One glance inside of the minivan that was currently chugging away in its endeavor to climb the steep grade of the mountain road and would not be remiss to think that a family of Lovecraftian horrors had decided to take a Sunday afternoon drive. But that would be far, far from the truth of the matter, for the beasts that resided within were naught but moles of the Star-Nosed variety.
Each one no taller than three and a half feet(maybe pressing closer to four-foot if you counted the mother’s updo), the Star-Nosed Mole was a rarity in these parts of the world; very few have ever migrated this far south, and those that have had gone through extensive facial reconstruction to remove their namesake appendage in an effort to blend in.
Each of the four portly moles sported their signature tentacled nose, a fragment of their species’ primal era millions of years ago, long before they became upright and intelligent. And while they are no longer needed in these modern times, in the past, the ultra-sensitive tentacles could be used to detect vibrations from underground, alerting it to both prey and predator long before either one would have known it was there.
Now, the tentacled appendage had become reviled in the eyes of modern-day beasts, drawing back at the sight of the prehensile, wriggling fleshy appendages that no longer served a purpose beyond a simple, unsightly namesake.
That is unless you were one Desmond Mogu. Eldest son of Billie and Kelly Mogu. Native of the great state of Pennsylvania and all-around mooch champion.
Desmond had, in his late twenties, leaned heavily on the fact that he was a sight to behold and fashioned himself after it. Cursed with an egg-shaped body, Desmond had found denim overalls to be the most comfortable piece of clothing he could wear and thus was never seen without them. Lending further to the odd, almost cartoonish appearance, he was often seen wearing a pinstripe shirt of some variety beneath.
Little beady black eyes, magnified by the thick pair of eyeglasses resting on the bridge of his snout, glared back at him as he glanced into the passenger side’s rear-view mirror, head pressed firmly against the window pane.
“Dessy, honey,” his mother behind the wheel squeaked, “Are you absolutely sure you packed all your necessities? Toothbrush? Clean underwear? Deodorant?”
The tentacles on his nose hung limp across his mouth like a handlebar mustache as he ignored his mother’s question and kept scrolling through his phone.
Billie and Kelly shared an unseen nervous glance with each other before his father, Billie, repeated the question.
“For the last fucking time, yes!” Desmond finally replied. “I don’t even understand why we packed like we did when we’re only going to be staying at your, what? Cousins ranch? Goddamn, I didn’t need to pack ALL of my underwear for that.”
On top of the mooch that Desmond had become under his family’s roof, his callous outbursts and foul language had begun to leave sour impressions on the youngest member of the family: Little Katrina Mogu, age four.
“Fucking time! Fucking time!” His little sister squeaked, parroting Desmond’s exact tone, horrifying their parents.
“Katrina!” Her mother shouted, snapping her head around and completely taking her already poor eyesight off the road ahead, which had begun to snake its way around the mountain.
“Kelly, dear! Eyes on the road!” Billie shouted, old, pale-pink tentacles wriggling erratically in terror. A star-nosed tentacles were often times a good indicator of that particular beast’s emotions.
Desmond’s mother whipped her head back around, quickly regaining her composure as the car leveled out. “Desmond, please, can you not use that sort of language while in the car with your sister? Or, for that matter, while we’re around my… family? Please, for my sake?” She pleaded, but sounding more demanding than anything.
“Oh look dear, there’s a place to stop and admire the view!” said the older mole, but the female driving the old van failed to slow down for it, eager to reach their destination.
“Honey, I can barely see the road in front of me. I don’t think that I could really appreciate seeing the mountainscape—“ chancing a glance at her husband, his tentacles falling limp and lifeless again, though she knew it had nothing to do with not getting to stop. She placed a claw on his thigh and squeezed, which he met by putting his own atop hers. They shared another glance.
“Look, daddy! A wolfy!” Katrina yelled, pointing at the beast standing by the lookout point as they drove past, bouncing in her car seat. Desmond paid her or the wolf no mind.
Another hour passed. His parents jammed out to some golden oldies while his little sister watched cartoons on her tablet. Desmond ignored it all: His family, the scenery flashing by outside, the fact that he had been up since 5am this morning to go on this stupid vacation that his parents had overpacked for!
He could be at home right now, stewing in his attic bedroom, browsing the deepnet and trolling terminally online retards.
He kept to himself at the house. Sure, he didn’t have a job, but he cleaned the dishes he dirtied up… sometimes. He didn’t get in his family’s way, never bringing beasts over to hang out(mainly because he had no friends). Hell, he’d argue that he was more conservative when it came to the electric bill because he never used the lights in his bedroom!
