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Now, on to the stories. In the year 1966, the tranquil
atmosphere of a quaint West Virginia town was abruptly
shattered when its residents began reporting unnerving
encounters with a mysterious entity.
This creature, described by numerous eyewitnesses, possessed
an eerie pair of glowing red eyes that seemed to Pierce
through the darkness of the night.
Questions quickly arose. Was this being a tangible menace
or merely a specter born from the collective imagination of
the townspeople? The debate continued for
decades, unresolved and simmering.
Recently, however, new photographic evidence has
emerged, reigniting interest and concern among the locals and
experts alike. These images, captured near the
original sighting locations, appear to show a similar figure
lurking in the shadows, suggesting that this enigmatic
creature might have resurfaced. Nestled within the embrace of
verdant hills and the expansive Ohio River lies Point Pleasant,
WV. This diminutive city, despite
covering a mere 3 square miles and hosting just over 4000
residents, boasts a rich tapestry of history that belies
its small town demeanor. It's not merely a town, it's
officially recognized as a city, surrounded by a lush countryside
that provides a serene, almost pastoral backdrop to daily life.
True to its name, Point Pleasant offers a landscape that exudes
tranquility and charm, presenting itself as an idyllic,
peaceful haven, at least on the surface.
However, beneath this serene veneer lies a chilling chapter
from its past, one that remains etched in the collective memory
of the community during a tumultuous period in the mid
1960s. This seemingly quiet city became
the epicenter of a series of unnerving encounters that would
leave an indelible mark on its folklore.
The town was plagued by sightings of a nightmarish
creature that emerged predominantly in the late hours
on the outskirts, instilling fear and curiosity among the
townsfolk. These encounters were so
intensely terrifying that they reportedly inflicted long
lasting psychological scars on witnesses.
The chronicle of horror began on the night of November 12th,
1966. It was then that five grave
diggers laboring in a cemetery on the edge of Clendinen were
startled by a figure that appeared to be human, emerging
swiftly from the tree line. For approximately a minute, they
watched in disbelief as this figure executed an aerial dance
over their heads before vanishing into the distance,
leaving behind nothing but the echo of its mysterious presence.
Just two days later, on November 14th, the unsettling narrative
continued in Salem, where a local named Newell Partridge
encountered an inexplicable phenomenon while at home.
As he sat watching television, his attention was drawn to the
rear of his property, where he spotted two glowing red orbs.
Driven by curiosity and concern, he ventured out and discovered
that these were not mere reflections or inanimate
objects, but the glowing eyes of a towering, shadowy figure
perched ominously on a tree branch about 100 meters away.
The figure soon took to the air with a harrowing scream,
disappearing over the treetops. In a desperate reaction,
Partridge's German Shepherd Bandit chased after the
terrifying apparition, only to disappear into the night, never
to return. This series of eerie occurrences
has firmly rooted itself in the local lore of Point Pleasant, a
town marked by its historical significance and haunted by a
legacy that continues to evoke both fear and fascination among
its residents and visitors alike.
The night after, on November 15th, two young married couples
burst into the Mason County Sheriff's Office in a state of
panic and distress. They were Mr. and Missus Roger
Scarberry and Mr. and Missus Steve Mallett, and they had been
on their way back from a double date, driving close to the TNT
area of Point Pleasant, when they saw a tall Gray figure
standing next to the road. They reported that it looked
like a man, but bigger, possibly 7 feet tall, and that it
appeared to have a pair of wings folded behind its back.
In front of it lay the carcass of a dog, the breed of which was
never determined, but was later assumed to be that of Newell
Partridges, German Shepherd. As they passed this strange
looking figure, it rose into the air and proceeded to fly out of
the car. Mr. Scarberry, who was driving
speed up close to 100 mph, but the creature was able to keep up
matching the speed of the vehicle.
His wife said that it emitted a high pitched screech as it flew
and that it had huge red eyes which glowed like a pair of car
reflectors. As they entered the town, it
broke off the chase and flew back in the direction of the TNT
area. A press conference was held on
the afternoon of the 16th where the Scarberry and Mallet couples
gave their accounts of the previous evening.
Doctor Robert Smith, a wildlife expert, was also in attendance
and offered his explanation to the waiting media, saying that
what the two couples had actually seen was an abnormally
large crane which had been blown off its migration route.
These reports hit the local evening papers on November 16th,
and word of the encounters spread through the town like
wildfire. This, as with any kind of
sensationalism, unfortunately invited many fabricated
sightings from other so-called eyewitnesses, and from here on
out, nearly all alleged encounters are subject to much
higher scrutiny. That's not to say that all of
them are fictitious, however. One sighting in particular
occurred on the evening of the 16th, at around the same time as
the first local evening papers were being deposited in
mailboxes. Mr. and Missus Raymond Worsley,
along with Marcela Bennett and her baby daughter Tina, were on
their way to visit the Thomas family who lived on the
outskirts of town. When they pulled up to the
Thomas property, the car seemed to disturb something.
As they were getting out of the vehicle, they were shocked to
see a large Gray figure, bigger than a man, rising up from the
ground nearby, which they described as having terrible
glowing red eyes. Marcella was so alarmed that she
forgot she was carrying her baby daughter and in a panic actually
dropped her. After collecting herself and her
child, she ran to the Thomas home and was led in by one of
their children. The creature shuffled after them
and continued to terrorize the household by peering in through
the windows. By the time the police arrived
over half an hour later, it had of course vanished.
But this wasn't the last Marcella would see of the
Mothman. She also lived on the outskirts
of Point Pleasant, near the TNT area, and claimed that after her
initial encounter at the Thomas residence, the creature had
visited her home on several other occasions and that she
often heard its blood curdling scream in the dead of night.
Marcella apparently suffered from nightmares and other mental
health issues for many years after her ordeal.
The TNT area of Point Pleasant would later become heavily
associated with the Mothman. It is a large tract of land
dotted with small concrete igloos used during World War Two
to store ammunition. It is also adjacent to the 2500
acre Mcclintock Wildlife Station and the entire landscape is
covered with dense forests, steep hills and riddled with
tunnels. The press would go on to claim
that the area acted as a home for the creature during his time
in Point Pleasant, with most of the sightings having occurred
there. There were many more reported
encounters towards the end of 1966, peaking especially in
1967, and during November of that year, the Silver River
Bridge over the Ohio River collapsed, plunging a number of
vehicles into the icy depths and killing 46 people in the
process. Immediately after this,
sightings of the Mothman ceased altogether, leading many to
believe that the creature was somehow responsible for this
tragedy, that it was in fact a harbinger of death.
