#okay I am definitely doing more with Grindel in the future

[opheliathedreamer-blog]

OKCryptid // Pt. 3 { Ghoul }

You decided to linger over one of your lower percentage matches out of curiosity. It consisted mainly of nighttime stills of the graveyard at the outskirts of the city and sound bites of popular Gothic rock bands. He didn’t post a photo of himself. The only hint you received as to his identity was that he was a male non-human of unspecified age whose name was Grindel. The tone of his profile description (Location: The Void. Occupation: Feasting on corpses overlooked by the machine) would have given you cause for concern if it weren’t for rare glimpses of his sardonic humor (Mood: Wake Me Up Inside).

You debated whether you should message him for a few moments before deciding to take the plunge. If he seemed a bit too off, you could always block him.

         You: Evanescence fan?

         Grindel: Unironically? Never

You snorted.

         You: Given the spooky aesthetic, I thought you would be

         You: Which I like btw

         You: There are a lot of gravestones on your profile

         You: Are you into history?

         Grindel: Of a sort

         You: It a secret?

         Grindel: Yes

         Grindel: I wouldn’t want to have to kill you

Although you rationalized that he must have meant it as a joke, a shiver raced up your spine. You didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Hell, your neighbor was married to an ogre that was at least twice his size, but, much to your chagrin, you couldn’t help but remember your parents’ stern warnings— Monsters can wear their masks in public but nothing’s changed. Our ancestors made us wary of them for a reason.

         Grindel: Where do you live?

Of course his next question didn’t alleviate your anxiety in the slightest. Icy tendrils slithered around your heart, and you debated following your plan B and blocking him, before your fingers typed a message of their own accord. Curiosity killed the cat, or so they say.

         You: The abyss. It’s right next door to the void. Can’t miss it

         Grindel: Nice

         Grindel: I see you too work in the food industry?

         You: A bartender, yeah

         You: Crappy job but it’s temporary

         You: I’m still looking for an artifact restoration position someplace local that doesn’t call for thousands of years of experience

         Grindel: Are you interested in history then?

         You: Of a sort

Two can play at this game, you thought. After he didn’t respond for five minutes, you pocketed your phone and started to load your washer before you felt it vibrate. He had responded by attaching a photo of a dilapidated mausoleum. A cracked stone family crest displayed a raven holding a chalice in its talons.

Your tension concerning his previous comments gradually melted away. This was an area in which you thrived. The carvings had to have been at least three centuries old, possibly older. It was, however, hard to tell due to the copious amounts of lichen and ivy decorating the tomb.

         Grindel: This belonged to the Korbin family. The last heir, Emelia Korbin, died in 1876. Since then, no one seems to pay attention to it.

         You: That’s a shame. I bet it was stunning in its hay day.

         You: Is this from the cemetery in town?

         You: I never knew it housed anything this old

         Grindel: There’s a lot of things people can overlook

         Grindel: Past things often fade away in the dark

         Grindel: I look after them though

Your ears all but pricked. Was that a clue?

         You: So, you’re a groundskeeper?

         Grindel: Undergroundskeeper

You mentally repeated the word, brow furrowing. Undergroundskeeper. Did he help construct coffins? Did the mausoleum vaults descend that far?

Or did he live underground? You knew some bat people and cave fae who were particularly sensitive to light. That would explain why all his photos were taken well after the sun had gone down.

Before you could offer a possible answer to the mystery, you glanced at your phone’s clock and saw that your shift started in half an hour. Cursing under your breath, you ran towards the door.

         You: Sorry shift starts soon

         You: I’ll text you later

         Grindel: Thank you

Although you hadn’t the time to reply, the odd nature of his statement kept your thoughts turning. Not “okay. Not “all right, ttyl.” He said, “thank you.” A part of you started to feel sympathy for the secretive monster. It seemed that not many took the time to get to know him.

You went through the motions at work, chatting with the regulars and painting on a smile whenever someone outstayed their welcome. The bouncer, a minotaur named Frank, was pretty good at looking out for everyone, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t experienced a few lewd comments and wandering hands.

You normally brushed it off and went about your night, head down and ears closed, but that night one of the patrons, a troll who had one too many, was far too insistent for comfort. You had told him you weren’t interested for the sixth time that evening and politely excused yourself in order to go wave down Frank before the troll’s calloused hand shot out and wrapped around your neck. Your breath caught in your chest as he pulled you forward. The scent of vodka and whatever trollish mead he had been pouring into it stung your nose. You weakly struggled as his tusks scraped against your face in an attempt at a kiss. 