He was a good son who kept his nose out of trouble all his life. All thirty-two years of it. Sure, he had a dirty mouth, but who the fuck gave two goddamn shits about that? He just wanted this vacation to end so he could go home—
“Well, looky there, dear. An honest-to-gosh K-Mart,” His father pointed a cracked claw, obscuring his wife’s vision as she tried focusing on the road.
Another corpse from his long-dead childhood, Desmond thought as his eyes shifted upwards, but to his amazement, it wasn’t the old, dilapidated husk of a long-since abandoned K-Mart, but one that was actually up and running AND packed with customers.
“Wait!” Desmond yelled, “Can we stop there, please? I promise I won’t use another bad word for the rest of the trip if we do.”
This time, he saw the look his parents gave each other, the van coming to a slow crawl as his mother merged into the turning lane, accepting her son’s offer with a solemn smile.
Thirty minutes later, the family emerged from the store. Desmond carrying two bags full of snacks. He’d keep the one bag in perfect condition and frame it or something when he got back home later in the week. The other he’d spend the vacation blogging about, screaming about his nostalgia and how such a store could still be operational in this day and age, and nobeast is talking about it.
Desmond thrived on nostalgia, particularly that from his childhood spent in the 90s. His hairstyle, though he’d never tell anybeast this, was styled after the curtained look that many boy band members sported between 1997 and 1999. He even kept the tips frosted.
K-Marts had all but disappeared from the world. He double and triple-checked the data, and there were no stores listed for this area. Confused, he poked his tongue out of the side of his mouth and gently held it between his teeth.
Not wanting to take the chance of missing any further anomolies, Desmond diverted his attention away from his phone for the first time the whole trip and was actively scanning the surroundings.
“More like ‘Bitchhedge’,” he whispered to himself as they passed the admittedly, impressive hand-carved sign that displayed the town’s name.
The van came to a halt behind a smaller vehicle—a Toyota. It remained motionless at the stop sign, the driver of the vehicle’s head moving from left to right, seemingly scanning the area.
“Oh, come on—“ The older female mole yelled, laying her paw on the horn in hopes of spurring the beast into motion. It worked as the left turn signal came on, and the vehicle began to move. “There wasn’t even any traffic; what was their problem?” She shook her head in frustration, almost too eager now to get to their destination.
When the van finally came to a halt on the curb, not a single beast made a move to step out. Nobeast even spoke, the sound of Spongebob Squarepants coming out of the tablet’s speakers being the only other noise accompanying the hum of the engine.
“Well…” Kelly said, looking at her offspring in the backseat via the rearview mirror. “We’re here.” She exhaled loudly, then hit the switch and unlocked the hatchback. She took one last look at her husband, sharing the sight of each other’s eyes for longer than they probably should have.
Desmond had taken notice, noting that neither of his parent’s nose tentacles were moving.
The back of the van swung open, allowing the oddly warm air to flood the vehicle’s cab as his mother appeared behind the wall of suitcases and black plastic trash bags full of clothing. “…Hey, Desmond dear, do you think you could give me a helping paw back here?” Her voice sounded almost sorrowful. Again, taking note of his surroundings finally, he began to wonder what the real reason was for having to come up here to visit family so suddenly; Ones he hadn’t even known existed before yesterday at that.
He failed to notice the sound of the doors locking back as he slammed his door back in place, circling the van to help his mother, whom he caught glancing upward toward the second story of the building towering over them.
“You all right, mother?”
“Huh? Oh, yes,” she said through a sniffle, “The flowers are blooming here already, and it’s just triggering my allergies, is all. Here, get your suitcase so that I can take my stuff out. Billie dear, could you come and give us a hand?”
His father didn’t budge.
“Your father, I swear,” She said, setting the last of Desmond’s luggage on the sidewalk before looping back around to the driver’s side with a spring in her step.
What Desmond had expected to happen versus what actually happened next would have almost been a shock to him had he not begun to feel somewhat suspicious over the last several minutes.
His mother jerked the driver’s side door back open. She jumped back in, shifting the vehicle into drive and slamming her paw against the gas pedal, spinning the tires and leaving a skidmark as the van flew down Main Street, narrowly hitting the purple fox that had just attempted to cross the street.
Though the back of the van was still hanging wide open, the old, rusted vehicle had disappeared around the bend right before the big government-looking building at the end of the street, taking with it Desmond’s family.
“If I didn’t know any better,” he paused for a second in sort of disbelief, “I’d say they planned that.” He spoke to no one in particular, but his words still danced upon the eardrums of a cat that had been perched out of the window directly above him.
“Sadly, they had. Come inside, we’ll talk.”
Desmond hadn’t realized it, likely to the relief of his parents, but he’d been standing outside of a boarding house.
“Welcome to the Dawning Sunrise Boarding House! All beasts are welcome!” the sign on the door said.
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