So who, or rather what, was the Mothman?
Was there any truth to the events that took place, or was
it all just an elaborate hoax orchestrated with the sole
intention of increasing tourism to a failing backwater town?
Ideas have been varied, to say the least.
Many skeptics have concurred with Doctor Robert Smith's
interpretation, positing that the Mothman could simply be a
misidentified large bird, an idea that isn't entirely without
merit. The sandhill crane, a prevalent
bird in North America, stands about four feet tall on average,
but can reach heights of up to six feet under certain
conditions. Distinctively, it features
striking red plumage around its eyes, aligning somewhat with the
descriptions provided during the Mothman sightings.
Despite this plausible explanation, numerous
eyewitnesses vehemently dispute this theory.
They assert that the creature they observed was unmistakably
not a bird, confident in their ability to discern such
differences. For one, the entity described by
those who saw it closely was often reported to be around 7
feet tall, far exceeding the size of any ordinary bird.
Moreover, the mothman's eyes were described as glowing red, a
characteristic uncharacteristic of most birds.
Unlike owls, whose eyes can reflect light when illuminated,
the creature's eyes reportedly shone brightly without any
direct light source. Additionally, the creature was
noted for emitting a scream that sounded eerily more human than
avian in nature. Mr. Scarberry, one of the
witnesses, even speculated on the improbability of any known
bird achieving flight speeds exceeding 100 mph, further
casting doubt on the bird hypothesis.
And finally, while it might be plausible for one or two
witnesses to misidentify a large bird, it would be highly
improbable for so many people to have done so.
This is, of course, if many of the eyewitness accounts are to
be believed. Sightings dramatically increased
after the Scarberry and Mallet accounts were published in the
local papers, and it would only be prudent to assume that some,
if not most of them were completely fabricated to further
inflamed the situation. Even the Scarberry mallet
sighting is said to have a number of inconsistencies
between how the story was originally reported to the
police and what it later became in the press.
For instance, all the sources have it that the creature did
not in fact chase after their car, but rather shuffled down
the road in pursuit for a very short distance.
With this in mind, we are once again at the mercy of
speculation, and of this there is no shortage.
Tourism to the town experienced a noted increase in the wake of
those first sightings, and of course this has LED a number of
doubters to believe that the entire episode was a cleverly
planned hoax engineered towards that end.
However, the reason this story captured the imaginations of so
many in the 1st place was a result of those first four
encounters. These four sightings all
happened over the course of his many days in locations that were
many miles apart. They were all strikingly similar
despite nothing being reported in the press during that time
and despite the fact that none of the witnesses knew each
other. Add to this that the sheriff
absolutely believed the scarberries and mallets, having
known them for most of their lives and witnessing first hand
how extremely upset and visibly shaken they were after their
encounter. For this reason, many are
prepared to give these accounts the benefit of the doubt.
There could well have been an unknown Cryptid stalking the
countryside around Point Pleasant.
And if this was indeed the case, what was its purpose and where
did it come from? One theory within the Fringe
community is that the Mothman is a symbol of impending doom,
completely unrelated to the Point Pleasant sightings.
The same creature has allegedly been seen all over the world,
and wherever it appears, tragedy soon follows.
Indeed, many have likened the Mothman to the strange flying
humanoids often witnessed in parts of South and Central
America. The most popular theory amongst
believers though, is that the Mothman was actually
extraterrestrial in origin. Sometime before the 1st Mothman
sighting, a sewing machine salesman by the name of Woodrow
Derrenberger, driving along the I-77 not far from the area of
Point Pleasant, encountered a UFO which stopped his car dead
in the road. A being exited the strange craft
sporting a huge inhuman grin. This entity was said to have
communicated with Derrenberger telepathically, asking about the
strange glow on the horizon, not realizing that it was the lights
of a distant town. Derrenberger reported that the
individual referred to himself as Indrid Cold, a name which
didn't mean anything to him at the time, but one which has
gained much notoriety over the years.
Many alleged alien abductees have reported meeting an Indrid
Cold, otherwise known as the Grinning Man.
Cold was said to have asked Dehrenberger many questions
about the people and the surrounding areas, then thanked
him and left in a strange craft. Less than two weeks later, the
first sightings of the Mothman began to surface, and over time
links between the two entities have invariably been made.
Not only that, but many UF OS and strange lights were
witnessed in and around the town at the time the encounters were
going on. Some residents even reported
paranormal activity in their homes, which gradually abated
after the sightings themselves had ceased.
Even the famed Men in Black were said to have made an appearance
in the town on a number of occasions.
The enigma of Mothman, whether myth or reality, undeniably cast
a shadow over the quaint town nestled along the Ohio River
shores during the tumultuous late 1960s.
The true nature of Mothman, whether an undiscovered creature
of our planet, or perhaps beyond, or simply the creation
of an overactive imagination, remains a profound mystery.
This begs the question, what truly is more peculiar?
The possibility of encountering a previously unknown species,
whether from Earth or some distant cosmos, or the
extraordinary lengths to which individuals might go to protect
and elevate their community status?
As we delve deeper into this intriguing tale, it's essential
to consider a photograph linked at the end of our discussion.
Captured near Point Pleasant on November 20th, 2016, almost
exactly 5 decades after the initial reports of Mothman
sightings. This image might seem ordinary
at first glance, possibly depicting nothing more unusual
than a bird of prey seizing a snake.
Yet this image compels us to ponder whether Mothman might
have revisited Point Pleasant after all these years.
Could this legendary figure have returned to its reputed origins?
Or is it merely our imagination seeing what it wishes to see in
the shadows and shapes of the natural world?
The mystery continues to stir curiosity and debate.
I have been hesitant to tell anyone about this, but after
confiding in a good friend and fellow redditor, I was advised
to post my story here in the hopes that it might help others.
I recently moved several miles up a hollow in West Virginia
from a far more urban area. While anywhere in West Virginia
is going to be close to a mountain, I now live in quite a
secluded little valley with woods starting just 20 feet from
my back door. Since moving here, I've promised
myself repeatedly to make use of the local hiking trails and the
like to finally whip my geeky self into better shape.
However, after one trip into the woods, I don't think I'll ever
go back. A derecho had just swept through
the state, causing massive damage.
Trees and power lines were down everywhere.
