Page 11 of Claimed By the Mothman
“Jem, darling, I’d love for you to help me with the overview,” she explained, pulling Jem off the stool and steering her into the pantry. “Nell hassomuch room for improvement in here—I mean, look at all those tea tins, and she doesn’t even have a flour container—”
“Oh!” Jem squealed. “You haveroomin there. Real shelves. Like a person with a functional spice system. I swear, if I had this setup…”
Goldie and Jem’s bubbly back and forth merged with the clinking and clunking of items being rearranged, turning into a happy buzz of fast friendship and baking know-how.
Left to herself for a moment, Nell walked into the living room and collapsed onto the couch, heart thudding in a happy, overwhelmed rhythm. She looked around at the chaos—boxes everywhere, open windows, the soft creak of old floors—and let out a breath.
The weekly rental hotel had smelled like mildew and old disappointment. The walls were too thin, the light too cold. She’d barely unpacked, sincemost of her stuff had been in storage— college-era, singleton Nell furnishings and trappings that had stayed packed away during her marriage.
Before that, before the divorce, before the intern in Edward’s bed, there was The House he had bought in the right neighborhood in the right suburb with the right neighbors. It was right after they had started dating and she had dared to believe she would be the “right wife” once she put all her colorful, mismatched belongings away like a dirty secret.
All the dishes were from Pottery Barn and matched. All the towels were monogrammed. Everything had been washed in a layer of beige—beige walls, beige carpeting, beige arguments, beige silences.
But here, everything was strange and eclectic and wonderful. A window seat in the sun, overlooking a city that seemed ten times brighter and a million times more exciting than where she’d come from. A walk-in pantry that echoed with laughter and smelled of a dozen tins of tea. Banana bread from a neighbor she hadn’t known ten minutes ago but now seemed like she’d always been in her life.
The air shifted slightly. A movement in her periphery made her look towards the doorway, and Nell was startled to find a man already there, standing with one hand lightly braced on the doorframe as if he’d been waiting for the right moment to enter.
Wait…not a man. Not quite, anyway. Was his hair dark? Or light? Nell squinted slightly, but even though she was looking right at him, her eyes seemed to not register what she was seeing.
“Hello,” the man said, raising a hand. “I’m Hollis. Husband to the small whirlwind currently ogling your pantry.”
“Oh!” Nell rose automatically. “Of course. She mentioned you.”
He stepped farther into the room, and as he moved, his features snapped into place: olive-toned skin with a pearlescent undertone; dark, close-cropped hair; a finely tailored suit whose priceabsolutelyhad a comma in the dollar amount.
She gaped. He smiled.
“She’ll have you over for dinner within the week,” Hollis said, giving a knowing wink. “Don’t fight it. When Jem has an idea, nothing short of an earthquake can stop her.”
Nell laughed like she was trying to prove she belonged in the moment. “I don’t think I’ll mind.”
Hollis tilted his head slightly, the gesture small but precise, like a bird taking stock of its surroundings.
The silence stretched. Nell’s anxiety flared, and before her brain could wrestle her mouth into obedience, she blurted, “What are you?”
The words hit the air like a dropped plate.
“Oh God,” she whispered, slapping a hand over her mouth. She could feel her face turning crimson. “I didn’t mean—I mean Idid, but not like that—oh, no—I’m so sorry—”
Her eyes darted toward the half-unpacked boxes. She could repack in twenty minutes. Maybe fifteen if she didn’t cry.
Then, Hollis laughed. It was a low, warm sound. Amused, like he’d heard this exact question more times than he could count and found it charming every time.
“Tariaksuq,” he said, easily, like it was no stranger than sayingI’m from Iowa. He rolled the word with soft precision, the syllables lilting like wind through ice. “Inuit cryptid. Rough translation: the shadow that moves when you’re not looking. My features don’t always settle for new eyes. Give it a few encounters, and you’ll start to see the same face each time. Jem says I look different when she’s mad at me. I tell her that’s just self-preservation.”
Nell let out a strangled laugh. “I’msosorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, I just—”
He raised a hand, palm out, still smiling. “It’s fine. You should’ve heard what Jem asked the first time we met.”
“Worse thanwhat are you?”
“‘Do your bones move when you sleep?’” he replied, deadpan. “To which I said:sometimes. She punched me in the shoulder and then married me later anyway.”
Nell let out another startled, but this time honest, laugh.
Hollis stepped a little closer, enough for the air to change slightly around him. “We’re glad you’re here,” he said simply.
The words weren’t loud. But they landed inside her and lifted a weight she hadn’t known she was carrying.