You sent a silent prayer that someone would intervene and, a few seconds later, a few orc bikers that were regulars pulled him off. The troll growled something in his native tongue and threw a few punches. You watched in relief as Frank ran over and got him in a headlock from behind. One of the bikers—Zadok, you thought it was—bellowed at you to call the police.

The troll paled, blurry eyes rapidly blinking. He stopped struggling. “Whateva.’ Ah’ll leave. Jus’ let go o’ me.”

Zadok looked at you. “You want to press charges on this asshole?”

You looked at him, hand over your racing heart, and remembered a news headline from days prior. There was a robbery at a convenience store. Just some teenage kids sneaking around and trying to pilfer some booze. The elf got off scot free. The troll with him was sentenced to five years in prison because the police insisted that the necklace he wore, a collection of claws and fangs from kills starting after his coming-of-age ceremony, was a weapon.

You thickly swallowed and shook your head. “He’s drunk. Just let him go.”

Frank escorted him out, yelling after him that if he saw him in there again, he would call the cops. You glanced down at the counter and realized your splayed hands were faintly trembling. Glaring, you clenched them into fists and wrapped your arms around your middle, breathing deeply, in and out.

“Hey,” Zadok softly began.

You turned your head so sharply that the orc winced. “You okay?” he asked.

You exhaled roughly through your nose, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

“It’s almost closing time, and the boys and I ain’t got nowhere to be. Want us to help you home?”

“Nah. I know you have to work tomorrow, and Marnie’ll be worried. I’ll just call an Uber or something.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.

He didn’t look convinced but let any budding arguments die with a sigh. “Kay. Take care of yourself, all right, Y/N?”

“You too, Zadok. Thank you.”

Those who had witnessed the altercation went out of their way to leave extra tips and, when the Lagoon finally closed, Frank volunteered to drive you home himself. However, despite your previous promise to call an Uber, you found that the crisp night air was clearing your head. Your body was also so full of adrenaline that you feared if you were driven home and tried to sleep, you’d stay up all night thinking about it.

You thought back to the old cemetery. A foolish thing, perhaps, but your hobbies had always done wonders in alleviating your stress. You had your phone, and you had pepper spray hidden in your back pocket. And, with how taut your muscles felt, you thought you could outrun anything. Besides, you wanted to see the mausoleum for yourself.

Frank thought it was a terrible idea once you told him but, knowing how stubborn you were, he made you promise to text him once you arrived and once you were safely home. If he didn’t hear from you in twenty minutes, the time it would take for you to walk there, he said he was calling the police. You reassured him that you would and then set out for your walk.

The chilly weather caused you to huddle inside your hoody for warmth, but you appreciated the full moon and the scarce stars that could be seen through the haze of light pollution. The more you walked, the more you relaxed. As you texted Frank updates, you actually felt your eyelids droop. It had been a long night. After a few moments of looking, you’d head back home.

Upon reaching the cemetery, you drank everything in—the languid shadows birthed by the yellowed moonlight, the mournfully swaying weeping willows, the damp grass and time-stained stone, the scent of decaying flowers, incense, and overturned soil. You were surprised to notice how many prominent non-human families were there. You even saw a Baron or two, one an elf and the other a goblin. You silently wished you had brought a notebook so you could jot down dates and try engraving some of the more battered headstones, but you promised yourself you would return in the daylight.

You were leaning downward, poised to take a picture of the late Yera Offley’s stone, featuring her battle-ready relief, when you saw an approaching shadow out of your periphery. Remembering the previous events of the evening, you ducked behind a nearby mausoleum and waited. The quadrupedal creature drew closer. You hid your phone’s bright screen against your chest. No sound heralded its coming, and that somehow frightened you more than its actual presence. 

“You should have known better than to loiter in graveyards at night,” a throaty rasp announced. “Didn’t I warn you? If I found one more of you children defacing the graves, there would be the Underworld to pay.” 

You fumbled with your back pocket. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” 

When you finally retrieved the pepper spray, you struggled with the safety release and dropped the can.

“Shit!” you hissed under your breath. 

You reached for it and saw another hand emerge. Its elongated, emaciated fingers were tipped with ivory claws, and fine hair grew on its knuckles and what you glimpsed of its palm. Your breath caught in your chest, and you reeled back with wide eyes. It was gangly and faintly humanoid, even though it seemed to prefer traveling on all fours, and was clothed in a tattered button-up and trousers. Its ears were large and tapered into points, and its red eyes were a stark contrast to its colorless skin. Its nose, which consisted of two raw slits, flared and its mouth, filled with sharp, yellow teeth, shut with a snap.