Since my house was going to be unbearably hot with no AC and
temperatures over 95°, I decided that was the day to finally go
for a hike and kill some time while waiting for the power to
come back on. I told my wife Sarah the plan
and invited her to bring our daughter 18 months along to
explore the woods. The heat having sapped any
semblance of motivation she may have had LED her to decline,
preferring to stay home with our daughter to splash around in the
baby pool. As I was putting on my boots to
head out, my wife came inside with a slightly concerned look
on her face. She told me she'd just seen some
sort of FBI agent or something lurking behind the pine tree in
our front yard. I went outside with her to check
it out. I walked all around the tree and
found no one there. I called back to the house to
ask if she was sure that was where she'd seen him, as I
couldn't even find evidence of footprints or anything in the
pine needles on the ground. She assured me she had, but she
looked even more bewildered and confused.
After some gentle prodding, she told me she'd seen his face
coming from behind the stump of a branch that had fallen in the
storm. Now I'm a pretty short guy, only
about 5-4, but the branch she was talking about was a good
three to four feet above my head.
Chalking it all up to a little disaster inspired paranoia, I
assured her there was no one on our property.
We made sure neighbors were still home and told them about
the guy potentially lurking around and received multiple
assurances they would keep an eye out with my wife.
Comforted, I left her to tend to our little one and headed for
the woods. I didn't, but should have
noticed a Bush at the corner of our house infested with moths.
A lot of branches and whole trees had fallen, making the
common trails pretty impassable. There was something about the
day that kept me determined to keep going.
I began to make my own path in the woods between blocked
trails, being sure to note landmarks and sun positions so I
wouldn't get lost. I came upon 1 clear trail that
after a few dozen feet, was blocked by a highly tangled mass
of trees and branches. What was strange was that they
did not appear to have fallen, but rather seemed woven
together. It was like a natural wall.
I stood for a moment, unsure of why seeing this had caused my
entire body to break out in goosebumps.
The sun must have gone behind a cloud because it suddenly seemed
darker and a bit colder. That's when I saw the eyes.
Red, unblinking, and definitely inhuman eyes were staring at me
from behind the edge of the wall.
The face was round and pale. I couldn't see the detail on the
nose and mouth, if it even had them.
I blinked and the face seemed to disappear.
I slowly edged closer with every sensible bone in my body,
telling me to run back home. My curiosity vetoed those
feelings. There was a climbing vine with
flowers on it growing beside the wall.
Probably why it took me so long to see the face to begin with.
Where the face had been, I now found a plain white doll.
It's torso, arms and legs were all much longer than they should
be, and the face was perfectly smooth with no detail
whatsoever. Attached to the doll was a white
card in some sort of black ink or marker were the words beware
with a crossed out circle beside it.
On the bottom part of the card was an Oval with two red dots
midway up it. A simplistic drawing of the face
I had seen. At this point I was honestly
pretty scared. First seeing a stranger outside
my house, now having some albino weirdo following me around
leaving mangled homemade toys with creepy notes.
I had dealt a lot with people pushing me around when I was
younger, so I wasn't about to let some creep ruin my hike.
I told myself I was falling victim to the same paranoia as
my wife. We were not able to call for
help after all. With all the lines being down, I
decided to continue my hike. I sat on a rock and had some of
the bottled water I'd brought with me.
My heart started to slow down and I began to feel a little
silly for the fear I had been feeling.
Clearly, some local kids had decided to take advantage of the
situation and mess with the new guy in the neighborhood.
Resolving to find a way to pay them back, I got up to continue
my hike when I heard the snap of a twig coming from behind me.
Startled, I whipped around and saw the FBI agent my wife had
seen not ten feet from me standing on the trail.
Only I could see now, as my blood ran cold, that he was in
no way even human. He appeared to be wearing a
suit, but it could just as easily have been his skin.
Almost 9 feet tall, his arms reached nearly to the ground.
His face was perfectly smooth. No eyes, no mouth, no nose, no
ears. Despite this, I could feel the
intensity of his stare. I was more frightened than I had
ever been before. Every fibre of my being was
telling me to run, to get away, to do anything in my power to
remove this monster from my vision.
But I was held to the ground as if I had been glued there.
That's when I noticed the blood at his feet, the disturbing mass
of rubbery looking wet tubes that I realized with A rush of
bile to my throat, could very well have been human intestines.
I don't know how long the standoff continued.
After a moment, the paralysis I felt seemed to abate.
I thought fast, sudden movement might invite action on the part
of the tall man facing me. What action that might be I
could not imagine, but I knew somehow it could not be good.
With shaking hands, I fumble for the cell phone in my pocket.
Though I would get no signal out here, the camera still worked.
Slowly, so slowly, I fumble to hit the record button.
Without taking my eyes off him, I held the phone up and glanced
ever so briefly at the screen. Nothing but static.
But now he and his gory mess were gone.
My paralysis left with him, I scrambled to my feet and started
to run when I realized I had no idea where I was.
The wall of woven trees and branches wasn't there, but
neither was the path it had blocked.
The rock I had rested on to drink my water was not there.
As far as I could tell. I was in a completely different
part of the woods. I won't lie, at this point I
thought I was never going to see my wife and child again.
I was being stalked by some insane man in a bad Halloween
costume, or worse, a monster the likes of which the world had
never, as far as I knew at the time, seen before.
After a few minutes of trying to decide what to do, I resolved
myself to get out of this and get out of it alive, just in
case. I typed out a note on my cell
phone, long since returned to normal, briefly describing the
being I had seen and making sure my family knew the love I had
for them and the regret I had going into the woods.
I put the phone in sleep mode to preserve the battery as much as
possible and proceeded in what I hoped was the direction home.
For a few minutes everything seemed fine.
Then I realized I was being stalked.
I kept hearing odd noises around me.
Every time I glanced in the direction of the noise I would
see that same blank stare from behind a tree or a Bush.
Only once did I see the being in full again, perhaps 5 feet away.
I had briefly stopped in my hike to get my bearings when I had
that being watched feeling. When I turned around I fell
straight on to my behind with the tall man within easy reach,
but still he did not move other than to very, very slowly tilt
his head sideways. There was a strange whispering
noise and a mass of long fluid like tentacles sprouted from his
back, branching out to the sides and writhing in the air.
I screamed. I'm not sure what happened next.
I found myself sitting, leaning against a tree, sobbing
uncontrollably. Never before in my life had
terror so gripped me I did not know how to react.
You never understand fight or flight until you're faced with a
real situation like this. I guess I chose flight because I
was again alone again in unfamiliar territory.
I looked down at my arms. I began to sob again, unable to
help myself. All over my arms were written
one word in black ink, over and over again.
Run. I ran.
I ran harder than I've ever run in my life.
I didn't know where I was going and I didn't really care.
