The !popculture skinwalker/cryptid AU no one asked for-
It’s around late September when his students start throwing around the terms “Mothman” “Wendigo” “The Jersey Devil” “Skinwalkers” “Flesh Gates” “Creepypasta”? “Slenderman” “The Russian Sleep Experiment” and, of course, “Bigfoot”.
Yes, he’s heard of Bigfoot, who hasn’t? As much as he’s heard of him, he is also 120% sure that no such thing exists. There are just way too many variables to account for as to why the human race across multiple cultures, regions, and, time periods has conjured up the idea of a big hairy woodland monster. See, despite oral tradition stories being a staple across human kind, there simply was not enough concrete evidence to prove the existence of such a creature. And sure, he’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, there’s a lot of things left to be discovered, mysteries to solve, threads to unravel. But, how are we in the 21st century still having trouble finding a supposedly extremely large primate that is supposed to leave behind gigantic tracks, and oh I don’t know, doesn’t live at the bottom of the ocean where light can barely penetrate through the depths and find other mutated organisms down there. No, this was a large, hairy, primate living in the mountains. So sue him if he thinks that’s crazy.
The kids only continue to talk, and Grace, much to his displeasure, listens, because of course he does. Suddenly he’s not just hearing the terms thrown around loosely, no, he somehow now has an entire catalog in his brain just dedicated to each of the different stories.
The Jersey devil goes filed right along side big foot. Despite the origin of a concoction of animals being slapped together and being NATURALLY born to a random lady in New Jersey, again, Grace is pretty sure we would’ve found a giant-winged monster hiding in the Jersey forests by now.
Mothman files in right behind it, and so on and so forth. Then he starts hearing things like “Big foot is an inter dimensional space traveler” and he for sure thinks he’s lost it. Because, simply put, what the fuck. Even more so is when the kids start saying stuff about “missing 411”? What even is that?
Grace is too curious for his own good.
He looks it up, and is an equal amount of surprised and unsurprised to find out what missing 411 constitutes as. And then he goes down the rabbit hole.
Sure, let’s say for the sake of the argument that it’s real. Big foot is an inter dimensional space traveler. It would explain the whole, never finding or acquiring concrete evidence of his existence. It would explain the handful of missing 411 cases that seem to be big foot related. Where some of these kids have gone. Where some of these people have been taken.
Hmm. No. Big foot is not an inter dimensional space traveler. If anything maybe, maybe , wormholes exist. That would make more explanation to the missing 411, especially because as much as Bigfoot seemed to be generally acclaimed to be connected to the cases, upon further research he really wasn’t even a plausible explanation for many of the documented cases.
He was getting way too invested in this stuff man.
Luckily, Grace was able to distinguish the difference between the somewhat “credible” stories and documented cases and the completely fictional tho possibly based on some true events or myths that was creepy pastas.
He even gave his class a quick PSA as to why slenderman does not exist, how he was created and reminded his students that they really should not sacrifice each other to slenderman in a forest, or sacrifice anything to anyone. (He saw the news article). It was crazy to think about, those girls being his students ages, absolutely wild.
Then come the Skinwalkers. They’re pretty intriguing despite there being multiple different variations and names for them. He thinks they’re pretty akin to the wendigos and flesh gates. Upon deeper research he realizes, roughly, what distinguishes the three. Like sure wendigos are said to be humans that ate other humans and now have an insatiable hunger, and flesh gaits who wear the skins of its victims impersonating them, and skinwalkers that are basically evil human witches more or less.
Where in the world were his students finding this stuff man.
By early October Grace had become a self acclaimed expert on all things pop culture internet horror. He finally picked up the lingo the kids had been spreading around, and even recalled a few key names like “Dennis Martin” “David Paulides” “The Lore Lodge” “Wendigoon” and more.
But despite his in depth research of all things related to cryptozoology, all of it was fruitless, and now more than ever Grace was sure none of this stuff could even be remotely real. He told Colt as much on their way to Yosemite for their impromptu camping trip, specifically requested by Colt himself. Ghosts weren’t real, Cryptids were made up, and Santa clause was a fraud. Of these three things, Grace was sure.
Colt couldn’t help but share a similar outlook on the situation (minus the Santa clause part). So of course he triple dog dared his twin to walk half a mile into the woods by himself on the second night of their week long camping trip to prove that there were absolutely no such things as monsters lurking in the trees. (He would be fine, if anything Ryland should be more concerned about the wild animals or feral people than cryptids- right?…)
Ryland, begrudgingly, agrees to the terms of the dare.
