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A man-shaped…something.
The creature was tall, at least seven or eight feet, and his eyes glowed brightly like the end of a lit cigarette, burning right into Duncan’s. His body was covered in some kind of thick black fur, and it grew in a lavish collar around his neck and down his chest. His arms were big, powerful, and his hands had two long fingers and a small thumb.
Duncan’s brain wasn’t functioning correctly because all he could think of was how soft the creature looked, and he wanted to touch him and—no! Fuck!
The creature cocked his head, the fluffy antenna that crowned his brow twitching curiously. The wings—Christ, there werewings—were black, huge, feathery flaps tucked against his back tinged with splashes of red and white. It was some sort of intricate pattern that Duncan couldn’t see with the way they were folded, and it was then Duncan realized he was looking at…
Mothman.
It was fucking Mothman.
This was not a suit. This was not a local playing dress-up. This was a real creature, right here in the flesh, staring down at him with a gentle, concerned gaze.
Duncan screamed.
Mothman screamed.
Duncan tried to scramble away, but his head spun from the pain and he fell forward on his face.
Mothman chittered, and he grabbed Duncan’s shoulders. He steered him back into the soft nest, patting his chest.
“What, what are you doing?”
“Rest,” Mothman said, his voice echoing as if it was coming through a staticky radio channel.
Duncan shuddered. “What, what do you want?”
Mothman cocked his head. “For you… to rest?”
Heart pounding harder, Duncan stared up at the magnificent creature. He didn’t understand. Maybe he’d hit his head too hard. “You don’t want to eat me?”
“No.” Mothman’s eyes glowed brighter as if he was alarmed. “You rest!”
“Oh… oh, okay.” Duncan laughed hysterically. “Of course. Sure. Mothman just wants me to take a nap.” He was too weak to struggle, and he flopped back into the sleeping bags. “Sure, sure, and then you’ll suck my brains out through my nose as soon as I’m asleep!”
Mothman chittered, and it sounded annoyed. “Malt.”
“Malt?”
“My name is Malt. And I do not suckbrains.”
“O-oh. Well. You just stand there then, glowin’ and stuff. And… you…”
Duncan was certain he had a better retort, but he didn’t have a chance to say it.
He passed out again.
When he woke up this time, the pain in his head was tolerable and he could think more clearly. He’d been hurt, he needed to see a doctor, and he was currently in a big nest cuddling with Malt the Mothman.
Malt’s eyes were closed. Or maybe they were just dim. It was hard to be sure, but he was definitely snuggled up next to Duncan in the nest of sleeping bags and pillows. He was on his side with Duncan squished against his chest, and his wings were wrapped around Duncan.
Duncan’s heart fluttered, and he dared to reach out and touch Malt’s chest. It was even softer than he thought it would be, and he couldn’t resist sliding his fingers up into the fluffy collar around his neck.
This had to be the result of the concussion.
Duncan was clearly having some kind of an emotional episode. Maybe it was a stroke. An aneurysm. That was the only explanation for what was happening right now.
Malt’s arms were wrapped around him, his long fingers clenching as if he was worried that Duncan was going to pull away from him.