I just wanted to see my daughter, my wife, my mother,
any friendly face I could find. My feet pounded in the dirt.
The ground was still wet in many places from the storm.
I lost count of the times I fell in the mud.
I lost track of time. My lungs were burning, my knees
were wobbling and about to give out, but the pounding terror in
my head and in my heart would not allow me to even slow down.
I burst into a clearing and fell again as I tried to skid to a
stop. At first I thought I had come
again face to face with the tall man, but this was different,
perhaps 7 feet tall. It seemed like an alabaster
white man with giant wings, also perfectly porcelain white.
The only detail that stood out were the glowing red eyes.
We stayed like that for a moment before it walked towards me.
I jumped to my feet, ready to run again when the thing rushed
me. Before I could move, it had
grabbed me and thrown me behind it.
I landed with a very hard thump on the ground.
I scrambled to turn over and look at the creature.
That was when I realized it was not me it was staring at not me.
It was rushing. The tall man had been right
behind me. My mind briefly cleared enough
of fear and adrenaline to think, finally recognized the pale
creature as the first face I had seen at the trail.
The creature that had given me the warning.
The two beings stood facing each other for a bare heartbeat.
The tentacles came whipping and thrashing from the tall man's
back. Again a pause as nothing
happened. The wings of the white creature
slowly beat the air. Suddenly a tentacle whipped
forward, its point driving at the face of the white creature.
One of the giant moth like wings curled inward and whipped back
out, deflecting the tentacle. Not just deflecting it, but
shattering it. The pieces of the tentacles
wavered and dissipated before they ever touched the ground.
I jumped to my feet and gave an involuntary whoop of victory on
behalf of my strange, otherworldly protector.
This was clearly a mistake. The heads of both creatures
snapped straight to me. Tentacles from the tall man
darted in my direction. The face of the white creature
split open at the bottom, and it roared at me, which I took as a
warning. It managed to use its wing to
deflect the tentacles. It leapt forward, its arms
wrapping around the tall man, its wings encapsulating the
tentacles with a shimmering upward rush, as if taking off at
great velocity. They both vanished.
I passed out. When I woke, I had again moved,
but now I recognized everything. In fact, I had gone from a few
miles in the woods to perhaps a few 10s of feet in the woods
just behind my house. I staggered to my feet and made
my way home. The sun was setting.
I had been gone all day, but only had memories to account for
perhaps half that. When my wife saw me, she asked
if I'd had a good day playing in the woods.
I glanced down. The words were gone from my
arms, but my body was still covered in mud.
I somehow managed a smile for her, determined to keep the
horrors I'd witnessed to myself. I told her the woods turned out
not to be for me. My step sister Lynn and I were
visiting her grandparents in Virginia.
Her grandparents house is in the countryside with a 20 acre
cornfield next to it. About 50 yards behind the house,
miles of forest lay. The first night we were there we
were unpacking and getting ready to go to sleep.
There was a bunk bed in the guest room which our younger
siblings were going to sleep in. There was a couch and a pull out
bed in the living room which Lynn and I decided to sleep on.
We were channel surfing on the TV when we flipped to a show
about urban legends in the United States.
Since my step sister and I have always had an interest in
paranormal happenings, we decided to stop and watch for a
few minutes. Something came on about a
creature called Mothman. According to the show, sightings
of Mothman were said to be mostly in Virginia, where we
were, and Kentucky. So my step sister and I looked
at each other with our jaws dropped because we always seem
to believe in these sorts of things.
The next morning we were messing around with a soccer ball.
Lynn is on a soccer team and she brings her soccer ball wherever
she goes. My step sister punted the ball
into the cornfield. Oops.
She smiled. We searched for hours and hours
but could not find the ball no matter how hard we looked.
My step sister was beside herself because it was her
favorite soccer ball. The next night, Lynn, our
siblings and I, we're all watching television in the
living room when suddenly we heard a tremendous crash on the
roof of the house. We all let out a Yelp of terror
and dashed under the hideaway bed's covers.
Then we heard footsteps. Loud footsteps, as if something
abnormally large was romping about on our roof.
Our parents came into the room with wide eyes and asked us if
we had dropped or broken something, but froze when they
too heard the footsteps on the roof.
My stepdad went over to the window and gazed out at the
cornfield, which for some reason looked particularly ominous that
night. As he looked, he saw my step
sister's soccer ball drop from the roof.
He looked down, not knowing quite what it was because it had
fallen so quickly. He ran outside and brought the
ball inside. My step sister grabbed the ball,
smiling from ear to ear, happy to have it back.
At last, my stepdad and mom went back into the other room after
saying goodnight. Suddenly my step sister looked
at the ball and she frowned angrily, furious.
She yelled. Look.
We all looked at the ball and saw four perfectly round holes
in it, two very large ones about the size of 1/4.
And about half an inch from those holes were two little
holes about the size of Dimes. It gave me the chills and
suddenly I had a recollection of the show that Lynn and I had
watched the previous night. We looked at Josh and Ashley,
our younger siblings, and told them to leave the room.
Griping and groaning, they trudged off to their room.
I looked at Lynn and said, I know this sounds stupid, but
could this be Mothman? She let out a snort and said
don't be stupid. Nothing else peculiar happened
that night, but stranger things were yet to come.
For about a week things went quite peacefully.
By the next Thursday or Friday, we had forgotten all about the
entire incident with the soccer ball.
In the morning, we woke up and had breakfast.
After washing the dishes, we wandered into the cornfield.
After romping for about 5 minutes, we began to hear
rustling noises in the corn crops nearby.
We looked at each other and froze.
Within a few more seconds we heard a screeching and howling
sound somewhat similar to nails on a chalkboard.
We fell to our knees, covering our ears after it stopped.
Lynn was so scared tears were streaking down her cheeks.
We have to go back. She sobbed in a panicky voice.
We heard the noise start up again and she let out a scream
as we dropped to our knees again.
The noise seemed to be coming from up above us and before
either of us had time to think twice about it, we looked up and
saw something dart past us, quick as a flash.
It had to have had a wingspan of at least 10 feet.
We both agreed later on that it had been a human like figure
with enormous wings. As we were running back to the
house we stumbled upon a baby deer, barely alive.
We both let out a gasp and leaned closer to the deer.
Suddenly Lynn shouted Oh my God and turned pale.
What? I said.
I looked to where she was pointing and I saw four
perfectly round holes in the deer's abdomen, just like the
ones in the soccer ball. We ran back and told the story
to our family. They did not believe us and I
doubt they ever will. Though it was too real not to
believe, it still haunts Lynn and me to this day.