Wandering off into the moonlit woods at 2 in the morning, arming himself with nothing but a flashlight. Okay, fine, maybe not his smartest idea ever. But it was better than nothing.
The first couple feet really weren’t so bad, he could still make out the dimly lit flickering of the fire that had reduced itself to embers at their campsite. The moonlight reflected off of the glistening leaves, adding extra visibility to his surroundings.
It wasn’t until he was a good 50 yards in that he realized he could no longer tell which way the campsite was. If it had not been for the literal trail he had been walking on he’s sure he would not be making it back to civilization any time soon. Screw him and his lack of sense of direction.
Only a few more feet before he noticed just how quiet the forest had gotten. Everything seemed to stand still, almost as if it was… watching him? Ha, yeah.
Okay, call him a coward, a cry baby, whatever floats your boat, but there’s no way he’s continuing all the way for half a mile. Nope, no siree. He’d continue for maybe another 20 feet, turn around, and high tail it back to their cam where Colt would be waiting for him.
Then, almost as quickly as it had settled, the silence flitted away. The sound of bugs hummed through the woods, frogs croaking in the distance. And then he heard it. The sweetest tune he thought he had ever heard. Wind chimes, and a pan flute. The notes drifted through the air, swimming around his head before nestling themselves softly into the crevices of his ears.
Where in the world was that sound coming from?
All rational thought seemed to fly away from his brain. He would not turn around in another 20 feet, he’d continue deep into the woods until he discovered what could make such a lovely sound. The song was meant just for him after all. How could he ignore such a sweet gesture?
It sounded as if the song was coming from the very heart of the woods itself, the only problem was that there didn’t seem to be a trail that led to his desired location.
He could be a trailblazer, couldn’t he? Screw it, of course he could!
And so has made his second mistake, wandering aimlessly off the beaten path, stumbling into the darkness of night.
The further he went, the louder the song got, clouding his mind, forcing every other thought out of his head. He felt dumb, almost comatose as he stumbled through the woods, desperate to find the song.
One moment he was pushing forward through the thicket and the next he was stomach down on the rocks and moss. The song took over completely now, shoving out every other thought and feeling from his brain. It was comforting, a stark contrast to the piercing fear that had stabbed through his body at the impact. He could faintly feel the weight of something, no, someone, on his back, holding him down, keeping him quiet.
“Shh,” the song sang. “Be quiet, please,” it pleaded.
How could he say no to something so beautiful?
His heart rate slowed, breathing long and shallow. If anyone were to find his body they’d think him dead, he’s sure of it.
Footsteps, he thinks he hears footsteps. That is what the crunch of the leaves around him is, right? There’s something off about them though.
Mm, who cares? His brain sings, humming along to the melodic tune.
They were too far apart, the crunches. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human. He felt the weight lift off his back, and the air hummed. It was a low rumble that shook his bones. It was, possessive almost. It sent a spike of fear coursing through him, yet he still couldn’t bring himself to move.
Eventually whatever extra thing that had been here left, and finally the song began to retreat, fear flooding every inch of his being. And when he was finally able to stand again the only glimpse he could get of the thing, was its bright yellow eyes peering through the night.
How the fuck was he supposed to get back to camp?
Eventually after much stumbling around and more circles than he’d like to admit, Grace does find his way back to his brother, a little shaken, a little battered, but whole.
They make it through the rest of their camping trip with little to no hiccups. A strange sound here or there, but the song has yet to return. And yet, Grace wouldn’t be able to put the ‘stupid’ in ‘Ryland Grace’ if he didn’t have his morbid curiosity.
So two weeks later, after constructing a terrible chart of pictures and red string on a cork board, Grace takes a bus back out to Yosemite by himself, and ventures back into the woods, looking for a phantom.
He’s better prepared this time. He still has his flashlight, but he’s added a machete, a whistle, emergency flares, noise canceling headphones, and bear mace to his arsenal.
It takes him forever. No song, no nothing, just plain woods. He almost turns around, feeling crazy for even coming back out here in the first place.
He’s in 1.25 miles when he finds something strange.
-Yes, even stranger than a song in the woods.
It’s a massive marble staircase. It’s clean, like someone had just built it. White stone glowing in the moonlight.
What was even weirder, was that it went up,
The railing trailed the sides but left a gaping hole where the case would normally attach to a floor. Whoever went up would go right over the edge.
He racked his brain, he couldn’t recall any whispers from his students about strange ballroom staircases, nor had he remembered seeing anything about them in his brief escapades online.
