The Humdrum Lives of Cryptids, Monsters, and Villains

By M. R. Holman

The fantastic, intriguing, and exciting stories and legends of mysterious creatures and their enigmatic habits have been well documented and retold over and over for millennia... But what do these critters do during a regular day in their lives? It almost seems as though their normal lives are even more mysterious than their legendary brushes with mankind. For instance, how does Bigfoot fare during a trip to the grocery store? Can the Loch Ness Monster deal with customer service representatives long enough to get her rockin’ custom made electric guitar replaced? Are mummies able to adequately replace broken air conditioning units and interpret text messages from their estranged ex-girlfriends? Can the robot that the Loch Ness Monster built to simplify her life adequately perform stand-up comedy and survive being launched into space?

The Humdrum Lives of Cryptids, Monsters, and Villains examines these scenarios and many more! No longer will the day-to-day activities of these creatures remain shrouded in mystery. This collection of thirteen original short stories includes:

Bigfoot: A Trip to the Grocery Store
Zombie: Attending an Outdoor Music Festival
Loch Ness Monster: Ordering an Electric Guitar
Mummy: Repairing an Air Conditioner
Werewolf: Opening A Café
Mermaid: Replacing a VCR
Centaur: A Subpar Vacation Experience
Minotaur: Ordering a Pizza to the Labyrinth
Bigfoot: Starting a Blog
A Day in the Afterlife of Bigfoot’s Ghost: Renewing a Library Card
Some Ado About Literally Everything: A Play by William Snakespeare
The Robot Loch Ness Monster: Trying Stand-Up Comedy Again
Dragon: Selected for Jury Duty

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. R. Holman
• Release date: May 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310512117

M. R. Holman

Howdy! The books and stories I've now published are a far-cry from the torn and worn notepad in which I jotted a brief story regarding my G.I. Joes some twenty-odd years ago (I like to think that my writing has gotten much better since first grade too). I would like to sincerely thank you for stopping by and (hopefully) reading some of my work. It has been a dream of mine for quite some time to share my stories with the world.It took a great deal of patience and wherewithal of mind to overcome my habit of daydreaming these distant worlds and fantastic scenarios and actually sit down to write about them. From long nights in front of a glowing computer, to jotting outlines during lunch at work, to getting called out by professors for not paying attention in class when an idea struck, I've been honing my craft daily and working toward delivering stories that will excite, inspire, initiate reflection upon mankind's condition, and cause the reader to appreciate the real world around them as well as the fictional worlds that I have created.I hope dearly that you enjoy my work. Be confident that, even now, I am striving and focusing toward delivering something better than I have before!

Book preview

The Humdrum Lives Of Cryptids, Monsters, And Villains

By: M. R. Holman

Published by M.R. Holman at Smashwords

Text copyright © 2016 M. R. Holman

All Rights Reserved

Table of Contents

Minotaur: Ordering a Pizza to the Labyrinth

Zombie: Attending an Outdoor Music Festival

Loch Ness Monster: Ordering an Electric Guitar

Werewolf: Opening a Cafe

The Robot Loch Ness Monster: Trying Stand-Up Comedy Again

Bigfoot: Starting a Blog

A Day in the Afterlife of Bigfoot's Ghost: Renewing a Library Card

Some Ado About Literally Everything: A Play by William Snakespeare

Dragon: Selected for Jury Duty

Mermaid: Replacing a VCR

Bigfoot: A Trip to the Grocery Store

Centaur: A Subpar Vacation Experience

A Brief Note to the Reader

Minotaur: Ordering a Pizza to the Labyrinth

Torchlight flickered deep in the damp, maze-like halls of a labyrinth. The light reflected off the back of a minotaur's long, razor sharp horns. The front of the minotaur's horns were reflecting the light from an open refrigerator.

The cool air spilt over the minotaur's hooves as it bent its gargantuan body over and examined the contents of the embarrassingly understocked refrigerator. The minotaur, whose name was Torrance, pushed aside the few items contained in the refrigerator, desperately hoping that some unknown treat or morsel of food may present itself to him.

Nothing! Torrance grunted as he moved the lone carton of Minotaur Milk to reveal a nearly empty jar of apricot jam. Nothing worth eating anyways... he said as he eyed a black banana in the fruit drawer in the bottom of the refrigerator. It took a great deal of self-control not to wretch at the sight of it. He slammed the drawer shut, deciding to deal with the rotten banana later, maybe when his appetite had been satiated and his will was stronger.

Torrance closed the refrigerator door as well and opened the freezer. His humanoid hands darted for a frost laded box in the corner of the freezer. It was hardly even visible beneath the mountain of ice that had accumulated over it. It would not budge. It was frozen in place.

