Page 47 of Tasty Tentacles

The spotlight flips off and a light at the base of the stage flips on, lighting me from below in the best horror movie manner. I let the moment take over, determined to do this on my terms.

I slowly reach up and remove the hood, letting it fall behind my head. I spread my hands dramatically and let my tentacles go. Complete silence sweeps across the crowd as I let them writhe, waving and curling, letting them exult in their new freedom and attention. I tip my head down, mustering my creepiest monster movie glare, and intone:

“In his house at R'lyeh,

Dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.

We live on a placid island of ignorance,

In the midst of black seas of infinity,

It was not meant that we should voyage far.”

Then I pull the hood up, covering most of my face and giving my bow. I breathe a quick sigh, happy to have made it through my lines.

The silence holds for just long enough to make me worried, then the crowd erupts into cheers. I hear exclamations through the crowd: “Did you see that!!?” “Are they real?” “How did he…?” “It must be a trick.”

As I walk back through the crowd, several people give me a pat on the back, and everyone turns to watch, trying to get a glimpse.

The loud buzz of the crowd dies down when the announcer says, “Our next contestant joins us all the way from New York City. Please welcome…”

Hideo guides me to my spot at the back of the table, safe and sheltered. I pick up my beer and take a long drink.

Wow, I just did that.

Bertie leans over and whispers, “That was awesome,” but other than that, the eyes of the entire crowd are on the stage, currently with a fellow dressed as a gold rush miner. The nervous high from being on display, exposing my deepest secret, slowly fades and I come back to the room, out of my thoughts, and let myself enjoy the rest of the show with them.

“Let’s give a burly-beardy-bash round of applause to all the contestants,” the announcer says, spreading his arms to encompass the whole room. “As always, we’re way behind schedule…”

“And whose fault is that?” someone yells from the crowd, and everybody laughs.

“Guilty as charged, but there’s no holding back this flood of whiskers and talent. As I was saying, we’ll give the judges time to do their judging, and we’ll hand out the prizes after the countdown. So, grab another beer and don’t go anywhere—there’s still a lot of excitement ahead.”

The house lights come up, and Carl exclaims, “That was exceptional, Orion. Way to make it your own.”

People throughout the crowd look our way, so this is it. I put it all out there, and now I need to reap what I sowed.

A biker couple—him with long hair and a truly massive beard, her with a big comb stuck in her hair—wander over first.

“So, man, everybody wants to know. Are they real?”

I let them show off, curling and waving, and say, “Yes, since the day I was born.”

He narrows his eyes and leans in for a closer look, and says, “Radical.” He sticks out his hand and says, “Leroy, and this is my better half Marlene, whisker stylist supreme.”

The rest of the evening is a blur. Our table is mobbed and I don’t hold back. I give my tentacles free rein and let them enjoy the attention. Half a dozen people give me styling tips, two dozen people say I’d be a shoo-in for the national convention if I refine my act, and many, after strictly asking for permission, want to touch. Of course, every silver lining has some clouds, and there are a couple drunk guys who just can’t get past it, but they’re quickly crowded away before we need to call in the bouncers.

I watch with some skepticism through it all, vaguely worried I’m a freak on display at the circus, a bug in a jar, but I don’t get even a hint of that. There’s a lot of curiosity, which I totally understand—I’m not something you see every day—but the major feeling is a friendly camaraderie, tinged with a playful feeling of I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. I quickly discover that a few targeted compliments go a long way toward greasing the wheels with these men and their elaborate beards. Maybe, as Hideo suggests, I have found my people here.

“I’ll try it,” I promise a handsome hipster with a red beard almost the same shade as mine. “It’s certainly doing wonders for you! Your beard is luminous. What’s it called again?”

“Seven Seas Beard Balm. I get mine online…just google it.”

“Ten minutes to countdown,” the announcer calls. “Get your bubbly at the bar!”

Hideo returns with three glasses, and Bertie demands, “At the stroke of twelve, I want a good-luck kiss from both of you. Assume the position and get ready!”

“Five!” We shuffle around the stools and get in position.