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He got a small fire going in the fireplace so he could burn the documents, sipping his beer as he watched them first turn black and then to ash. He’d already deleted everything off his laptop and posted a quick blog reporting that the mountains of North Carolina didn’t have anything out of the ordinary except for the insane amount of mosquitoes that lived here.
He’d post a follow-up later with more detail, but he decided that was good enough for now. He was going to take his time with Malt the Mothman to his grave.
The timer on the oven dinged, and Duncan left the living room to go grab his pizza. He’d have to wait for it to cool down before he could eat it, but he went ahead and sliced it. He put two pieces on a plate, got a fresh beer, and went to the living room to settle down.
He turned on the television and immediately grimaced when he saw it was a news report about the rockslide. Amazingly, only one person had passed away, an elderly man who had heart problems. Though the thought of anyone having died made Duncan sad, he was grateful to be amongst the living.
Not to mention the people in the cars behind him he’d saved when he didn’t move his car.
Malt hadn’t only saved his life, but the countless others who would have also driven right into the path of the rockslide.
Malt the Mothman was a hero.
There was a sharp tap at the window.
Duncan flinched, and he rose up from the couch to grab a poker from the fireplace. He tiptoed over toward the window, lifting up the curtains to see what it was.
Malt the Mothman was a hero and was also totally standing outside the cabin.
“The fuck?” Duncan jumped. “Malt?”
Malt waved.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I wanted to make sure you were all right,” Malt replied. “Did you see the spoon yet?”
“What?” Duncan could barely hear him.
“Did you see the… Why don’t I come to the door?”
“Just come to the door! I can’t hear a thing you’re saying!” Duncan quickly headed over to the front door. He leaned the poker against the wall within reach, unlocked the door, and then he poked his head out.
The porch was empty.
The forest was abuzz with the hum of nocturnal insects. It was peaceful, practically serene, but there was no sign of Malt. Duncan still had the poker, and he slowly stuck his head outside to see—
Giant wings flapped as Malt descended, landing right in front of Duncan.
Duncan yelped. “Hey! Don’t you… You… Don’t do that! Ugh!”
Malt ducked his head. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t sound very sorry.”
“No. It was… funny. I apologize.”
“You, uh, want to come inside?”
“Thank you,” Malt said.
Duncan noted how Malt had to duck through the door, and Duncan shut it and then locked it behind them. He immediately wrapped his arms around Malt’s middle, burying his face in his soft fuzz as he gushed, “Thank you. Thank you so, so much. You saved my life.”
Malt chittered, and his arms slowly hugged Duncan back. “You are welcome. You found the spoon?”
“I did.” Duncan laughed. “You were right. Big ass fuckin’ spoon right in the middle of the road. It was part of some sign for a restaurant.”
“You avoided harm?”