His fingernails scratched at the ice until the cover of the bright blue box was visible. The vivid red words on the cover read: 'One Minute Microwave Minotaur Meals - Voted the Number One Microwavable Dinner of 1998'.

1998... Goodness, Torrance said under his breath. He had not even lived in this particular labyrinth for that long. Had this One Minute Microwave Minotaur Meal really been hidden in the corner of his freezer since he had moved in? And more importantly, was a microwaveable meal safe to eat if it had been frozen for almost two decades?

He decided to call his mother and ask her. She had always been frugal when it came to the grocery spending, and had always been able to stretch out their supplies as long as possible so as to avoid going to the Crypto-Supermarket. Minotaurs are notorious shut-ins.

He walked into his living room, turned down the volume on his blaring television, and picked up his cell phone. As he sat down on his comfortable leather couch, he scrolled through his contact list until he found his mother. He noticed that it had been over a week since he had last called her, and he prepared to be scolded for such as he pressed send.

The phone rang twice before a disgruntled, deep female voice answered the phone, Well, well, well...

Hey mom, Torrance said, rolling his eyes. His mother was always so dramatic when he forgot to call her for this long. His hooves tapped nervously against his stone floor.

I suppose you need something, she said coldly.

Well, yes, Torrance said, thinking wildly of another reason for his call before continuing quickly. But I was also wanting to ask how you and dad are doing? Are the labyrinth renovations going smoothly?

Oh, his mother said, her demeanor changing instantly. Well, of course, the renovations are going horribly. She always said that, regardless of how the renovations were coming along. His parents' labyrinth was in a constant state of alteration. It was getting to the point that even they were getting lost inside of it. Torrance was unsure if that made it an excellent labyrinth or a subpar labyrinth. What use was a labyrinth if the minotaurs themselves could not navigate its winding halls?

Ohhh... Sorry to hear that, mom, Torrance said in what he hoped was a consoling voice. What's happening this time?

It's the painters! she said at once with a snort from her bull-like nostrils. I told them that I wanted every single inch to be painted in Black Hole Black, but they painted everything in Mine Shaft Black! And they thought I wouldn't know the difference... nonsense! Anyone with eyes can tell the difference between Black Hole Black and Mine Shaft Black. They're as different as night and day!

Torrance had to disagree with this sentiment, but he did not voice it. He had never been good at distinguishing the subtle differences between paint colors. He assumed, rather than being as different as night and day, that Black Hole Black and Mine Shaft Black were more likely the difference between night and a few minutes later in the night.

Oh really, mom? What a mix up...

It's an embarrassment is what it is! What if we were to have company over... What would they say? she said, sounding almost hysterical. Aside from the occasional wayward adventurer, they had not had company to the labyrinth in living memory.

Yeah, that's a real shame. Mom, I wanted to ask you about - ,

I think it's the werewolves we hired... They always cut corners.

Torrance put his enormous bovine head into his hands and shook it, closing his eyes. He decided not to comment on his mother's insensitive remark about werewolves and go ahead and ask his question. I need to ask you a quick question about frozen food.

She sighed deeply. What about it, dear?

How long does, say, a One Minute Microwave Minotaur Meal last if it's been in a deep freeze?

A One Minute Microwave Minotaur Meal? she asked inquisitively.

Yes, he answered cautiously.

Honey, weren't those banned after all those minotaurs got food poisoning? They haven't even been sold in ten years...

Huh...

Why are you even considering eating something that old?

Oh, I was just - ,

Do you not have any food? Can you not get any food? Oh goodness... Are you having money problems? Are you depressed?

Woah, wait, what? No. I just don't have any groceries and don't feel like going to buy any today, Torrance said, hoping to de-escalate the situation before it got any worse.

Oh, alright, his mother said calmly. Torrance was frankly astonished that she had so readily accepted his reasoning. That is, until she continued speaking. I was just under the impression that you were a fully grown adult minotaur. It seems to me that a fully grown, responsible adult minotaur would not have to waste their time wondering about things like this. It seems to me that -

Oh did you hear that? Torrance said frantically. I think I hear someone knocking on my door. I've got to go, mom. Talk to you soon!

You're not getting off of the phone with me this easily. I still have a lot of loud, angry parenting to do!

Torrance hung up the phone. He knew he would regret it later when it came time to talk to her on the phone again, but for now, he was relieved. There had, of course, been no one knocking on his door. He sunk into his couch and closed his eyes, trying to think of a solution for his hunger debacle without leaving his labyrinth.