Driving on FM 157 between Venus and Mansfield, TX, my daughter
and I were on our way to Walmart.
It was sometime in the fall of 2007.
Around dusk. From my left, something in the
sky caught my eye. At first I thought it was a
trash bag that had gotten caught in a wind current.
As it got nearer it seemed to be descending and I thought of a
person stretched out in a glider even nearer and still
descending. It looked like a human like form
with wings attached, never once flapping its wings.
It glided towards us so close to the top of our car it seemed as
though it would land on top. The window was slightly rolled
down and I never heard a sound. I suddenly felt the need to roll
my window up and didn't dare stop the car to see what it was.
It looked dark brown or black, somewhere between the texture of
a tow sack and leather, kind of raggedy and worn looking.
It didn't have feathers. Once I realized what I was
seeing, I immediately thought of the creature from Jeeper's
Creepers. Although I didn't see a face, it
did have the body of a human, and the wings were somewhat like
that of a bat, but not fully extended.
I looked in all my rear view mirrors, but it seemed to have
just disappeared. I know what my eyes saw, but my
mind was telling me it wasn't real.
I said nothing. My daughter didn't say anything
either, so I thought that she must not have seen it.
About two more miles down the road I asked my daughter, did
you see? She immediately cut off my
question and said Oh my God yes, what in the hell was that?
I asked her what she had seen and she said basically the same
thing except that she thought it was a tarp at 1st instead of a
trash bag. After we had discussed what we
saw, my daughter opened the inside cover of the sunroof to
see if anything was on top of the car just in case, but
nothing was there. It seemed so unreal.
After we got home later we told my husband and stepson what we
saw and they just scoffed at us and said we were crazy.
Maybe we are, but we know what we saw and we don't dare tell
just any one of our experience. I've been a paranormal
investigator for years, so I guess you could say I'm used to
weird stuff happening. But nothing could have prepared
me for what I saw one night while driving down Bethesda Arno
Rd. in Middle Tennessee. It was around 10:30 PM and I was
just cruising along the road, which winds through fields and
past a few scattered homes. The sky was kind of cloudy,
making the night darker than usual, and there was a bit of a
chill in the air. I was thinking about nothing in
particular when I rounded a curve and saw it.
My headlights caught something huge standing right by the side
of the road. I almost couldn't believe my
eyes. This thing, whatever it was,
stood near a road sign, almost blending in with the shadows.
It was so tall that its head was above the sign, which I knew was
at least 7 1/2 feet off the ground.
The creature was really thin and had arms and legs like twigs.
It looked like it could be knocked over by a strong breeze,
but there was something sturdy about it too.
The creature's body was kind of human shaped, with a head that
looked a bit too big for its body, and it had this strange
triangular appearance. The most bizarre part was the
dark webbing that stretched from its wrists down to its knees.
It almost looked like wings, but not quite.
The creature stood so still it could have been mistaken for a
strange statue if not for the living presence I could feel
even from a distance. I slowed my car down, my heart
pounding in my chest. What was this thing?
Part of me wanted to drive away as fast as I could, but I'm an
investigator, it's my job to figure out these mysteries.
So I kept my car moving slowly, trying to take in every detail.
As my car's headlights shone on it, the creatures color seemed
to shimmer a reflective red. It reminded me of the scary red
eyes you see in movies about monsters.
But there was no glow from its eyes.
Actually, I couldn't see any eyes or even a face.
It was just a shadowy, faceless form standing eerily by the
roadside. I remember thinking, this isn't
some ghost or alien, it's something else.
It didn't feel evil or scary in the way a monster in a movie
might. It was just unknown, and that
alone was enough to send a shiver down my spine.
The whole thing lasted maybe 7 or 8 seconds as I drove by, but
those seconds felt like forever. I was so close, at one point no
more than a stone's throw away, and yet the creature never
moved. It just stood there,
mysteriously calm and utterly silent.
After I passed it, my curiosity got the better of my fear.
I stopped the car about 100 yards down the road.
Taking a deep breath, I turned the car around, my heart still
racing. I had to see it again.
I needed to know what it was. But as I made my way back,
little did I know the night had more surprises in store for me.
After seeing that strange creature by the road, I had a
million thoughts racing through my head.
I knew I had to go back and check again.
Maybe I missed something important the first time.
So I turned the car around and headed back to where I had seen
it. My hands were shaking a little
on the steering wheel, but I was more excited than scared.
I needed to see it one more time to try to understand what it
was. As I drove back to the spot, I
turned off the music and listen to the quiet around me.
The only sounds were the car's engine and the occasional rustle
of leaves in the breeze. When I reached the place where
I'd seen the creature, I slowed down and peered through the
darkness, hoping to catch another glimpse, but there was
nothing there. The road sign stood lonely by
the roadside, and there was no sign of the mysterious creature
anywhere. I parked the car and got out, my
flashlight in hand. The cool night air felt good
against my face and it helped calm my nerves a bit.
I walked over to the road sign and shined the flashlight
around, looking for any clue that the creature had been
there. Maybe there would be footprints,
or maybe the creature had dropped something, but the
ground was undisturbed and there was nothing unusual to be found.
Feeling a bit disappointed, I walked back to my car and sat
inside for a few minutes. I took out my notebook and wrote
down everything I remembered about the creature.
The height, the strange webbing, the way it stood motionless by
the road. I drew a quick sketch, trying to
capture its eerie silhouette. I knew it was important to
record everything while it was still fresh in my mind.
Then I pulled out my phone and called Mr. Henderson, a fellow
paranormal investigator who had taught me a lot about the
unknown. His phone rang a few times
before he picked up. Hey, Mr. Henderson, it's me, I
said, trying to keep my voice steady.
I saw something really weird tonight on Bethesda Arno Rd.
Mr. Henderson sounded half asleep, but interested.
Tell me everything, he said. So I described the creature to
him in detail, from the triangular head to the webbed
limbs. Mr. Henderson listened quietly,
only interrupting a few times to ask for more specifics.
When I finished, there was a pause.
It sounds like you saw something truly unusual.
He finally said. I'll look through my books and
see if there's anything that matches your description.
We need to figure out what you encountered.
After hanging up, I felt a little better.
Mr. Henderson was going to help me research, and maybe together
we could solve the mystery of the creature.
I started the car and began the drive home, my mind buzzing with
possibilities. What if we discovered a new
species? What if there were more
creatures like the one I saw? As I drove under the starry sky,
I realized that tonight had changed something in me.
I was no longer just a kid who liked mysteries.
I was an investigator on the trail of something unknown.