You barely registered that you were hyperventilating until your head grew light and black spots danced in your vision. The creature retreated and held out up both its hands placatingly.

“Calm down, Y/N. I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else... I won’t hurt you.” It slowly retrieved the can of pepper spray and offered it to you. “Here. It’s all right.”

Seeing that it wasn’t going to eat you outright, you slowly accepted the proffered can and forced your breathing to slow.

“How do you know my name?”

It canted its head to the side. “The same way you know mine.”

You tried to organize your scrambled thoughts until it hit you. Undergroundskeeper. Cemetery pictures. Past things often fade away in the dark. I look after them, though. Grindel, one of your matches on that ridiculous dating app, was a ghoul.

“You’re not supposed to be real,” you said. Ghouls were a legend, a myth, a creature that humans and monsters alike referenced in scary stories to discourage rebellious teens from disrespecting the dead. 

“And you wonder why I don’t advertise what I am,” he snorted. “There are monsters that even monsters fear.”

You thought back to his listed occupation status: Feasting on corpses overlooked by the machine. You had thought it was a grunge reference, but he meant it literally. You shakily chuckled. A living myth was in front of you, one who killed grave robbers and could supposedly travel to and fro between the mortal realm and the Underworld.

And you had matched with him 65%. The incredulity of it wasn’t lost on you. 

He blinked, seemingly confused. “What?”

“I’m tired, terrified, and in disbelief at the fact that the cryptid among cryptids took the time to install a dating app.”

He glanced downward. “Tch, All the other ones have emerged. I thought…” He waved his skeletal hand vaguely before he shook his head. Thin, cracked lips frowned. “Ah, what was I thinking? If the others face persecution, the guardians of the dead will only face that much more.”

You grew silent at his morose tone, and a part of you felt sympathetic. You remembered how he thanked you when you told him you would talk to him again. 

“Maybe... but I think if there are people brave enough to get to know you, minds will change.” You paused and added, “Like mine. I... I’d like to get to know you.” 

He surveyed your face in disbelief before his eyes landed on your neck. He slowly reached forward a hand. You gasped, more out of surprise than fear, as you registered his cold hands. His claws, which could most likely rend bloated flesh like a scissor could paper, rested on your skin as softly as a breeze.

“Who did this?” he murmured. His breath smelt of carrion. You tried to ignore it, but your stomach still instinctively curled. 

“What?”

“There’s a bruise here.”

“Oh.” You exhaled. “Just some drunk asshole at work. It bad?” 

“It depends on your definition of bad.”

You cracked a smile. “You’re always so damn cryptic.” 

His sharp teeth winked in the shadows as he returned a roguish grin. “Mysteries are no fun if they are solved right away.” His grin faded and he withdrew. “Still, I apologize for that. You weren’t kidding when you said it was a crappy job.” 

“Don’t be sorry. I told you it’s only temporary.” 

You placed the can back in your pocket and slowly rose to your feet. Your legs briefly wobbled. Grindel reached up to help you stabilize.

“Are you all right?”

You nodded, barking a short laugh. “It’s been a ride. My body’s still trying to catch up.” After texting Frank another reassurance that you were all right, you turned to your newfound companion. “Grindel?” 

“Yes, Y/N?”

“The initial reason I came here was to see the Korbin mausoleum. Could you take me to it?”

“Of course.”

Pictures couldn’t do it justice. The Romanesque carvings were breath-taking, and Grindel showed you a secret passage into the tomb, where you were able to read walls of names and observe countless bas reliefs of the harpy family.

“You like it?”

“I love it. I’ll have to come back with some of my notebooks. I’d love to do research on them. They must have so many stories to tell.”

“You’ll come back?”

The fragile hope in his voice tugged at your heart. Before you realized what you were doing, you knelt down and wrapped your arms around his neck. His skin was still as frigid as you remember, and it was disturbing how you could feel every rib and bump in his spine. However, your sympathy outweighed every other thought when Grindel carefully returned your embrace, hands hovering just above your hoody. If you were still a little frightened, then he was terrified of this fragile tie between the two of you.

You mustered up the courage to turn your head and gently press your lips to his sharp cheekbone. He sharply inhaled. His breath still testified to his unorthodox diet, but you found you could grow used to that, too.

“I promise.”

@thetravelerwrites, @ban23