Page 3 of Hiss and Tell
The children’s section always takes my breath away for a moment—not just because of the cozy reading nooks and colorful displays, but because of Sebastian.
The world was shocked five years ago when the existence of monsters, who had been living in hiding in our world for centuries, came to light. We call it Revelation Day, and I recall it as though it was yesterday. It rocked all of humanity for a hot minute. But somehow… life went on. As they blended into human society, the monster headlines gradually disappeared. They were soon replaced by the latest political shenanigans of our leaders.
Then everyone on Earth had to learn how to deal with the changes. For some reason, our town has more than its share ofOthers. I became friendly with a few, but it wasn’t until I began taking Milo to storytime that the thought of actually dating a monster occurred to me. It wasn’t an abstract concept, though. My thoughts revolved around a certain gorgeous Gorgon librarian.
Today his snakes wear perfectly coordinated navy bow ties—each one meticulously positioned and clearly waterproofed with some kind of special treatment that makes them gleam under the library lights. It appears that he takes more care and precision than most people put into their wedding attire.
“Mr. Sebastian!” Milo breaks free from my hand, racing toward his favorite librarian. “Look, Steggy has a cape today!”
Sebastian turns, and something in my chest does a funny little flip. The effect is immediate and overwhelming—my pulse quickens as I take in the full scope of him.
He’s not just well over six feet tall; he commands space in a way that makes every man I’ve ever known seem diminished by comparison. His shoulders are broad, and those strong hands, when turning picture book pages, never fail to capture my attention. The way he moves, deliberate, fluid, and devastating, makes my mouth go dry. His face is perfectly, handsomely human, well, except for the head full of snakes that emerge from his skull and act like live hair.
When his gaze meets mine across the children’s section, the world narrows to just that connection, and I have to take a slow, deep breath to ground myself.
“A caped dinosaur? Now that’s something special.” His voice has the same calming quality as his presence, deep but gentle. One of his snakes flicks its tongue out happily, making Milo giggle.
The other children settle onto cushions, parents finding spots along the walls. Milo tugs me toward his favorite poof, right up front. “Daddy’s coming after storytime,” he announces to Sebastian. “We’re going to see real dinosaur bones this weekend!”
Something flickers across Sebastian’s face—concern?—but his smile never wavers. “That sounds exciting. Should we start with a dinosaur story today?”
The next twenty minutes are pure magic. Sebastian doesn’t just read stories; he brings them to life.
As Sebastian’s voice drops into what must be his storyteller cadence, something extraordinary happens. His eyes widen in what looks like genuine surprise as tiny sparkles of light begin to dance above the open book.
It’s not just the magic that captures my attention; it’s the way his entire being transforms. His snakes rise higher, their movements becoming more fluid and hypnotic, like they’re conducting an invisible orchestra. His pupils dilate to reptilian slits when he concentrates, and I catch a glimpse of something predatory and ancient beneath his gentle librarian exterior.
There’s a low, subsonic rumble in his voice that I feel more than hear, something that makes the air itself seem to thicken and pulse with otherworldly energy. For a moment, he seems almoststartled by his own magic, his snakes swaying with what appears to be amazement.
“Oh!” he breathes softly, and I catch the wonder in his voice as a translucent brachiosaurus shimmers into existence above our heads. The children gasp in delight, but Sebastian looks just as mesmerized as they do, his gaze following the spectral creature with something like awe.
More dinosaurs appear: tiny pterodactyls that circle overhead, a friendly triceratops that nods at the children. Sebastian’s expression shifts between concentration and amazement, as if he’s discovering this ability for the first time. His snakes mirror his emotions, curling and uncurling with excitement.
“How does he do that?” whispers one of the mothers behind me, but Sebastian himself seems to be wondering the same thing, his eyes bright with discovery as he guides the story forward.
The magical creatures dance and play above us, bringing the tale of friendship and acceptance to vivid life. Several children gasp and point, while parents fumble for their phones to capture the impossible. “Is this real?” asks Tyler, reaching up toward a tiny pterodactyl that swoops just out of reach.
“Oh my goodness,” breathes one mother. “Are those actually… how is he doing that?”
“Magic,” Milo announces with the absolute certainty of a four-year-old. “Mr. Sebastian has real magic.”
Other children chime in with excited whispers: “Can you make a T-Rex?” “Do one that roars!” “Make them dance!”
Sebastian’s amazement transforms into something like joy as he watches the children’s wonder. His snakes sway with what appears to be pride, as he guides a gentle brachiosaurus to nuzzle against Grace’s outstretched hand. She squeals with delight.
By the time the story reaches its happy ending, every child in the circle is completely captivated, and several parents are whispering among themselves about “did you see that?” and “how is this possible?” The magical creatures slowly fade as the story concludes, leaving us all blinking in the aftermath of wonder.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Maybe Mrs. Breckenridge has more work for me. But when I glance at the screen, my heart stops.
Can’t make pickup today. Something came up. Tell the kid sorry.
My reaction rips out of me before I can stop it: “FUCK!”
The silence that follows is deafening. Sebastian stops mid-sentence, the book still open in his massive hands. Every parent in the room is staring. Milo’s eyes are wide with shock.
And just like that, I know. This is going to be one of those moments that splits time into before and after. I can feel it in the horrified gasps of nearby parents, see it in Sebastian’sprofessionally neutral expression, hear it in the whispers already starting.
The carefully balanced plates I’ve been spinning for so long are about to come crashing down. And there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop it.
