Modern Monsters

Salvatore the Mothman

Male Reader x Male Monster

You've been a truck driver for a long time now, or at least it feels that way. Not that you're complaining or anything, it better work than people give it credit for. It's better than working in an office or retail. Being transgender brought about some uncomfortable situations, ones that truck driving avoids. You work alone, thankfully, and you don't have to put up with too much bullshit on the regular.

The crew you work with are pretty tight-knit, they're also protective. You've been grateful that they've all been a good bunch of people. They accepted you, and more than that, they treated you like anyone else. It was nice.

Recently, you've been driving the Mosquito Control truck, which is a lot of night work. You've driven around the entire county every day since May, spraying this years selected insecticide all over. You weren't sure it worked, you had the itchy bumps on your arm to prove it.

It seemed the worst the world was, the more mosquitoes there were in it. You had once teased that the awful little bugs were one of the horsemen of the apocalypse, but now, you were starting to believe in your own joke.

Driving the truck, you had created a routine for yourself. You had your coffee, your selected playlist, sometimes an audiobook. You had figured out the most comfortable position for yourself, and it was pretty smooth sailings. There were the occasional deer who ran out in front of you, you had seem many possums, and on one occasion a coyote. You had started an animal bingo for yourself, hoping to fill in the entire card before the summer was over.

There was one stretch of road you drove you called the endless mile. It was flat with nothing on either side except corn. It felt like it went on and on forever. Nothing but corn and a barely paved road. You never saw anything out here, which made it worse. It was on this stretch you usually played heavy metal or something violent that kept your mind occupied.

There was also something else, a reason you usually paid attention while driving the endless mile. One of the crew had told you a story about it, one you didn't quite believe.

"A few years ago, my old man said he saw something in that cornfield," he told you.

"It was probably a deer," another member of the crew scoffed.

He shook his head. "No! No," he laughed. "Really. My dad don't talk much, he never told stories. But he told me this one," he said. "We was out running the field, checking there was no one in it. Thieves and dumb kids you know? Well, he was shining his flashlight, and something came barreling at him! Said it was huge and furry."

"A bear?" You asked.

"Hardly," he scoffed. "It had wings and huge glowing red eyes."

"Wings?" You scoffed. "You serious?"

"He said it grabbed his flashlight away from him and he ran. He heard fluttering and squeaking. And when he got back to his truck, he said he was covered in some sort of powdery dust."

"Like a moth?" I laughed. "Wings and dust? Are you saying your dad was attacked by a giant moth who eats flashlights?"

"Moths don't eat lights, they just like 'em 'cause they're warm!" Another crew member chimed in.

It then devolved from there, bickering back and forth about flashlights and moths. But for some reason, even if you had laughed at the idea, it held your attention. You couldn't help but picture a giant moth.

You had always liked moths, even as a kid you used to get ones trapped in the house and set them free. You would get upset when your cat attacked and ate them. A big giant moth sounded kind of cute really.