Three teenage girls come in just to giggle near the bathroom and take selfies. I catch one of them whispering, “Is that her?” like I’m a wax dummy in a haunted house attraction.
Booger and Burnout show up after lunch with matching homemade T-shirts that read:
I SURVIVED THE CRYPTID COLONOSCOPY OF 2025.
I raise an eyebrow. “Where did you even get those printed?”
Burnout grins. “Mister Felix at the screen shop owes my mom a favor. She caught him peeing behind the bowling alley and didn’t report it.”
Booger adds, “I added the toilet seat halo. For branding.”
“You two are not helping.”
“Oh, we believe you,” Burnout says, suddenly serious. “Weknowwhat you saw was real. You looked like you’d been throughVietnam.”
I blink. “That’s… actually kinda sweet. And unsettling.”
“Also we’re starting a club,” Booger says. “Cryptid Hunters of Walnut Falls. CHOWF.”
“Chowf,” I echo.
“Yeah,” Burnout says. “We meet Thursdays. We’re gonna do recon near the sewer drains.”
“I hate how much I believe you.”
They beam like golden retrievers with half a clue.
I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to focus on my tasks—shelving books, processing returns, organizing a display for banned books week that now feels far too ironic. Every time someone walks through the door, my shoulders tense. Every time a pipe groans in the wall, I flinch.
And every time someone says something like, “Hey, did the monster use the Dewey Decimal system or just ask for the occult section?” I smile a little less.
By closing time, I’m exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, and physically.
And I know tomorrow’s going to be worse.
“I’m staying this time,” Peggy says firmly, arms crossed over her chest like she’s challenging me to argue.
“You really don’t have to.”
“Last night you got ambushed by a toilet monster, Liv.”
“I think we’ve established it cameoutof the toilet, notfromit,” I mutter.
Peggy stares. “That’s not a counterpoint.”
I give her my best tired smile. “Look. I appreciate it, I do. But what are the odds of it happening again?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Is that a rhetorical question? Or have you just gone full Final Girl on me?”
I exhale and shake my head. “You don’t believe me either.”
“What?” she says too quickly. “No, I— Look, I believeyoubelieve it.”
“That’s exactly what people say right before they schedule an intervention.”
Peggy softens, her sarcasm draining just enough to show the worry underneath. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, Liv. But youdidn’t sleep. You’re shaking like a leaf in a wind tunnel. Maybe… a quiet night hereisn’tthe best medicine.”
“Maybe it is,” I say. “I need normal. I need familiar. And honestly? I need to not look like a charity case.”