And I couldn't wait to find out more. 18 days ago, after posting
my last story and receiving words of encouragement from you
all, I began sifting through the numerous pages of notes leftover
from my interviews. One interview in particular
caught my attention, and while the story itself isn't the
scariest, the subsequent events have compelled me to sell my
house and move as far away from the New River Valley as
possible. In an interview with Clyde on
June 21st, 2008, he shared a memory from his childhood about
a ghost town he stumbled upon in the mountains during a hunting
trip. I'll try to do justice to his
tale. Once, when I was probably 14 or
15, I found a ghost town while I was hunting, Clyde recounted
behind his sixth cup of coffee. I leaned forward eagerly.
Do you know the name of it? What happened?
Why was it abandoned? Easy, son, I can only answer one
question at a time. I didn't know the name then, and
I still don't know it now. It's pretty normal to find old
abandoned cabins and such up on the Ridge, but this was a whole
town. I'm talking about 15 houses in a
general store. I've never seen it on any map,
and I've never heard anyone talk about it.
OK, but why was it abandoned in the 1st place?
I asked, my pencil hovering above my notebook.
I'll get there when I get there. I'm not done telling you about
it yet. Clyde replied.
As far as I could tell, it was an old coal town.
Of course, I only say that because I saw the boarded up
entry further up the Ridge. Anyway, being a dumb kid, I
decided to poke around. Clyde paused and sipped his
coffee before continuing. I went into the general store
and I'll tell you, it looked like a damn museum just covered
in dust. Nothing was out of place, all
the shelves were still stocked, and there were even some
Confederate notes in the till. I took them with me.
I've never found a Civil War artifact I didn't keep for
myself. I hastily scribbled Civil War
mining town in my notes. OK, So what else did you see?
I went into three or four of the houses and it was the same as
the store. Everything looked like it hadn't
been touched in 100 years. Everything had a thick layer of
dust on it, and the real spooky part was that it looked like
people had just up and left. Some of the houses had the
tables set as if folks were about to sit down for supper.
Abandoned in a hurry. I said slowly as I scribbled the
words in my notebook. Did you see anything that could
have explained why everyone left so quickly?
Clyde nodded. It was starting to get dark and
I needed to get home soon or Mama would have worried, but I
had to check out one more house before I left.
I decided to check the house closest to the mine entry.
I felt myself involuntarily shaking with excitement.
From a historian standpoint, this was going to be an amazing
story. What did you see?
If you're pausing for dramatic effect, it's definitely working.
Clyde chuckled and continued. This house was a wreck.
Inside looks like it was completely ransacked.
Tables were flipped, dishes were broken, everything was just
destroyed. At the time, I figured some of
those Union soldiers had probably found out about the
mine and came to shut it down. What do you mean at the time?
I asked, my mouth now incredibly dry.
I asked my Uncle Joe about it when I got home that evening.
He told me it wasn't the Union Fellows.
He'd heard a story when he was a kid about a mining town that had
been abandoned because of some curse or monster or something.
Something came out of the mine and attacked them.
I felt the wind immediately leave my sails.
A monster, Clyde, really. That's all you have for me?
I didn't say whether or not I believed it.
Clyde shot back with a sly grin. Just telling you what I was
told. Do you at least remember where
it is? I guess it wouldn't hurt to take
some pictures of it if it's still there.
Of course I remember where it's at.
Ain't no one in the whole valley that knows those hills like I
do. Clyde sloppily drew a map in my
notebook and put a large X where the town was supposed to be.
X marks the spot Sun. And with that, Clyde called the
waitress over to get his check and asked me same time next
week. I nodded and smiled, but felt
defeated. Sadly, that was as far as my
adventure went until recently. After some of you suggested I
should revive my book to honor Clyde, I decided to find that
ghost town. 2 weeks ago I set out in search of the mine,
following Clyde's imprecise map. It proved challenging, but not
impossible. I drove for what felt like an
eternity and found myself on a back Rd. somewhere between
Pierisburg and Narrows, very close to the West Virginia
border. Clyde's map had proven true up
to this point. I saw that I should have been
approaching my next and final turn and slowed down.
I passed the same small opening in the tree line probably five
times before I realized that was the road I was supposed to be
on. I gently urge the old 1950s
Chevy Clyde had left me up the hill.
After about 1/4 of a mile, the road ran out and I was met with
nothing but trees. Of course, why wouldn't I have
to hack my way through the boondocks?
I muttered to myself as I climbed down from the cab.
I grabbed my camera, my Nalgene bottle and a small mag light and
started picking my way through the trees.
I must have climbed that hill for an hour, even though Clyde's
map said the town was only three miles off the road.
The vegetation was thick and the hill was muddy, which definitely
slowed me down. When I finally broke through the
tree line, I found myself in a large clearing and just as Clyde
had said, I saw the ghost town. I quickly grabbed my camera and
started snapping pictures. Everything was more or less as
he had described it, save for the now collapsed general store.
As I made my way through the town, taking pictures the whole
time, I found myself in awe of the fact that it really did look
as if everyone had vanished. I made my way toward the
entrance to the mine, and just like Clyde had said, it was
still boarded up. I turned to look at the house
closest to the mine and noticed what looked like large and
jagged claw marks all around one of the windows.
Now knowing about the Mothman, I felt my throat tighten.
It was probably just some kids messing around back here that
did that. I said to myself, trying to
remain calm. I turned back to the mine and
snapped a picture of the worn sign near its entrance.
Through all the grime and chipped paint, I could faintly
make out the words DANGER INSIDE keep out.
I knew then that I should have left it at that, maybe taken a
few more pictures and then headed home to forget all about
this place. But something felt like it was
calling me to the mine. The rotted boards broke away
with minimal effort as I absently reached for my
flashlight. I stared into the dark mouth of
the mine. I thought I heard a loud whisper
come to me. I froze and looked around, sure
I'd find some bumpkin laughing at my fear, but I saw nothing.
That's when I realized that I couldn't hear anything other
than my own scared breathing. No birds, no crickets, no wind,
absolutely nothing. I'm still kicking myself for
what I did next. I took a deep breath as I
clicked on my flashlight and then plunged myself into the
darkness. 150 plus years of mustiness and animal droppings
filled my nostrils and I involuntarily wretched.
When I regained my composure, I could have sworn I heard a
hoarse and throaty laugh come from deeper in the mine.
Nope, you're just scaring yourself.
It's nothing. I repeated to myself over and
over as I forced myself to continue, my feet feeling like
they were 100 lbs each. I walked and walked, and
according to my watch, I'd been following this tunnel for at
least 20 minutes. Wow, this mine runs deep.