He could hear the television continuing to play though the volume was so low he could only hear bits and pieces of the dialogue on-screen as he continued to lean his head back and rub his eyes.

Brand new...steaming hot... CHEESE... whole snake baked into the crust...

The minotaur's eyes snapped open. Whole snake baked into the crust? Surely he had misheard something... He sat up and reached out for the remote control sitting on his coffee table, and pressed the rewind button that controlled his cable box. He watched as a pizza commercial began to play backwards very fast. When it reached the beginning, he jabbed the play button and turned up the volume on his television.

Are YOU hungry? Are YOU a cryptid, monster, villain, or otherwise creepy critter that finds the enticing aroma of our brand new, steaming hot, cheese and topping laden pizza irresistible?

Yes, Torrance said under his breath without even realizing he was doing so.

Hi, I'm Pop McPizza, founder and C.E.O. of Pop McPizza's Pizza Palace Incorporated, a grey haired centaur said as it ambled onto the screen approaching a steamy pizza pie on a polished wooden countertop. I know what cryptids want from their pizzas. They want a hot, cheap, cheesy pizza delivered right to their door with any funky or filthy ingredient you can think of. Try it now with a whole snake baked right into the crust!

Torrance was salivating. Everything about the commercial made him absolutely certain that a Pop McPizza pizza from Pop McPizza's Pizza Palace Incorporated was the right choice for him. Well, aside from the snake baked into the crust... he had never understood the fascination with strange ingredients stuffed into the outer rim of pizza crusts. It was just too gimmicky for him. But he could order a regular one, he reasoned.

So call now! Pop McPizza continued. We guarantee our hot, fresh, made to order pizzas will arrive at your doorstep in thirty minutes or less, or the cost is on us. That's the Pop McPizza Pizza Palace Incorporated guarantee. So until next time, this is Pop McPizza wishing you a good pizza.

The phone was in Torrance's hands before the telephone number for Pop McPizza's Pizza Palace Incorporated was even on the screen. He poked his phone frantically as he dialed the numbers that were flashing on his television in front of the smiling old centaur's face. The phone had barely rung at all before a voice answered on the other end of the line.

Pop McPizza’s Pizza Palace Incorporated, where the pizzas arrive in thirty minutes or less, how may I help you?

Hi, yes, I’d like to place an order, Torrance said, his deep taurine voice giddy with excitement and his stomach rumbling so hard that it caused the television remote on the coffee table to vibrate.

Name, please? the voice asked. It sounded like an elf. It seemed that elves often ended up doing jobs like this.

It’s Torrance, he replied.

Alright Terrence, what can I get for you? the elf said quickly.

No, my name is Torrance, not Terrence, the minotaur said. This was a common mistake, but a bothersome one regardless. No matter how clearly he annunciated his name, it was more than likely interpreted as Terrence. It had caused him to be quite self-conscious about his speech when he was younger, turning into many shy years spent at the Cryptid Academy, afraid to speak up or progress in his verbal abilities in public. He had moved past that now, but even though he knew it was not his fault it still irked him when cryptids got his name wrong.

There was a pause on the other end of the line for a moment. … Do you mean Terrence? Is your name Terrence?

 No… he said, grinding his teeth and restraining himself from losing his temper. My name is pronounced Torrance.

…. I’m sorry, sir. I think our phones must be malfunctioning. It sounds like you’re saying Torrance, but I know that that can’t be so, Terrence.

Torrance’s ears were ringing and he was trying to relax so as not to prompt a migraine. He decided to just let it go this time. He was too hungry to argue with this elf. I’d like to order an extra-large pizza.

Alright Terrence, what would you like on your large pizza?

His eyes bulged as he answered, It’s an extra-large pizza. I’d like olives and sausage on half, and extra cheese on the other half, please.

Mhmm mhmm. Let’s see if I have this right, Terrence. I’ve got an extra-large pizza with olives and sausage on half and extra cheese on half. Is that right? the elf asked.

Torrance was ready to forgive him of all past injustices if he could just get his pizza out immediately. That is correct.

Excellent, excellent. Alright, would you like any extras or upgrades?

When had ordering a pizza become so complicated? What does that mean? he asked.

Would you like the crust to be filled with cookie dough, or for us to use flour extracted from a haunted mummy tomb, or our newest and most exciting promotion of a whole snake stuffed into the crust on the perimeter of the pizza?

No, Torrance said, shaking his head solemnly and rubbing his closed eyes with his telephone free hand. Just the pizza I ordered with regular crust please.

Really? We could probably stuff an eel in there if you’re into that, the elf said, sounding somewhat shocked and confused.

