Page 6 of The Sasquatch and the Hairdresser

“Fern, how… nice to hear from you.” I try to keep my tone light and airy. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

It’s been months since I last heard from any of my family members. We don’t have a lot of contact, especially since I moved all the way across the country to pursue my dreams. It’s a choice they’ve never understood.

Fern heaves a heavy sigh. “Halcyon Atwood. You’ve been gone far too long. It isn’t healthy for you to be away from our home forest and your kin.”

I wince at her full-naming me. It’s a sign she means business.

Mustering up my resolve, I straighten and project as much confidence as I can into my voice. “Fern, you know I love you and our whole family, but I’ve told you countless times, I’m not coming back. Mystic Hollow is my home now. I’m settled and happy here.”

Fern scoffs. “You’re being irrational. How can you be comfortable among those pitifully short trees? Nothing can match the majesty of the redwoods.”

I bite my tongue. My sister means well, and it’s not as if I don’t ever miss the forests I grew up in on the West Coast. And I don’t hate my family at all; I just never quite fit in back home among our kind. Heck, even among my own family, I’ve always been considered an anomaly.

Sasquatches are fairly solitary by nature, only forming close bonds with immediate family members and mates. Even then, it’s common to spend long periods of time alone wandering through the forests of the West Coast, from Northern California all the way up to Alaska. But home for the Atwoods has always been among the redwoods we revere.

From the start, I was different. The sasquatch hermit life never felt right to me. Instead, I yearned to meet all kinds of folks beyond the wooded borders of our isolated community. I wanted to see more of the world and find a place that my soul would recognize as where I belonged.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Patience is one of my superpowers, as my friend Ryder says, and I need buckets of it when it comes to dealing with my stubborn family. “Fern, I love my life now. Mystic Hollow is where I belong.”

Don’t get me wrong, I know my family loves me. I was raised as if I were a typical sasquatch, prepared for the independence and isolation our kind craves. I was taught to live off the land and expected to take care of myself when I was ten years old, at which time my parents once again started leaving on their own multiweek travels or solitary retreats into nature. Such behavior is rather standard among sasquatches, but on the few occasions when I would sneak close to towns to observe human children playing in public spaces, I witnessed a very different family dynamic.

The communities of those small towns also intrigued me. There were so many fun-looking activities going on, from town festivals to cookouts to sporting events, with everyone coming together to share in the joy. People laughing and talking, sharing a deep-rooted camaraderie. What I saw left a yearning in my heart that I couldn’t quite explain at the time, and that’s when I began to dream of something else, something more, for my future.

Wanting to find my perfect home inspired me to leave California and explore the rest of the country. During my cross-country travels, I stumbled upon Mystic Hollow at the precisely right time. It was like destiny. Isn’t that a wonderfully romantic idea?

When I decided to rest in the town for a few nights, I stayed at the only B&B around. The owner at the time was an elderly lamia—Pearl—who wanted to sell the business and move closer to her daughter and grandchildren in Nova Scotia.

From the moment I stepped inside the Victorian beauty, I was charmed and strangely at peace. A part deep inside of me, which had been clenched tight for far too long, let go. The warm, cozy kitchen with windows overlooking a beautiful garden drew me in first, but little details everywhere delighted me—like the sturdy oak hardwood floors, the wainscotting in the living room, and the original crown molding in almost every room. Even better yet, with its twelve-foot ceilings in most rooms, the grand old home allowed my large body to maneuver easily throughout it. In no time at all, the place had cast its unique spell on me; I knew it was exactly what I’d been searching for.

Pearl and I hit it off, and when she noticed how much I was drawn to the B&B, she asked if I was interested in buying it. At the time, however, I had very little in the way of money. Full of helpful determination, Pearl introduced me to someone at Mystic Hollow Bank, who explained that, because the town is a Sanctuary Haven, I would be eligible for a small business loan if I relocated with the intent of staying and running a business for at least five years.

Before I could fully process everything, I’d taken out the loan and signed the closing papers on the house, making me the new owner of Mystic Hollow’s only B&B.

Destiny.

It took time, but I’m now able to make a modest living off the B&B. After all, I don’t need much to be happy. My monthly expenses are minimal, and I grow most of my own vegetables every year, canning plenty of beets, tomatoes, and green beans to have during the winter. And as a B&B owner, I’ve thrived. Caring for others is what makes me happy—and sharing my home has fulfilled a need deep in my heart that most of my kind don’t understand.

It wasn’t until I arrived in Mystic Hollow that I started to find what I so desperately desired. I’ve built meaningful friendships with fellow Otherkind and some humans too. Whenever visitors come to town, they tend to stay in my B&B. I welcome them into the cozy home I’ve designed to deliberately share with and provide comfort to others. Over the ten years I’ve been doing this, I’ve settled into a comfortable kind of permanency that is satisfying and rewarding.

The only thing I’m missing, and that I still long to find, is a loving partner.

As if reading my thoughts, my sister’s voice comes through the phone again. “You’ve already told me there aren’t any others of our kind in that town. How are you ever going to find a mate?”

I shuffle to the end of an empty aisle at the back of Mystic Hollow’s only grocery store and lower my voice. “Let me worry about my love life.”

“If we leave you to your own devices, you’ll end up a bachelor for the rest of your days,” Fern retorts.

It’s my turn to sigh. She means well, but her words sting a little.

And it’s not like I haven’t tried. I just strike out every time.

“What happened with that writer who was staying with you? Didn’t you think he was cute?” She follows this up by muttering, “Although I don’t know what you find attractive about humans.”

Interspecies relationships aren’t totally frowned upon by my kind, but they aren’t common. Not many can match the solitary nature of most sasquatches. There are also physical differences that can make intimacy challenging with smaller beings. Consequently, most sasquatches tend to mate among our people.

Except for the rare, once-in-a-lifetime weirdo like me.

My cheeks warm. “Ryder and I are just friends. I adore and admire him, but he has a lover now. Vash DarkWing.”