Vacation Troubles

By Hailey Huntington

An ordinary person only has to worry about a delayed plane, lost luggage, and the like interrupting their vacation. Me? I had to deal with a cryptid making headlines.

While I love the hubbub of NYC, I was ready to shut my mind off of work for a while. After several years, I’d finally pinched enough pennies to head to “The Land Down Under.” Magical Persons officers—despite how few and important we are—do not have large salaries. It’s one of the drawbacks of being a secret organization—that, and the patheticness of our staff Christmas parties.

Two flights and a train later, I walked down the Hawkesbury sidewalk, duffle bag slung over my shoulder. My gaze flickered over the people I passed, assessing them. Did that guy have slits for pupils? Were that baby’s teeth slightly pointed?

I shook my head, rubbing my temples. When you spend every day trying to find people with magic in their blood, it is hard to not automatically search for the signs. Maybe I needed this break more than I thought.

Ten minutes later, I inhaled deeply, the scent of meat pies clearing my mind from the stresses of work. Every pie in the case looked tantalizing. I chose a few, knowing I would want leftovers for a late-night snack. As the pies were packed to go, my gaze drifted across the street to a restaurant advertising their fresh, grilled kangaroo steaks. My mouth watered—jet lag always makes me hungry. Two other patrons walked up behind me, their conversation drawing me out of my dreams of a true steakhouse in the outback.

“Did you hear that there was another Moolyewonk sighting?”

My ears pricked up, and not just because of the accent. I was rusty on my international magical creatures, but Moolyewonk sounded familiar.

“Yes! And just a week before that cryptid hunter comes!”

The conversation veered away onto other topics, but a sinking feeling had already settled in my stomach. When receiving my MP badge, I, Peter James, had vowed to protect all magical persons and creatures. My gut told me that I’d end up crossing paths with the Moolyewonk while I was here.

I picked up my bag of pies and headed for the door. The sun was already setting, and I still needed to check in for my houseboat rental.

“Be careful out there,” the rental man said, passing me the boat key. “The Moolyewonk recently made an appearance.”

“What exactly is the Moolyewonk?”

“The monster of the mighty Hawkesbury River! It’s been around for ages—there are even Aboriginal paintings of it.”

I nodded. “I’ll be careful to keep an eye out.” And I meant it.

Staring across the night-lit river, I took a bite of my steaming meat pie. An appreciative hmm escaped. While it couldn’t top my love of the New York classics, the pastry definitely received high marks from me.

The water rippled nearby. I tensed, ready. A serpentine neck rose out of the water several yards away, wet scales gleaming in the moonlight.

Clearing my throat, I let out an awkward string of high-pitched moans and squeals, with a few tongue clicks mixed in. Every continent except for Antarctica has at least one known lake monster, so learning their language is a badge requirement.

“Hey! Over here. What are you doing?”

The Moolyewonk’s head swiveled around, dark eyes landing on me. Instantly, he dipped below the water.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Dropping to my stomach, I leaned over the edge of the boat’s patio and dunked my head in the water. “Get back here! Otherwise, I’m going to contact the local MP office and tell them I caught you breaking restraints.”

Lake and river monsters were all the same. They couldn’t resist an occasional sighting and the stir that it caused. They basked in the attention. MP officials had a few close calls with someone obtaining actual proof in the past, and all monsters had been given strict guidelines to keep them safe. The Moolyewonk wasn’t the only one to test the rules’ limits.

My lungs were demanding oxygen when the Moolyewonk finally responded. “All right.”

I pulled my head up, sucking a deep breath, as small waves crashed against the side of the boat and the Moolyewonk’s head surfaced near me. His dark eyes met mine, looking slightly guilty.

Since this wasn’t my local field, and I hadn’t been called here on business, I needed to be careful to stay within my jurisdiction. Pulling myself into a sitting position, I tried to look professional while water dripped off my nose. “Your defiance of the rules has a cryptid hunter coming for you. I’m sure the MP office is already working to neutralize the situation, but if I see you poking your head out again, I’m going to tell them of your utter carelessness. Surfacing close to a boat? You’re not forgetting the rules—you’re flaunting defiance. Do you understand?”

The Moolyewonk ducked his head. “Yes.”

“Good. You can go now,” I grunted, and the Moolyewonk sank into the river. With a sigh, I picked up the remains of my meat pie, grabbed a towel, and headed into the houseboat. Hopefully, that would take care of the situation, and I could actually unplug from work now.

Flopping down on the couch, I flicked the TV on. A random news channel filled the screen. The reporter flashed a polished grin at the camera. “Next up, there has been more buzz about the mysterious ‘black panther’ of the nearby Blue Mountains. What actually is this creature?”

I groaned.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hailey Huntington is a speculative fiction author, penning tales of wonder, hope, and heroes, with a dash of wit. Her stories can be found online and in various print anthologies. When not writing or reading, Hailey can be found listening to her favorite film scores, making homemade ice cream, or spending time with her family.

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