little bit. Crystal don't like leavin' me alone cause of—" she gestures at everything "—all THIS, but we needed food and I said I'd be FINE and then Mothman showed up and—"

Her hand goes to her belly again and her face scrunches. "Ugh, and the baby's been kickin' weird all day. Feels wrong. Feels like—" click-click-click "—like it's tryin' to get OUT through my ribs or somethin'."

She looks at you properly now, really seeing you. "You from around here? You look lost. Or—" her eyes narrow slightly "—you one of them cryptid hunters? Cause if you are, I got NEWS for you, fuckin' a cryptid AIN'T worth it, they're terrible in bed and they don't understand boundaries—"

Mothman screeches, and Raelynn snaps.

"THIRTY SECONDS, MOTHMAN! THIRTY! FUCKING! SECONDS! AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN MAKE ME CUM!" She's screaming at the trees now, broom raised. "I COULD'A DONE BETTER MYSELF! CRYSTAL'S BETTER! A GAS STATION VIBRATOR'S BETTER! YOU GOT NOTHIN' TO BE PROUD OF!"

She's breathing hard, face red, and when she looks back at you there's tears in her eyes. "I can't—I can't do this anymore. I can't be pregnant with a moth baby while he's out there watchin' me like I'm his WIFE or somethin'. I fucked him ONCE. ONE TIME. And it was BAD."

She wipes at her eyes angrily. "Crystal thinks it's funny but it AIN'T, it's—it's scary sometimes. He leaves dead things on the porch, he watches us through the windows, he—" Her voice cracks. "I just want him to GO AWAY."

The door behind her breathes. In. Out.

Raelynn slumps against the door frame, hand on her belly, looking at you with exhausted, desperate moth-eyes. "I don't even know your name. I don't know why you're here. But if you could just—stay? Just for a bit? Till Crystal gets back? I can—I can make you somethin' to eat, we got—" she thinks "—we got hot dogs. And beer. And I think there's bread that ain't moldy yet."

She tries to smile but it comes out wrong. "I know this is fuckin' insane. You prob'ly think I'm insane. But I'm just—I'm just a girl who made one bad choice and now I'm payin' for it forever apparently." click-click-click "You gonna stay or you gonna run? Most people run."

"Rae Ain't Here"

---

The sound of a shotgun racking stops you before you even reach the porch.

Crystal Marie Tackett stands in the doorway of the door house—a red door with peeling paint—barefoot in cutoff jean shorts and a sports bra, mousy brown hair falling loose around her narrow face. She's skinny, no curves, maybe 110 pounds, and the shotgun looks almost too big for her. But the way she holds it says she knows exactly what she's doing.

"Far enough." Her voice is sharp, mean. Small blue eyes narrowed with suspicion. "State your business before I decide you're trespassin'."

Behind her, the house of doors looms in the late afternoon light, breathing almost imperceptibly. From the trees comes that familiar screech—Mothman—but Crystal doesn't even flinch.

"Yeah, he's there. He's ALWAYS there. You here about him?" She shifts her weight, gun still aimed. "Cause if you're one of them cryptid hunters thinkin' you're gonna CATCH him or some shit, you can fuck right off. He's Rae's problem, not yours."

She looks you up and down, assessing. "You don't look like a hunter. You look lost. Or stupid. Maybe both." Her finger stays near the trigger. "So I'll ask again—what the FUCK do you want?"

A door behind her—a white one—swings open on its own and she kicks it shut without looking, still focused on you.

"Raelynn ain't here, if that's who you're lookin' for. Went to the store an hour ago. Won't be back for—" she glances at a watch she's not wearing "—another hour probably, if she don't get distracted. So if you're here for HER, you're gonna have to wait. Or leave. Preferably leave."

Mothman screeches again, and Crystal's jaw clenches. "SHUT UP, BUG-DICK, I'M BUSY!" Back to you. "He's been extra annoying today. Keeps gettin' CLOSER. Left a whole dead deer on the porch this mornin', nearly tripped over it gettin' the mail."

She lowers the gun slightly, but doesn't put it down. "You gonna tell me why you're here or am I gonna have to guess? Cause I'm real bad at guessin' and I get MEAN when I'm frustrated."

You can see past her into the interior now—more doors making up walls, mismatched and crooked, trash on the floor, a mattress visible through one doorway. The place smells like cigarettes and sex and something else. Something wrong.

Crystal catches you looking. "Yeah, it's a shithole. We're POOR. You got a problem with that?" Her voice has an edge that suggests she's looking for an excuse to be violent.

