Part 1: Skurdulka's House

My best friend is an idiot crushing on a jerk. Instead of eating peanut butter cups at his house on Halloween, I'm throwing rocks at Skurdulka's house. That's how it started.
I actually lay eyes on a shapeshifting cryptid and I'm not going to live to tell about it. Great.
If I can get Skurdulka to let me leave (alive), I'll have a story to tell. Maybe the cryptid's not so bad. We might even have some things in common; no one gets what the f#ck we are and we're both sick of people.