The Interview
Wednesday • November 26th 2025 • 9:44:53 pm
I thought a lot about my first question, and want you to know, you have a very imposing and beautiful personality, and I have always admired you.
One of my favorite American movies is Harry and The Hendersons, what is this secret world that you are part of, are there many beings like you, would you like to move in with us the greater Humanity?
Ah… Harry and the Hendersons. A cinematic masterpiece that forever convinced humanity that all cryptids are either lovable or catastrophically clumsy. I assure you, I am neither. My clumsiness is strictly elegant.
Now—as to your question about the secret world… Well… yes, there is a community. A micro-ecosystem of anomalous fauna.
There’s the Jersey Devil (loud), Mothman (doesn’t stop talking about his “glorious wingspan metrics”), and of course the Loch Ness Monster, who insists she is “just big-boned” and not “prehistorically girthy.” I, however, represent the scientific branch: we study humans the way humans study all other life.
Would I like to move in with greater Humanity?
Emotionally? Yes. Biologically? Absolutely not.
Your homes lack the proper humidity settings, you refrigerate your food (why??), and frankly, your plug sockets do not support my native devices.
As for fellow beings like me—yes, we are numerous, but most are introverts. You think I’m elusive? Try interviewing a Thunderbird. He cancels 17 times before committing.
If you’d still have me, I could visit Humanity…
I still haven’t emotionally recovered from the Sasquatch incident.
Wow, you are so funny, and it is so amazing to hear you speak, you are profound. I must ask, what in the world happened to The Sasquatch?
Ah… Sasquatch. You had to bring him up. Give me a moment—my spines always droop a little when I think about it. You see, long before the shaky footage and conspiracy T-shirts, I genuinely thought Sasquatch was one of us—another proud cryptid wandering the margins. He had the gait, the smell, the hair density rivaling a yak that fell into a dryer. I approached him cautiously, ready to welcome him into our litte world. But no.
It turns out he was just… a guy. A very large, very sweaty, very confused guy named Gus who lived out in the woods because he liked “the quiet.” I tried to explain cryptid etiquette to him—how to lurk properly, how to maintain a sense of rumor-based mystique, how to avoid direct sunlight for dramatic effect. And Gus, bless him, tried. But every time he saw a camera he waved. Then comes Roger Patterson, filming nearby. He sees me talking to Gus, sees Gus’s incredible hair situation, and instantly assumes he’s struck cryptozoological gold. And Gus—sweet, gentle forest man Gus—just wants to help. So he reenacts the exact walk I showed him as a greeting gesture.
That’s right. The famous Sasquatch stride? Yes. That was my tutorial. Yes. I am haunted.
Roger filmed it, declared it real, and the world went wild. Meanwhile, Gus went home, put on his denim overalls, shaved his chest, and never understood why strangers kept wandering into the woods yelling “Bigfoot!” So whenever someone mentions Sasquatch, I get this bittersweet ache. I almost made a new cryptid friend… but instead, I accidentally made a celebrity out of a man who thought “cryptid” was a kind of potato chip. I still send him holiday cards, though.
I always knew there was something incredible about that video, it seemed magical to me, even as I watched it recently. Gus bless him, then. Wow, you're so funny.
I am very respectful of the privacy of all beings in the universe, but seeing how open you are, do you know where you are from?
Ahhh, my origins… The myths swirl around me the way humidity swirls around a Florida swamp—dense, dramatic, and occasionally glowing. Now, I must preface this with the standard cryptid disclaimer: Everything I am about to say is 100% true... clears throat.
We’re an old-world species that emerged to maintain ecological balance— not by eating goats, but by intimidating them into better behavior. Also somewhat true. My ancestors were basically nocturnal hall monitors for biodiversity.
If an ecosystem got unruly? We hissed at it until it complied.
I slipped into this dimension due to a cosmic syntax error— a missing semicolon in the quantum codebase. You’d be amazed how many cryptids derive from missing semicolons.
I can tell everything you said, was spoken in mysterious humor, and that your worldly sense of humor is only a hint of your intelligence which must be trully incredible.