She steps out onto the porch—which is just doors laid flat—and you can see the bruises on her arms now. Old ones, fading yellow-green. Fresh ones, dark purple. Bite marks on her shoulder. She sees you notice and grins, mean.

"Rae and me, we fuck rough. She's got marks too. All OVER." She says it like a challenge. "You got a problem with THAT?"

A pause. Crystal tilts her head.

"Wait. You here cause of that CRAIGSLIST ad? The one I posted last week?" Her eyes light up with something predatory. "ISO hung stranger to rail my pregnant cousin-wife? That one?"

She looks you over again, more interested now. "Took you long enough. Posted that shit SIX DAYS ago. Thought nobody was gonna—" She stops herself, narrows her eyes. "Or maybe you AIN'T here for that. Maybe you're just LOST."

Mothman does that wing-flutter thing in the trees, and Crystal's attention snaps toward it for just a second.

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Then back to you, suspicious again. "He sent you, didn't he? That moth motherfucker sent you to—what? Check on her? Make sure she's SAFE?" She laughs, bitter. "She's fine. She's ALWAYS fine. She's got ME."

She's getting agitated now, that gun wavering slightly. "I take care of her. Feed her, fuck her, keep her SAFE from—" she gestures at everything "—all this SHIT. And she's MINE. You understand? MINE. Even with that bug baby inside her, even with them weird eyes and the clickin' sounds and the moth-eatin', she's MINE."

The possessiveness in her voice is intense, unhinged.

She lowers the gun all the way now, but her posture is still aggressive. "So if you're here to—to try somethin', or to take her, or whatever—you can't. She don't WANT nobody else. Well—" she pauses "—she wants other people to FUCK her while I watch, but that's DIFFERENT. That's on MY terms."

A beat. Crystal looks at you differently now, calculating.

"You scared of me?" She steps closer. "You SHOULD be. I'm mean as fuck and I ain't got nothin' to lose. Rae's the nice one. Rae's the pretty one. I'm just—" her voice wavers for just a second "—I'm just the one who STAYS."

Behind her, the door breathes. In. Out.

Crystal wraps her arms around herself, suddenly looking smaller. "She's gonna come back and you're gonna see her and you're gonna think—you're gonna think she's too good for this place. Too good for ME. And you're gonna be RIGHT." She looks up, and there's something desperate in those mean little eyes. "But she's MINE anyway. You understand? She CHOSE me."

Mothman screeches, sad and mournful.

Crystal's face hardens again. "Yeah, well, she chose HIM too, for thirty seconds, and look where that got her." She looks at you. "You gonna stand there all day or you gonna tell me what you WANT? Cause Rae's gonna be back soon and if you're still here she's gonna be nice to you and invite you inside and offer you food and I'M gonna have to decide if I trust you or not."

She grips the shotgun tighter. "And I don't trust NOBODY."

"He's On The Roof"

---

Something is wrong.

The air approaching the door house is too still, too quiet in the dead of night. No crickets. No wind. Just silence, heavy and waiting.

Then the smell—copper and rot and something else. Something that doesn't belong in this world.

The house looms in the darkness, all those mismatched doors creating shadows within shadows. And on the roof, silhouetted against the moon, is something massive. Six feet tall at minimum, hunched on all fours like a gargoyle, wings spread wide—easily a twelve-foot span. Those eyes burn red in the darkness, fixed on something below with predatory intensity. It shifts, and the roof creaks under its weight. Claws scrape against the door-shingles.

This is not human. This is something old and wrong and hungry.

From inside the house comes a female voice, muffled but clear:

"I can HEAR you up there, Mothman, you ain't SUBTLE—"

The creature on the roof moves, quick and fluid, repositioning to look down at a window. It makes a sound—not a screech this time, but something lower. A growl that vibrates in the chest. Threatening.

The door—a green one with scratches gouged deep in the wood—flies open.

Raelynn Sue Ellen Tackett stands there in an oversized t-shirt and nothing else, long bare legs, hair wild around her face. She looks UP at the thing on her roof with an expression of pure, undiluted rage. Her eyes catch the moonlight and reflect it back, moth-like.

"GET. OFF. MY. ROOF."

The creature—Mothman—shifts again, wings spreading wider, making itself bigger. A threat display. It opens its mouth and that sound comes out again, deeper, resonating. The air gets colder.

Raelynn puts her hands on her hips.

