snarl and not a howl, given the circumstances. The sasquatches clutched each other tight and froze in fear, glaring down at Steven’s immobile body. He hated to see them like this. Those great, giant beasts of the woods were horrified of him due to centuries of misconceptions about werewolves. As he struggled to get up, the sasquatches fled. “Come back! Please! I want to show you something!”
The sasquatches had disappeared into the fog by the time he stood on all four paws. He considered chasing after them to try to talk some sense into them, but realized that it would likely make things worse. He had to be patient, he thought to himself. The other cryptids would realize soon that not all werewolves were bloodthirsty maniacs every month.
Steven walked over to his motorcycle. Most of the details of his non-werewolf life were unavailable to his mind when it was in this state, but he registered vaguely that this was his motorcycle and he knew that his name was Steven, for example. The headlight was still on and he placed his snout over the ignition switch and turned the keys with his teeth. He hoped that the battery would not be dead when it was time to leave in a few days. He would have to leave it laying on its side until then as well. He clenched his jaws around the keys and yanked them from the ignition.
He approached the front door of the café, raised his mouth parallel to the lock, and tried to place the only other key on the keyring into the lock. It did not go so well. He began to growl in frustration, causing a flock of birds overhead to take flight unexpectedly. Finally, the key slid into place, and upon twisting his head, the lock clicked and the door glided open.
Steven was grinning widely as he entered the café. At least it felt like a grin to him. If he were to look at his reflection in the darkened windows of the building he would have realized that it looked like he was baring his inch long fangs in anger.
He leaned back onto his hind legs and placed his forepaws upon a light switch. Halogen bulbs above him began to hum instantly, and the white and black checkerboard floor beneath his paws gleamed brightly, aside from the flecks of slobber and the fog from his fetid breath that appeared as he looked down at the tiles.
Next, he trudged over to one of the giant panes of glass lining the walls of the café. A beaded pull chain hung from a neon sign mounted on the window. He leapt and caught the end of the chain in his teeth, pulled down, and turned on the red and blue sign. Still grinning, he trotted outside to get the full effect. The neon ‘open’ sign shone like a beacon through the darkness, and above the building a giant marquee now lit up and read “Cryptid Café”.
The werewolf sat on his hind legs and took in the results of all his hard work over the past full moons: a café where cryptids of all kinds could meet, socialize, and enjoy coffee, tea, bagels, scones, and other assorted baked treats. He hoped that these assorted treats may be the catalyst for the other cryptids in the forest, and beyond, to realize that werewolves were not so bad after all. He was flooded with emotions, and began to howl involuntarily. Realizing that this was likely bad for business, he forced himself to stop and trudged back inside. He still had a lot to do before he could serve his first customer.
Steven had placed flyers all around the forest during the last full moon, announcing the grand opening of the Cryptid Café, so he assumed that he would have his first customer anytime now. He rushed behind the counter and ripped open a can of coffee beans with his teeth. About half of the can landed on the floor, but he salvaged the other half and poured them into a coffee bean grinder with his comically outstretched werewolf paws.
The grinding sound startled him and made him growl uncontrollably for a few moments. He was glad that no customers had arrived yet to witness his outburst, and made a mental note to prepare himself next time before he started the grinder.
The bell above the door chimed and he looked up so quickly that he was surprised he did not get a crick in his neck. A small wood nymph had walked through the front door and was approaching the counter. This was not a customer, unfortunately, but a friend of Steven’s. The wood nymph’s name was Gerald, and he was one of the few non-werewolf creatures to be kind to Steven during the full moons. He had agreed to run the café for Steven during the non-full moon days of the month.
“Hey, hey, Stevie,” the wood nymph said with a surprisingly deep voice.
“Howdy, Gerald. I’m still trying to get everything set up before the customers arrive. Could you come lend me a hand, uh, er… a twig?”
Gerald sniggered but had a grin on his face as he shuffled behind the counter and began to operate the coffee and tea brewing machines. His small wooden hands were more adept to the tasks than Steven’s powerful but clumsy claws.
