Page 13 of Claimed By the Mothman
His voice vibrated, soft and low, and Nell’s heart knifedin response. It wasn’t echo or distortion, but something deeper, like a second version of the words was humming just under the first.
“Oh…uh.” She coughed and stepped forward. “Hi.”
He stepped smoothly aside to make room. “Please.”
She entered. The elevator doors closed with a soft hiss. Nell had to tilt her head back practically all the way to look at him, and even then, it didn’t feel like enough.
“How do you—how do you know my name?” she blurted, immediately regretting it.Nell, you’re still practically a guest in this building. You can’t just go around interrogating cryptids in elevators with stupid questions.
She was again calculating how fast she could re-pack her car.
But the tall figure just clicked softly, cocking his head in a small, insectile gesture.
“A new tenant is always a source of much discussion and joy. Your arrival is all the building has spoken about. The walls vibrated with it this morning. A pleasure-song. We have not had one in some time.”
Nell’s stomach dropped and flipped and dropped again. “Um…thewallsvibrated?”
He gave a slow, solemn nod.Click.“They are already fond of you.”
She opened her mouth, closed it again, then managed: “And you are…?”
“I am Sig Samora.” His lipless mouth twitched in the semblance of a smile. “It is pleasing to make your acquaintance.”
“Nell,” she replied. “Nell Townsend. I just—well. I guess you already knew that.”
“I did,” he said. He blinked slowly, eyelids sliding sideways across glowing irises.
The elevator gave a sudden, mournful ground and lurched to a halt. Between floors. Nell staggered and grabbed the railing.
“Oh,” she said, aiming for casual, but her voice cracked and landed an octave too high. “Cool. Normal. Love that.”
She didn’t like small spaces. She especially didn’t like beingtrappedin small spaces. And definitely not with strange—men? People? Entities? Cryptids?Shit, am I being racist? Can you be racist against mothmen? Is he a mothman? Isthatracist of me to think that?
Her brain pinged around in panic. Fortunately, the elevator’s old-school, open grate design offered just enough airflow to keep her from spiraling into full claustrophobia.
“So, um. Is this normal?” Nell worried the opal ring on her finger. It was warm again.
“Yes,” Sig said. He didn’t move, not even to sway with the subtle shifting of the elevator. “The elevator pauses sometimes. It thinks.”
Nell sucked in a breath. “Itwhat?”
“It is ancient,” he said mildly. “It stops when it wants to listen.”
Listen to what? Me? Him? The pizza?
“Oh,” she said again, smaller this time. “Do you live here?”
Gods. Stupid question. Of course he does.
He didn’t laugh. “I do. Fourteenth floor. Apartment E.”
She nodded like that explained anything. “And how long have you—?”
“For some time.” Just that.Like centuries lived and cataloged had all been folded neatly under that single phrase.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “New person. Asking dumb questions.”
His head tilted slightly.Click.“Not dumb. Curious.”