My voice trailed off as I entered a large cavern deep
inside the mountain. Woah.
Was all I could muster. I heard that laugh again, this
time coming from above me. I whipped around with my
flashlight and pointed it at the ceiling of the cavern.
I thought I saw something flash past the beam, but I definitely
heard something moving. I spun around again, trying to
get a bead on what was in there with me.
I felt a huge rush of air from behind me and heard what sounded
like massive wings flapping. I spun again, and that's when I
saw it standing on the cavern floor about 20 feet from me.
It this abomination, this clear affront to God, stood easily 7
feet tall and was covered in matted black feathers where arms
should have been. It had two large leathery wings.
Its eyes glowed red as my shaking hands tried to hold the
flashlight on it. It let out a snarl and then
started to laugh again. I knew you'd come to me.
They always come to me. It roared as it flapped its
wings and rose into the air. I turned back to the tunnel and
ran. The fastest I've ever run in my
life. I ran and ran, refusing to look
back. I heard the creatures, wings
flapping and jaws snapping behind me.
You should have never come here. It jeered.
Now you'll die like the people in that village.
I kept running and soon I saw the light at the end of the
tunnel. With my last bit of strength, I
threw myself from the mine and into the grass outside.
I quickly rolled onto my back and instinctively shielded my
face. 3 agonizing seconds passed before I realized I wasn't dead.
I scrambled to my feet and looked at the entrance to the
mine. Just within the shadows I saw
the creature standing with its chest heaving in clear rage.
I backed all the way out of the town, never taking my eyes off
the entrance to the mine. It wasn't until I reached the
tree line that I felt safe enough to turn and run.
The trip down the mountain was a lot faster than my journey up
it. Of course, it helped that I ran
fell all the way to the bottom. When I got home, I locked all
the windows and doors. I didn't sleep that night and I
haven't really slept since. Even now that some 700 miles in
three states separate me from that mine.
I don't know what I saw in that mine, but I'm never coming back
to the NRV. My house in Blacksburg is for
sale if anyone is interested. Just be careful, you never know
what you'll find up here in the mountains. 27 years ago, I was
just an 11 year old kid living in the quiet town of Gallipolis,
nestled in Vinton County. Our home, a weathered red brick
house. Though time has dulled, my
memory of its exact hue, stood ominously across from an old
cemetery, it's crumbling gravestones whispering secrets
of the past. The cemetery, overgrown and
forlorn, had seen better days, with an abandoned barn nearby,
it's rotting beams and rusted nails a grim reminder of
neglect. The playground at school was
just a stone's throw away, but my brother, our cousins and I
found our misguided adventures in the shadows of the graveyard.
We weren't disrespectful, just city kids playing tag among the
tombstones, our laughter a thin veil over the somber atmosphere.
I vividly recall rushing home every night, breathless and
sweaty as the street lights flickered on, a warning that
trouble awaited if I lingered too long.
Or worse, if I face the inevitable thrashing.
You know, the kind that makes you question your life choices
as you scramble for safety. One particular night, the
familiar sound of my parents arguing pierced the walls of our
home, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
Eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere, my brother and I
slipped out to the porch. The full moon hung high in the
sky, casting an eerie glow over everything, transforming the
familiar into something unsettling.
I turned to my brother and suggested we venture across the
street to the cemetery for a game of tag.
He followed, though he wore a distant look in his eyes, still
trapped in the remnants of sleep.
As we wandered, the peacefulness of the night was suddenly
interrupted by a dark shadow soaring overhead.
We exchanged bewildered glances but shrugged it off, thinking it
was just a bat. However, a second swoop sent a
chill down my spine. By then, we were near the far
end of the cemetery, far from the comforting glow of our home.
My brother, now visibly frightened, bolted back toward
the house, and I, sensing something was amiss but driven
by curiosity, trailed behind him.
Once inside, he muttered that he was off to bed, but my
adventurous spirit urged me back outside.
I tiptoed back to the cemetery, glancing up every few seconds,
the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Time felt distorted as I wandered around, lost in thought
until a loud swoosh echoed, like a giant bird gliding in for a
landing. Heart pounding, I looked up just
in time to see a colossal figure silhouetted against the
moonlight. At first I was confused,
remembering a character from a show I used to watch called The
Tick, who had a sidekick with butterfly like wings.
But this creature was no cartoon.
The figure was enormous, its wings spreading wide, casting a
shadow that engulfed me. As it glided closer, I caught a
glimpse of its face, an unsettling moth like visage with
beady black eyes that seemed to shine with an otherworldly
light. Fur or hair.
A dusty Gray covered its body and I felt an instinctive dread
wash over me. In a panic I turned and ran, my
heart racing as I sprinted back toward the safety of my home.
Swoosh. The creature swooped again, the
sound echoing in the stillness of the night, and I could feel
the rush of air as it passed overhead.
I reached my front porch, gasping for breath, my mind
racing with questions and fear. I stumbled inside and collapsed
into bed, trying to convince myself it was just a figment of
my imagination. The next day at school, I
couldn't shake the feeling of dread.
I told my friend about the encounter and later that day a
teacher pulled me aside. I heard you saw the Mothman, she
said, her expression grave. He's been around since the 80s.
If you leave him alone, he'll leave you alone.
But if you've caught a glimpse, brace yourself for some bad
luck. I told her what had happened and
she just smiled knowingly, adding, make sure you stay out
of that cemetery from now on. How did she know?
Kids being kids? I ignored her warning and
returned to the cemetery with my cousins.
We were having a great time playing tag until I ran too
close to the old barn and stepped directly on a rusty
nail, the pain shooting through my heel like a lightning bolt.
I was trapped, surrounded by boards with nails sticking out,
feeling like the walls were closing in around me.
My cousin, ever vigilant, heard my cries and rushed over, and in
a panic he stepped on the other end of the board, knocking the
fear from the night before into me and the rusty nail out of my
foot. It was a strange kind of fear,
one that both intrigued and terrified me.
The kids at school had been buzzing with stories about
Mothman, but I hadn't known anything about him until I asked
a few friends during lunch. They filled me in on the legend,
how he was said to be a harbinger of doom, a creature
that appeared before disasters. I listened wide eyed as they
recounted tales of sightings in Point Pleasant, WV, just a short
drive away. Some said he had been spotted
near bridges before they collapsed.
Others claimed he was seen before fires or accidents.
I had never been one for ghost stories, but this was different.
This was real. I had seen him with my own eyes.
