Professor Widget paced the room when he lectured. The same path each time. Up and down each aisle, tapping a hand on each desk as he passed. Jack didn’t know if it was obsessive-compulsive disorder or just longstanding habit from forty years of academia. Either way, it drove him nuts. How was he supposed to concentrate?
Other than that, cryptozoology was awesome.
He’d never dreamed that cryptids were a real field of study, but here he was. Jack Langton, otherwise a dead end job-hopper, night-school dropout. Now he spent the slow nights at the gas station studying, not texting his latest girl and still failing to maintain a relationship because he worked the night shift.
It’d sounded too good to be true, when he saw the ad on social media. He still wasn’t sure that he could get a job doing anything with this. But lately, all the posts wanted a degree. Any degree. And cryptozoology was the cheapest diploma program he’d been able to find. Legit, too. Accredited and everything, not a ripoff.
He’d heard similar stories from the rest of the students in the room, through a haze of flickering florescent lights outside, on hasty and illicit smoke breaks. Everyone just wanted a shot at a better life. All of them had nearly laughed the opportunity away.
“Time! Pencils down,” Professor Widget announced. “As I walk around the room to collect your quiz, I want you to tell me your favorite cryptid. No waffling, you have to pick one.”
Jack nodded as he realized the instructor had timed the announcement so everyone had time to think while he crossed the room, even the first row. Maybe there was a reason for the pacing after all. He dropped his head and focused, trying to pick his favorite. There’d been so many, and this was the capstone course before he could get his degree.
Brown tweed pants stopped in front of his desk. A hand extended toward him, and he handed over his quiz. Jack cleared his throat. “Ah, gryphon.”
Professor Widget quirked a salt and pepper eyebrow, so high Jack thought the wiry hairs might detach from the man’s face. “Interesting choice.” He moved past and collected the hairdresser’s quiz. “Say again? Vampire? Hmm.”
The instructor set the papers down on the desk in front of the ancient green chalkboard that no one bothered to use anymore. He rubbed the bald spot on his head. “Well, it’s time for fieldwork, so thank you for choosing a wide variety of cryptids. Always keeps it interesting.”
“Fieldwork?” The hairdresser squeaked behind him. It was the first time Jack had heard her speak above a whisper. He figured it was because she spent all day chatting up clients and needed a vocal break.
“Someone didn’t read the syllabus,” singsonged the professor. “If you want to pass the class, fieldwork is part of your grade.”
“I read the syllabus,” Jack said. He propped his chin on his fist, old flannel falling soft against his arm where his sleeve was unbuttoned. “Fieldwork was listed as a possibility, not a definite. I remember because I thought it was a joke.”
“Yes, yes, well, we got lucky this time. The lawsuits ended satisfactorily and the administration said we could go ahead. But with precautions this time.” He grinned. Did he expect them to be excited by the opportunity?
“Cryptids are real?” squeaked the hairdresser again. Liz, that was her name. Her chair clattered to the ground. “I can’t meet a vampire. I’m a single mom!” She whooshed past him, leaving only a cloud of perfume behind.
Professor Widget nodded as Liz raced by, his eyes sad. “Yes, that is unfortunate. There is a risk involved. I should also commend you all for not taking the easy way out. One of you even picked a gryphon. The spine! Oh, I do appreciate it.” He chuckled, then cut off after a few seconds when no one joined him.
Several other students looked like they might follow Liz and her perfectly coiffed curls out the door.
“Come on, now, you’re quite close to receiving your degrees. All you have to do is survive.” The professor’s tone was wheedling now.
Jack firmed his jaw. It was this or nothing. He opened his textbook to the chapter on gryphons with a shrug. “Can’t be worse than that half-naked cowboy on meth that came into the store last week.”
***
This week, nother mike challenged me with, “He never expected that the cryptozoology diploma course would require applied fieldwork. With a cryptid of his choice.” My prompt went to Leigh Kimmel: “The streetlight was blinking Morse code…”
