sasquatch donned his captain hat and entered the boat, motoring away from the dock immediately.
"Unbelievable..." Mykonos said as his wife shook her head.
Finally, they were able to board a boat and get back to the Cryptid Cruiseliner. It was a surprisingly smooth journey back. The waves had died down a bit, and although Mykonos arrived back at the cruiseliner mildly queasy, he had at least not gotten sick. The pair of centaurs slowly made their way through the mass of other cryptids re-boarding the ship until they reached their room. The vivid colors of the carpet and walls combined with the mild rocking of the ship threatened to cause Mykonos’ head to swim, but he was determined to train. Although mentally he decided he would not be seasick, his body was threatening to prove him wrong.
“I think I’m just going to stay in the room and take a nap,” Hilary said as she laid down on their bed, the bedsprings and frame creaking heavily as she did so. “Are you sure that going for a run on the ship is a good idea, honey?”
“I simply must get some training in during this week and I might as well do it while I’m motivated.”
“I suppose you’re right, honey,” Hilary said with a content yawn that made Mykonos reconsider his idea to run rather than nap.
“I’ll be up on the track on the top deck. See you soon, sweetie.” Mykonos bent down and kissed Hilary’s forehead before struggling to turn around in the small cabin and change into his exercise tunic and putting on the centaur shoes of his own design. He took great pride in hammering the shoes into his hooves each time he put them on. Once changed, he exited the room and began to trot toward the staircase that led to the top deck. It seemed that the other cryptids must have had the same idea as Hilary, because he hardly saw anyone on the way.
Mykonos stretched his muscular horse-like legs as he stood at the beginning of the deserted track on the top deck of the cruiseliner. He felt lightheaded and knew that he would appear pale if he could see his reflection. Regardless, he dug his hooves into the track’s surface and began to run. He had the entire track to himself. The rhythmic clipping and clopping of his hooves combined with each inhalation and exhalation of his breath and formed an almost hypnotic sound that Mykonos focused on as he rounded the track over and over. He closed his eyes as he entered the straightaways and pictured himself running across the country in his upcoming promotional campaign. Seas, mountains, plains, deserts… He would seem them all and he would do some while running on the shoes that he designed and made a reality.
Finally, he felt that his training session was over and he came to a gradual halt. He stood panting, his hands on the midsection directly above his horse body, and then rushed to the handrails of the ship to vomit over the edge. He was not sure if it was the running, the seasickness, or a combination of both, but it hit him all at once. He heard shouting from below and realized that that portion of the deck must have not been directly over the water, but above another section of deck. He wiped his mouth and spat before nervously trotting toward the exit staircase, his whole body feeling shaky.
He entered his room, his wife still peacefully snoozing in their bed, and collapsed onto his side. It felt as if the entire room were spinning around him, all while being pitched slowly from side to side. He teetered on the verge of rising to get sick again, but finally fell into a pitiful doze. He awoke in what felt like no time at all, opening his eyes to see that his wife was fully dressed and putting earrings in her ears.
“Oh, good, you’re up,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder in the mirror. “You need to get dressed so we can go to dinner.”
“Urrgghhhhh.” He had intended to say something to the effect of, “I’m not feeling well, please give me a moment to regain my composure before rising to get dressed for dinner”, but ‘urrgghhhh’ was all that came out.
“I told you that running was a bad idea,” she said as she shook her head.
“You didn’t say it was a bad idea… you just implied it,” Mykonos said, his head throbbing.
“Let’s not argue. Just get up and get ready, honey.”
Mykonos willed himself to roll out of the bed and put on his fanciest tunic. Dinners were a formal affair on the Cryptid Cruiseliner. They were also served very late at night for some reason. Mykonos was in the habit of eating early in the evening, so this had not agreed with him for the duration of the trip. They entered the vast dining hall, surrounded by formally dressed cryptids of all varieties, and were ushered to their seats by a young sea monster wearing a tuxedo.
