The creature slipped its fingers beneath the edge of the bedroom window and slowly lifted it up, leaking damp air from the storm outside into the room. Its hands were webbed, almost amphibian, ending in black claws. August backpedaled in horror, stumbling into his computer chair.

Stepping through the open window, lightning cracking behind it, the creature stood in full view. It was the same bald, tentacled face with eyes like black pools, but now it was wearing clothes—a rather sensible three piece tweed suit in forest green with a matching cane.

“Good evening, August. My name is Finian,” it said, tipping an imaginary hat with an elegant flourish.

August jerked his head around, looking to his closed bedroom door. Could his grandparents hear? Should he cry out for help? Was this even real? And if he did cry out, only for them to discover him alone in his room, would he be committed to a mental institution just like his mother?

“Apologies if I startled you. I hail from the Malgarii, a splendid species residing on the moon. And before you ask, yes, the moon is more than just a rocky satellite. At its core it harbors many souls such as me and myself, and a few much like you.” Finian's voice was calm, almost lyrical. He had the cadence of a mid-century actor from a classic film.

August, not much for words, sat still with his mouth slightly agape. Of all the things he expected, this wasn’t it.

The creature, Finian, adjusted his bowtie and then collected and stiffened the lapels of his suit. “I’m sure you have many questions, and I’m happy to answer. But, we’ll have to do it on the way.”

“On the way where?” said August, finally managing to speak, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I have been charged by the Princess of the Moon to find you and bring you to court. She has a request of you.” Finian's tone was earnest, his large eyes reflecting the dim light in the room.

“What does she want?” August’s fear was momentarily overcome with curiosity.

“To help you. And in turn, you might help her. Come, we don’t have much time.” Finian extended a webbed hand towards August.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

“Help me how?” demanded August.

“Don’t you wonder, August, why no one can remember you? Where your father has gone? What affliction ails your mother? This town is in a haze, August. With her help, you may be able to lift this curse. But you must first come with me…”

August hesitated, glancing back at his bedroom door one last time. There was nothing left for him here—no life, no future. Maybe this was his only chance. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“I saved you from that closet, didn’t I?” Finian ran his fingers along the top of his cane. “You’re welcome, by the way. It’s always to your best advantage to have a Malgarii watching over you. In addition, Malgarii cannot lie—it is fatal for us. You can put your trust in me, I assure you.”

Taking a deep breath, he reached out and grasped Finian's hand. It was warmer than August expected.

"Good lad," Finian said with a nod. "Now, hold on tight. The first step, as always, is a doozy!" With that, they stepped towards the window and Finian jumped, and August was pulled down with him.

They landed haphazardly in the grass below, the wet ground softening the fall. “Oh, but to have the grace of Fred Astaire!” said Finian. Rising to his feet, Finian patted the dirt from his pants and looked over to August, “Do you know him?”

August, bewildered by the situation and the question, and still reeling from the fall, shook his head. “Like, personally? No, I think he died before I was born.”

“That is unfortunate news. I am quite the fan. It takes some time for us to receive broadcasts on the moon, so I may not be so familiar with current events.” Finian began moving across the lawn towards the street, the raindrops wicking off his purple-blue skin. He motioned August to follow.

“Did you see him dance on the ceiling?” asked Finian, using his cane to lift up a manhole cover from the center of the street, illuminated in the yellow glow of a single streetlight.

“I didn’t,” replied August. He looked down at the now exposed hole into the sewer. “Where did you get that suit?”

“I acquired it through the power of theft! The cover of darkness is the only benefit of this wretched storm.”

“I thought you couldn’t lie,” said August wryly.

“Theft is a wholly different crime from lying.” Finian gave a wink, or his best approximation to what he believed a wink might be.

August considered the situation—he was standing beneath a single light in the middle of the street, in the rain, in otherwise total darkness, beside a well-dressed squid. Then, because he’d come so far already, he decided that he might as well go along with it. It couldn’t possibly get more absurd, could it? “So, where are we going?”

“I’m glad you asked! This may seem most counterintuitive, but sometimes in order to go up, you must go down. My ship has been unfortunately confiscated by your authorities, so our journey must begin from below.”

August took one last look at the shoddy little house on stilts, the place he had called his home for so many years. It rocked back and and forth in the storm, clearly on its way to collapsing like so many of its neighbors before it. He would miss Grandma, and even crotchety old Grandpa Nick. His eyes followed down to the rain water that collected and moved in rivers along the curbs, pouring into the open manhole. It looked to him like a thirsty mouth, ready to swallow him up too. Taking one last deep breath, he followed Finian into the darkness below.