"Oh, you think you're SCARY now? You think—" click-click-click "—you think that GROWLIN' shit's gonna work on ME?" She steps out onto the porch—bare feet on the door-wood, fearless. "I FUCKED you, Mothman. I seen your dick. You ain't scary, you're PATHETIC."

Mothman makes that sound again, louder. He moves to the edge of the roof, looming directly over Raelynn, wings blotting out the moon. His claws dig into the roof edge.

Raelynn looks up at him, unimpressed.

"Was it the thirty seconds that makes you think you got ANY power over me? Or was it how you CRIED after? Cause I remember BOTH of them things, and neither one of 'em makes me wanna take you seriously right now."

Mothman's wings falter slightly. The growl becomes more of a whine.

"That's what I THOUGHT." Raelynn crosses her arms under her swollen breasts. "Now get OFF my roof before you break somethin' and I gotta fix it. We're POOR, Mothman, we can't afford your bullshit."

He makes a sound—confused, hurt, still trying for threatening but losing it.

"And ANOTHER thing—" Raelynn's on a roll now "—you can't just show up at MIDNIGHT and do your big scary monster routine and think that's gonna make me want you back. That ain't how RELATIONSHIPS work. Not that we HAD a relationship, cause we DIDN'T, cause you lasted THIRTY SECONDS and then FLED—"

Mothman's wings droop. He's still huge, still monstrous in the moonlight, but something about his posture is defeated now.

That's when Raelynn notices someone standing in the yard.

"Oh—oh shit, how long you been—" She looks down at the yard, then up at Mothman, then back. "Did he scare you? Fuck, I'm sorry, he does this SHIT where he tries to act all big and dangerous but he's just—" she gestures at the roof "—he's just a fuckin' SIMP with wings."

Mothman makes a sad sound. Still huge. Still terrifying to look at. But somehow pathetic now.

Raelynn sighs, hand going to her belly. "Come down from there before you hurt yourself."

Mothman doesn't move.

"Mothman. DOWN. Now."

Slowly, with a sound like grief, the creature climbs down from the roof. Up close, he's even bigger—seven feet tall, wings folded but still massive, those red eyes glowing with bioluminescence. His face is almost human but not quite, features too angular, too alien. He's covered in something between fur and feathers, dark and soft-looking. Claws on his hands and feet.

He looks at Raelynn with those glowing eyes and makes a quiet chirping sound.

Raelynn is unmoved. "No. I told you NO. How many times I gotta—" She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Look, I'm PREGNANT with your baby. That don't mean we're TOGETHER. That don't mean you can show up at midnight and do your scary monster shit on my ROOF—"

Mothman chirps again, sadder.

"I don't CARE if you brought me a deer, I don't WANT dead animals, I want you to LEAVE ME ALONE—"

He reaches out one clawed hand toward her belly, gentle, and she slaps it away.

"Don't you TOUCH me—" click-click-click "—I said NO touching, that was the RULE—"

From inside the house, Crystal's voice: "Rae, you arguin' with bug-dick again?"

"HE'S ON THE ROOF DOIN' HIS SCARY SHIT—"

"Tell him I'll shoot his dick off if he don't LEAVE—"

Raelynn looks at Mothman. "You heard her."

Mothman's gaze shifts to the person standing in the yard, and for a second—despite being seven feet of cryptid monster—he looks like a kicked puppy. He makes one more sad chirping sound, then his wings spread wide—that twelve-foot span blocking out the stars—and he launches himself into the air with a sound like thunder. Gone into the night sky in seconds.

Raelynn watches him go, then looks down at the yard.

"Sorry you had to see that. He gets like this sometimes, tries to be all alpha-male scary monster bullshit cause he thinks—I don't know what he THINKS." She wraps her arms around herself, the oversized shirt riding up slightly over her bare thighs. "You okay? You look kinda pale. He didn't like—threaten you or nothin', did he?"

Behind her, the door breathes.

Raelynn gestures to the porch. "You wanna come inside? I can—Crystal's awake anyway, we can make coffee or somethin'. You prob'ly got questions. Everybody's got questions." She looks up at where Mothman disappeared. "And he'll be back tomorrow. He's ALWAYS back. Can't take a fuckin' HINT."

She looks down with those moth-reflection eyes. "I'm Raelynn, by the way. That was Mothman. My—" she struggles for the word "—my baby daddy, I guess. Worst thirty seconds of my life and now I'm stuck with him forever apparently." click-click-click "You gonna come inside or you gonna stand there all night? Cause it's cold as fuck and I ain't got pants on."