“Welcome! Welcome all to dinner on the third night of our voyage,” a voice boomed over the dining hall. It was the captain of the entire Cryptid Cruiseliner, an old merman wearing a captain’s hat and sitting in a tub of saltwater that had to be wheeled about wherever he wanted to go on the boat. “We have smooth seas ahead of us, friends. Take your time, enjoy your meals. Bon appétit!” concluded the insufferably cheerful merman, raising a glass of champagne above his head, as all the other diners aside from Mykonos did the same.
“Should the captain of a cruiseliner really be drinking?” Mykonos said to his wife in a hushed voice. She merely rolled her eyes at him.
“Your first course is our special French Onion Soup. Enjoy!” a sasquatch waitress told them as she placed a bowl of soup before each of them. The sight of it made Mykonos’ stomach turn. Hilary began dipping her spoon into her own bowl almost immediately. She eyed Mykonos as he stared down at his own, and he decided it was in his best interest to go ahead and try to eat it. It really did taste fantastic, but it was not what he needed at that moment. He was seasick and he was tired.
“What’s wrong?” Hilary asked in a sigh, the tone of exasperation already apparent in her voice.
“Just not feeling too well at the moment,” Mykonos said, looking up from his wobbling soup bowl.
“Shouldn’t have gone for that run…”
“Maybe so, but it’s not just that. You know, it’s three in the morning in our time zone… I don’t normally eat dinner at three in the morning, so my body is having trouble.”
Hilary sighed again. “That may be true, but it’s only ten at night here, and it is dinner time.”
“Who even eats dinner at ten, for crying out loud?” he asked wildly, in a voice much louder than he intended to. Several of the diners at the surrounding tables turned to look at them. He continued in a whisper, “We usually eat at six, so I think you might understand why my body is having trouble adjusting.”
“Mine isn’t! You’re on vacation, for goodness’ sake. Try something new… and by all means, try to have fun,” she said sternly. Mykonos had never been able to have fun in a situation where he had been sternly instructed to do so, but he loved Hilary and did not want to argue with her on their vacation, so he ate what he could of his soup.
“Your second course… Chicken. It was baked along with our chef’s signature blend of spices and seasonings and garnished with pineapple. Enjoy!” the sasquatch waitress said as she placed plates before Hilary and Mykonos, taking away his half eaten soup in the process. He eyed the slab of chicken wearily, pacing himself and, though he hated to acknowledge he was doing so, psyching himself up for eating the delicious second course of their meal. It was a grueling process, but he did it. He was quite proud of himself for being able to finish the chicken as well as being able to maintain conversation with his wife all while being on the verge of throwing up everywhere. He had finally done it. He had made it all the way through a meal on the Cryptid Cruiseliner without getting sick. Or at least he thought he had… He had forgotten about dessert.
“Your third course is a chocolate - ,” the sasquatch waitress began before Hilary cut her off.
“I’m absolutely stuffed. I think we’ll be skipping dessert this evening. Is that alright with you Mykonos?” she asked.
“Ummm, sure. Yes. That’ll be fine this evening,” he said, pretending as best as he could that the thought of eating another rich dish of food was the tempting in the slightest degree.
The pair of them left the dining hall hand in hand and walked to their cabin, pausing briefly so that Hilary could admire the moonlit sea while Mykonos vomited everything he had just eaten over the hand rails and into the ocean. She did not seem the least bit offended for some reason. Perhaps she had finally accepted that it was totally out of Mykonos’ control. Regardless, they entered their room and settled into bed, ending their third day on the Cryptid Cruiseliner.
Mummy: Repairing an Air Conditioner
Almost every day of the past four thousand years had been quite comfortable for one particular mummy in a tomb located beneath the shifting sands of the vast Egyptian desert. That is, until this particular day. This day found the mummy sitting upon a carved stone easy chair, fanning himself with a wide sheet of hieroglyphic laden papyrus with one hand, while holding a cell phone to his bandaged ears with his other hand.
"...All of our representatives are currently busy. Please hold for a Cool Ghoul representative, or hang up and call again at a later time. Thank you for calling Cool Ghoul's Air Conditioning Emporium. We appreciate your business!"
"If they really appreciated my business they would answer their phones," the mummy muttered to the still, arid air in the tomb. Although it was only a whisper, it echoed off the