He took a tentative step toward the structure. What? He was intrigued. Sue him if he wanted a closer look.
His feet shuffled forward with a mind of their own until he stood right before the first step. His eyes traced the intricate fractals growing in the marble and then he moved. His arm reached out, foot lifted as he was about step onto the grand staircase. And then he heard it.
The wind chimes were loud, right behind him, a stark contrast to the crescendo they had been the last time he had heard them.
“Don’t.” It said sharply. This time was different. His head felt clearer, vision still sharp, and he most certainly could feel the absolute terror flood through his veins.
He froze in place, limbs lifted ever so slightly. They strained as he kept them in the air, but he felt that if he moved even an inch, he wouldn’t live to see the sunrise. He gulped at the thought.
“Are you humans always this stupid?” The song berated him lightly. Oh, fuck this guy man. He had a PHD for Christ sake! Who the fuck were they to call him stupid!?
“What!? Who are you calling stupid?!” He screeched indignantly, whipping around to face the music, heh 😼.
The first thing he was met with were the same pair of piercing yellow eyes that quickly made him shut his mouth. It(?) was a man(?) no. Not a man. A thing? Yeah sure, the thing stood there, just a few inches shorter than Grace himself. Glowing yellow eyes with slits for pupils, long black unruly hair cascading down his frame. He had no clothing, but what looked as if it could be some semblance of a foliage skirt? Covered his lower half. His face was almost that of a humans, you know, if you could look past the giant gaping hole in the side of his cheek that had tube like structures protruding from it. The same type of structure omitted itself from its stomach, placement right where ribs should be. The creature was bipedal, long sharp teeth poking from its lips, gnarled claws curling at its hand. It looked as if it should have another arm, tho it seemed as if it had almost been ripped clean off.
Despite everything, Grace couldn’t help the erratic thump of his heart inside his chest.
Oh fuck him, he was going to hell.
Right, Grace, do something.
“He he, uh, hi there.” He shot the thing finger guns.
Oh you’ve got to be kidding me. Finger guns? Seriously! You meet a strange creature in the woods and your go to move is finger guns!??
“I- I’m Grace, nice to meet you.” He stuttered out, trying to push down the feeling of intense hostility.
“Grr-Ayyss,” it sung. He watched as it took in a breath letting it out passing over the protruding tubes as something rattled about inside of it clanging together to create the pan flute wind chime effect.
He couldn’t help the smile that took over his features. Wow. That was cool.
“Yeah, that’s me!” He replied, “and, you are?”
The being sat silent for a moment.
“Simon.” It whispered, a beat, and then. “I’m sorry,” it trilled. Woah. It could trill. Grace wanted nothing more than to sit down with Simon and write down everything about him in that moment.
“Sorry for what? I don’t think anything has happened, yet. Are you going to like, you know, kill me or something?” Grace laughed nervously, pulling at his collar.
“The other night.” He replied. “Did not want to hurt you, the others, wanted blood.” Then he added almost angrily, like a mother scolding a child, “you humans need to be smarter, stay out of the woods, don’t follow pretty things, and stick to your trails. Stupid dumb dumb dumb dumb idiot.” He hissed.
“Okay, yeah, admittedly, not my brightest idea, but you know, curiosity, cats, all that.” He waved a hand about absentmindedly.
“Go home. Now.” Simon chimed harshly. “Do not come back.”
And with that, the stranger was gone. When Grace turned around once again the staircase had vanished, and he was standing at the edge of the parking lot, sun rising in the east.
TLDR: Simon is a spooky cryptid, Grace is a hardcore nonbeliever until he gets his world view shattered and in his own special scientific mindset, sets out to discover the truth of the universe. The only problem with that is that Simon’s species(?) eats humans, for nutritional value but mainly as a cultural thing. Simon doesn’t like the blood on his hands, and tries to spare as many lives as he can. But it doesn’t erase the sins of his past. And he’d really wish that cute blond would stop coming into his woods. There was only so much a “picky possessive eater” excuse could do for him when it came to saving Grace from cruel and painful death.
And of course the whole AU was brought to you by Noah floersch The skinwalker, song, :)
Sorry if there’s any incorrect descriptions of terms used, I just kinda rushed to throw this together and make it somewhat easily understandable, I know there’s a lot more to a lot of the cryptids and their origin stories and stuff but for the sake of fun it has been short handed and digestable.
Anywayyssss, thanks for stopping in 🫶🫶🫶