Please don’t stuff an eel or anything else into my pizza crust…

…. Please let us stuff some gimmicky food into your crust… the elf pleaded.

What is the deal with the crust? Torrance roared, no longer able to contain his anger.

The elf paused for a moment before replying in a barely audible whisper, saying, I’m sorry, we’re required to ask if you want the Weirdly Stuffed Crust Upgrade. There’s a script we have to stick to…

A script? Really? I didn’t realize that taking pizza orders was such a complex aspect of the pizza ordering transaction, Torrance said pensively.

To be honest, I have no clue if it is or isn’t, the elf said. The orders are relayed through the third party customer service business I work for. Today is my last day here so I don’t mind telling you all of this, the elf said with a hiccup. Was the elf drunk? Now that it was saying all of this and hiccupping, Torrance realized that the elf had been slurring its speech a bit too…

Why does Pop McPizza’s Pizza Palace Incorporated route their orders through a third party customer service business rather than taking the orders themselves? Torrance asked.

I don’t know Terrence. A lot of cryptid businesses do it. I just answer the phones… Maybe it’s cheaper to outsource the calls to the North Pole? I don’t know. Anyway, my supervisor is coming over this way, I’ve got to act cool… He’s going to be my boss at my next job too…Alright then… Just a normal pizza with regular dough? And nothing in the crust? Seems kind of strange, but to each their own, right Terrence? Haha… Address please?

Torrance, thoroughly confused, gave the elf his address and hung up his phone promptly as he heard a barrage of ‘ho-ho-ho’s’ on the other end of the line after the elf took down his address and said goodbye. At least he would soon have a pizza to take his mind off that strange phone conversation. He looked around his home, trying to think of what to do until the pizza arrived.

His living area was actually quite small. The labyrinth itself was enormous and intricate, but the space that he lived in was only comprised of four rooms in the very center of the labyrinth. He decided to light a torch outside of his front door so that the delivery cryptid could see the door and that he would be able to see the delivery cryptid. It was pitch black in the halls of the labyrinth without a lit torch.

Lighting the torch occupied all of forty five seconds or so, and Torrance was once again faced with the task of what to do until his pizza arrived. He picked up the television remote and idly flipped through the channels. He saw several more advertisements for Pop McPizza’s Pizza Palace Incorporated. They were really trying to push that snake-filled crust pizza. Were cryptids really buying that? What was wrong with a good old fashioned pizza?

Contemplating the pros and cons of weird pizzas and normal pizzas occupied a few minutes of Torrance’s time, but not a substantial amount. Besides, he could not come to any sort of consensus on the subject since he was so obviously biased against the odd pizza additions that had become so popular of late. It just did not make sense to him.

Torrance picked up his cell phone and checked to see how much time had passed since he placed his order. It had been five minutes. He snorted a powerful exhalation from his wide bull nostrils and shook his horned head in frustration. His stomach rumbled again, causing his hooves to clatter against the stone floor of his living room. He had to do something to take his mind off of his hunger until the pizza arrived.

Soon, he had flipped through every channel on his television without finding anything worthy of watching. He picked up his cell phone and opened Cryptogram, his favorite cryptid social media app. The front page was filled with photos of Pop McPizza’s Pizza Palace Incorporated snake-stuffed pizza photos, so he exited out of the app in a rage and took to pacing back and forth across his living room, gouging dents into the floor with each angry stomp.

He checked his phone again. It had been seven minutes since he ordered his pizza. He had originally hoped that the pizza may arrive after the thirty minute time limit so that he would get it for free, but now he just hoped that it arrived as soon as possible. It was a small price to pay, literally, to get his pizza sooner rather than later as far as he was concerned at that moment.

Torrance decided that a violent video game may be the best outlet for his frustration. He powered on his video game system and inserted his copy of Bigfoot Bandits into the disc slot. A sasquatch wearing sunglasses and holding an automatic pistol in each of its enormous furry hands graced the screen as the game loaded.

The storyline of Bigfoot Bandits was severely lacking in substance, but it more than made up for itself in the size of its map and the amount of freedom the player had in the game. One could do pretty much anything that they wanted in the game, from stealing another cryptid’s car, to playing table tennis, to going on a full-out berserk rampage. Torrance was eager to get to the rampaging, but the game was taking much longer than usual to load. He glanced at his phone again. He had reached the ten minute mark since he had placed his order.

He gripped the video game controller so tightly that it was in danger of cracking as he watched the progress bar slowly load. Even when the progress bar was completely full and read one hundred percent, it just lingered there blinking. For a moment he felt that it was mocking him, but then he realized that was just the hunger making him think like that. He was a