“Why don’t you prepare the scones, Steven?” Gerald said over his shoulder. “I, uh, don’t feel too comfortable around the ovens. You know… because I’m made of wood and everything.”
“Of course,” Steven said, knocking a bag of flour into a giant metal bowl. He had not considered this complication. Who would do the baking while he was gone for the majority of the month? “Do we need to hire some extra help, or do you think you’ll be able to handle that while I’m gone?”
“I’ve already got it covered, Steve. My girlfriend said she’d handle the baking. She said she doesn’t mind working just for tips until we get our feet on the ground. Sound fair?”
“Absolutely! Bless her. And I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, you sly stick! What else haven’t you told me?” Steven snarled. Luckily, Gerald was familiar with Steven’s werewolf mannerisms and knew that this was playful ribbing and not a forceful interrogation.
“Aha, I’m full of surprises,” Gerald said as he poured hot water over a mass of tea leaves in an enormous glass pot. “If I told you everything, I’d lose my air of mystique, wouldn’t I?”
“Yeah, yeah. I suppose that’s true,” Steven said, baring his teeth in a smile as he mixed batter in the bowl with a long wood spoon gripped between his teeth. The wood splintered and cracked as he bit down too hard, and Gerald jumped in fright. “Sorry, my friend,” Steven apologized, realized that the sound of splitting wood must indeed be traumatizing to a creature that was comprised solely of wood.
“It’s alright. You’d think I’d be used to it around this time of year, being the dry season in the forest and everything. Susan should be in tomorrow.”
“Susan?” Steven asked confusedly, straining his neck to stir the thickening batter in the metal bowl.
“My girlfriend. She should be in tomorrow to start doing the baking.”
“Oh, of course. Sorry, I was a bit preoccupied.”
“She’s a jackelope, by the way,” Gerald said in a nonconsequential voice. He knew that Steven would be too polite to ask.
“She sounds lovely, Gerald. Well done.”
“Thanks. The coffee is ready, by the way. The tea should be ready in a minute or two. Hey, should we turn on the television? You know, just so it won’t be so quiet in here.” Gerald asked over his shoulder while stirring the giant pot of tea.
Steven had been considering this for a while. What kind of scene did he want to set in his café? He wanted it to have the right aura. He wanted people to talk and socialize, not to be staring at the television the whole time they were there. But would they, if it was on? Gerald had a good point about the noise in the café. When they were not operating the grinders, it was deathly quiet.
“Yeah, let’s turn it on. Why don’t you take care of that while I put these scones in the oven.”
Steven’s hearing was extremely sensitive when he was a werewolf. The high pitched sound that the television made when it was powering on made his eyes cross and drift out of focus for a moment. When the sound had dissipated, he slid the scones into the oven, turned some dials to set the timer and the temperature, and closed the oven door. He walked over to the wood nymph, and stood next to him, looking up at the television as he flipped through the channels with the remote control.
"What station should we set it on?" Gerald asked in his high, reedy voice.
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"Hmm... What about that twenty-four hour a day sports channel?" Steven suggested.
"Are sports right for a cafe?" Gerald said in a tone that clearly indicated that he thought they were not.
"No, you're right. Definitely not the right atmosphere for that kind of thing. It's not a sports bar, after all."
"What about a news station?" Gerald prompted hopefully.
"I don't think that's right for us either..."
"Maybe you're right. We don't want to bring politics into the mix. If the customers want to discuss politics on their own, that’s fine, but we shouldn't goad them into it subconsciously," Gerald said pensively.
"Besides, all of those news stations are so biased. We'd be inadvertently broadcasting that we agreed with the biases of whichever station we chose. We don't want our customers to think we have some sort of agenda," Steven said with his furry brow clenched tight in concentration, and a glob of saliva dripping down his whiskers.
"Definitely not," Gerald agreed, nodding his root shaped head. "So news and sports are out. What about a talk show?"
"I don't know, I feel like that just gets us right back into the whole biases conundrum again. What do you think?" Steven asked as they changed the channel onto a group of yetis discussing the politics of visibility within the cryptid community. Steven highly doubted