Skurdulka the Cryptid (a nonbinary scary story)

Part 9: Proposal

Skurdulka peered down at the face of Ash's smartphone, looking over my shoulder as I flipped through Instagram. They sat on the bed next to me, so close I felt their breath on my neck, as if they were my new best friend, waiting to see my crush's selfies. I couldn't believe it.

"Why did you stop?" Skurdulka glanced at me sidelong.

Trying hard not to grin, I glanced at ash. He met my look with his own smushed, half-bitten grin.

"Nothing." I clicked another profile. "I love this person. They're so smart and so cool." After a photo of a person with short, dark hair, shining eyes and the kindest smile I'd ever seen, I scrolled to a short essay about being balancing femininity and masculinity as a nonbinary person. I paused, letting Skurdulka read it, glancing once at their focused expression.

"Hmm." They nodded slowly and pointed a delicate finger at the smartphone. "So, these are real people?"

In one sentence, Skurdulka went from almost-sleepover-friend to my grandpa. I chuckled. "Yeah, they're real people. People post pics of themselves and other stuff, write a bit about it, and sometimes add hashtags and stuff. Most of it's stupid, funny crap, some of it's just mean, but some of it's really cool, like these people." I clicked away and found another of my nonbinary Insta idols, a person with spiky black hair, large, striking brown eyes, and cheekbones that could cut concrete. "Oh my god, they're great. And so hot. And they're, like, the nicest person ever."

"These are other 'nonbinary' people?" Skurdulka asked.

Still sounding like my grandpa. "Yeah, look." I clicked on another profile. "This person does music." And another. "This person's a model." Another. "They write books. They do shows and movies." I paused. "Movies are, like, moving pictures in—"

"I know what movies are," Skurdulka snapped. "I know what computers are, I know what Advil is."

I raised a hand. "Okay, okay. Sorry."

"So, like, where did you..." Sitting on the other edge of the bed, Ash hesitated, unsure of how to ask. "When did you, like, go away?"

Skurdulka looked back, confusion knitting their brow.

"It's just... You know about computers, but not the internet? You're nonbinary, but you've never heard the word. I don't get it."

That same thought crossed my mind. I couldn't figure out what Skurdulka knew and what they didn't.

"I see. I suppose..." Skurdulka thought a moment. "I have been away from the world since..." Their green-brown eyes cut away and they didn't finish.

"Mahla?" I said quietly.

Pressing their lips together tightly, they nodded. "But I have not been blind to the world. It is very difficult to truly escape it. And, in some sense, perhaps only a part of me really wanted to." They paused. The look in their eyes seemed far-away. "I would watch people. Listen to them. Hear their stories about the world. But never get too close."

"Why not?" I wondered.

Skurdulka frowned. "Because their stories never changed."

Quiet fell over the three of us. Then, Ash said, "maybe you have to get close to find something different."

Skurdulka studied him. "Why?"

Ash gave a small shrug. "Because people hide what's different."

#

Ash and I walked our bikes through the layers of leaves and sticks towards Skurdulka's house. The fall sun was fading, sending orange and red light cutting through shadows of black trees. Brown oak leaves still clung to stout branches overhead, clattering like bones in a surprisingly warm autumn breeze.