This is another short story inspired by one of the writing prompts from writersdigest.com; in this case, it's about an inhuman birthday. I don't think I'm following the specifics of it to the letter, but I got another idea from it, and they're just used for inspiration anyway.
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Harry lay awake in his bed, unable to sleep. It was still early; he could hear his parents just starting to move around their room. Maybe they were preparing the big surprise they'd planned for his birthday? His father had been dropping hints about it all last night, even during dinner. Nothing very specific, mind you; just a load of talk about "the biggest day of your life" and "you'll never look at crickets the same way again", which Harry assumed was just his father's way of being funny.
His past birthdays had never been unusual, so Harry didn't really expect anything out of the ordinary this time, even though this was his 18th. As a particularly skittish person, his parents hadn't wanted to do anything really surprising. His favourite gift had been the hammock they got him three years ago; it allowed him to lie outside during the summer holidays and bask in the sun, happily absorbing the sun's rays.
The sound of a footsteps and a door opening jerked Harry out of his reverie; his parents must have left their room, and any moment they'd be entering his. Harry quickly closed his eyes and pulled the heated blankets over himself a bit more, as if he were still asleep. Within seconds, light from the corridor outside flooded into the room as the door burst open.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" chorused his parents, in not-quite-harmonius unison. Harry opened his eyes to see his parents standing at the foot of his bed, his mother holding a small wrapped box. His father walked over to sit on Harry's left side.
"Listen, Harry, this is a very big day for you. We have a long Eubefaris family tradition whenever one of us turns 18."
His mother sat on the other side of his bed. "Now, don't get too anxious, but we have something to tell you... I think your father should say it." his mother added, softly.
Harry looked at his father, so often the one making inane jokes, appearing so serious for once. "What she means is... you're a lizard, Harry."
"I'm... I'm a what??" Harry blurted. "You can't be serious! Is this another one of your jokes, Dad?"
"No, Harry... we're serious. At age 18, every male in our family starts to shed their human form, and by the time you're 19, you will be a full-fledged lizard. Well, except for being a lot larger than the average lizard, of course!" he guffawed.
"I think it's time you opened your gift, Harry." said his mother, gently. She pressed the wrapped box into his hands, all while Harry's brain was deciding whether to laugh at this clearly absurd prank, or freak out at the fact that his parents didn't appear to be joking.
After a few seconds of internal turmoil, curiosity got the better of Harry and he started to rip the wrapping paper off his gift. Inside was a glass cube about the size of a melon. It had a latch and small hinges on opposing sides, and inside it were hundreds of live crickets, chirping merrily.
"You see, Harry, now that you're becoming a lizard, you'll be able to start indulging in the more... exotic... side of our traditional cuisine." said his father, happily. "Even your mother, not being a lizard, enjoys a fried cricket now and then, but I much prefer them raw, and soon, you will too."
Harry had a burning question; "Wait, Dad, if you're a lizard, then why do you look human now?"
His father stood, reached behind his back and Harry heard the sound of a zipper being undone. His eyes grew ever rounder as he watched his father shed the human skin into a neat pile on the floor, revealing a vibrant skin tone of bright orange mottled with black. Harry's father's eyelids moved as he looked at his son, and said, "Your mum makes one hell of a good human suit... she'll make one for you too, soon!"
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