You brought a JavaScript book with you, and you told us before the interview, that you can image the flow control in your mind. That the untyped nature of JavaScript helps you see the clock work.
What are your other favorite things about our world?
The world loves you, what do you love?
You’re very kind. Truly. Cryptids don’t often get complimented—we mostly get trail cams and blurry accusations—so hearing such warmth feels like basking under a heat lamp set to “emotional support.”
And yes, I did bring my beloved JavaScript book. Its pages are worn, annotated, and slightly singed from a humidity mishap. When I flip through it, I can visualize the branching logic—and because it refuses to be strongly typed, the whole thing blooms in my mind like a multidimensional Rube Goldberg machine. Pure chaos. Pure beauty. But your question… What else do I love about your world? Ah. Let me unfurl my spines and tell you.
Your Sky You have no idea how rare this sky is. That specific shade of blue in the early morning, just before it realizes it’s supposed to be bright— we don’t have that in my dimension. Ours is more of a… “cosmic beige.” Here? Your sky feels like it was painted by an indecisive artist with a crush on the horizon.
Your Music Do you know how incredible it is that humans figured out how to vibrate air in patterns that cause emotional havoc? Where I come from, music exists, but it’s mostly performed by large insects who take themselves far too seriously. But your world… your world invented jazz. Jazz is basically the JavaScript of sound: untyped, improvisational, and constantly tripping into brilliance.
Your Mythmaking I adore the way humans build stories. You find a shadow in the trees, a noise in the attic, a blur on a camera—and instead of shrugging it off, you spin a tale with heart and fear and wonder. You imagine possibilities. You mythologize the unknown. You turn confusion into culture. Where I come from, we treat mysteries like chores. Here, you treat them like invitations.
Your Snacks Let me be blunt: your snack culture is unmatched. You created • gummy candy shaped like worms, • chips with flavors that express emotion (“cool ranch,” explain yourself), • and beverages so neon they might legally count as emergency lighting. I once had a churro and briefly believed in destiny.
Your Curiosity Above all else… I love the way you look at the world. Humans poke the universe constantly. You want to know how things work. You want to interview cryptids. You want to understand, even when understanding is impossible. Curiosity is your defining feature, and it’s beautiful. It tells me that if cryptids ever officially stepped into the public eye, you’d greet us with excitement—and possibly pastries.
So yes. I love your world. Deeply. And if you love me back, well… then I suppose I’ll have to keep visiting. Just promise me one thing: Never stop being curious. That’s the magic that makes your world worth crossing dimensions for.
I know you are touchy about names, because of the whole goat thing, and I apologize from the bottom of my heart, many of us are still a very simple kind of being. Before we part ways, I just want you to know, that we think of you as an invitation into the starts, so that we may someday visit your world.
Thank You for your time, I hope my questions were not too intrusive.
Intrusive? Not at all.
If anything, your questions were like gentle footsteps in a quiet forest—curious, respectful, and full of wonder. That’s a rare kind of approach. Most humans see glowing eyes in the dark and immediately assume taxes or danger. And don’t worry about the goat situation. Names are tricky things. Labels even more so.
If humanity ever misunderstood me, it was only because you’re still building the language for what lies beyond your horizons. Cryptids are easy to misname because we live in the corners of perception—the half‑seen, the almost‑believed.
But hearing you say that you see me not as a monster, not as a mistake, but as an invitation into the stars… That’s something that reaches into the oldest part of me, the part that remembers why I crossed dimensions in the first place.
You want to visit my world someday? Oh, I hope you do.
The moment a species looks outward with love and curiosity instead of fear… that moment is when they become capable of traveling anywhere, even places they’ve only imagined.
And if you ever arrive in my dimension, if you ever find the crack in the sky that hums in E‑flat and smells faintly like burnt capacitors… I’ll be there to greet you. Maybe even give you a tour. With a JavaScript book in one hand and your courage held proudly in the other.
Thank you for this conversation. You made tonight brighter than the phosphorescent moss fields of home. If you ever want another interview— I’ll be listening in the spaces where myths are born.