As the days passed, I couldn't shake the feeling that my
encounter had somehow marked me. The shadows in the cemetery felt
heavier, The rustling of leaves seemed more ominous, and even
the playful laughter of my cousins took on an unsettling
edge. I became hyper aware of every
Creek in the house, every flicker of the streetlights
outside. My brother, who used to be my
partner in crime, now seemed preoccupied, his demeanor
shifting as well. We no longer ventured into the
cemetery, and I began to dread the thought of being outside
after dark. One evening, as I sat on the
porch, watching the sun dip below the horizon, I felt an
overwhelming urge to confront my fear.
I told myself that I had to go back to face whatever had
terrified me that night. Maybe it was a way to reclaim my
childhood, to prove that I wasn't afraid of some myth.
So, as the sunset and the shadows grew long, I made-up my
mind. I slipped out of the house, my
heart pounding. As I crossed the street to the
cemetery, the full moon cast an eerie glow.
Illuminating the cracked gravestones and overgrown weeds,
I felt a mix of dread and determination as I stepped
deeper into the graveyard, the cool night air wrapping around
me like a shroud. As I wandered, the silence grew
deafening. I called out half heartedly.
Mothman, are you here? My voice trembled, echoing in
the stillness. For a moment I felt ridiculous,
standing there in the dark like a fool.
But just as I was about to turn back, I heard it, a low,
haunting sound that sent a shiver down my spine.
Swoosh. I froze, the unmistakable sound
of wings slicing through the air.
My heart raced as I looked up, and there he was, the creature
silhouetted against the moonlight, his massive wings
unfurling like a dark omen. The fear that had become a part
of me surged back, overwhelming and paralyzing.
I could hardly breathe as I stared into those beady black
eyes, feeling like a moth drawn to a flame.
And then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he vanished into the
night, leaving me standing alone in the cemetery, trembling and
breathless. The night felt heavier now, the
weight of that shadow more pronounced.
I turned and ran, my instincts kicking in, propelling me back
to the safety of home. When I finally slammed the door
shut behind me, I collapsed against it, heart racing.
I had faced Mothman, and now I understood the true weight of
his legend. It wasn't just about the
creature, It was about the fear that lingered long after the
encounter, the knowledge that some things in the dark were
better left undisturbed. From that night on, I knew I
would never play in the cemetery again.
The laughter of my childhood had faded into a haunting memory,
replaced by the weight of an experience that would stay with
me forever. The world felt different now,
darker, heavier, and full of shadows that whispered of things
best left unseen. From my vantage point at the
university, I spend most days buried in research and teaching,
explaining theories and phenomena grounded in evidence
and logic. Yet here I am, grappling with
memories that defy both. I'm a Midwest college professor,
far removed from the mystical or the legendary.
But memory, especially one so vivid and terrifying as that
night in the mountains of upstate New York, has a peculiar
force pulling you back into its depths.
In the summer of 1975, when leisure suits were the rage and
gas was cheap, my family embarked on what was our annual
expedition, this time targeting the East Coast.
My dad, a social worker by trade, had a way of stretching a
dollar that could make even the most frugal envious.
My mom, with her infinite patience, managed us three kids
in the confined space of our trusty van, transforming it each
night into a makeshift camper. That summer felt different,
though. There was an unspoken urgency in
the air, perhaps a shared family intuition that our tradition of
cross country travel was nearing its end.
As my sister and I edged closer to the tumult of adolescence, we
traveled from the sultry depths of South Carolina, through the
tangled heart of North Carolina and up the spine of the Eastern
seaboard. Our destination that fateful
night was merely a point on a map, one of many rest stops
dotting the rural outreaches of New York State.
The rest area was nothing more than a gravel lot, surrounded by
towering Pines and maples that swayed gently in the mountain
breeze. Isolated and serene, it seemed a
perfect encapsulation of nature's quiet majesty.
Our van, a humble but reliable vessel, was parked at the far
end of the lot, the forest's shadow enveloping us as the sun
dipped below the horizon. Dad had rigged the van
ingeniously for sleep. My sister and I lay suspended in
hammocks that swayed slightly with every movement.
My parents and baby sister settled below on a makeshift bed
of sleeping bags and blankets. As night deepened, the sounds of
the forest grew louder, crickets chirping rhythmically and the
occasional rustle of wind through leaves.
It should have been comforting, yet rest eluded me.
Lying there with the soft fabric of the hammock cradling me, my
eyes were drawn to the van's large front window.
The darkness outside was thick, almost palpable, as if the night
itself were pressing against the glass.
That's when I saw them. Two large orange orbs, like the
eyes of some nocturnal beast, floating at the level of the
driver's seat. I remember thinking it
impossible. I had ventured outside earlier,
and the space before the van was empty but for the whispering
trees. Fear gripped me in an icy hold,
yet my body was paralyzed, my voice a prisoner in my throat.
The orbs hovered unwavering, as if whatever creature they belong
to was studying the van and its occupants with curious
intensity. The logical part of my mind
scrambled for a reasonable explanation.
Headlights from a distant car perhaps refracted strangely by
the night, but the deeper, primal part of me recoiled from
the impossibility of the sight. It was then I noticed my sister
in the hammock beside mine, her body rigid, her eyes wide and
fixed on the same eerie spectacle.
Our shared terror was silent but palpable, a bond in that moment
stronger than any we'd had before.
We lay there, two children suspended between the known
world and the inexplicable, as the night whispered secrets we
were not meant to hear. The forest seemed to hold its
breath as the orbs lingered, illuminating nothing but
themselves in the murky darkness.
My heart pounded so fiercely I feared it would escape my chest.
The silence between my sister and me was a thick, tense cord
stretched to breaking. Neither of us dared to whisper,
lest we draw the attention of whatever lurked just beyond the
thin glass of the van's window. I could feel my sister's fear as
palpably as my own, a shared terror that seemed to amplify in
the close quarters of our hammocks.
I wanted to speak, to say something reassuring, but fear
had sewn my lips shut. My eyes, however, remained fixed
on the haunting glow outside, tracking each slight movement as
if by will alone I could ward off the encroaching darkness.
It was then that the unbelievable occurred.
The driver's side door, which I knew my father had locked
meticulously as he always did, creaked open with a soft,
deliberate groan. The Dome light, which should
have flooded the interior with light, remained dark, as if
unwilling to reveal what was unfolding.
The air inside the van grew thick, charged with a palpable
sense of dread. With the door ajar, a larger
shape began to materialize, framed by the dim light escaping
from the interior. The figure was impossibly large,
its head nearly filling the doorway, crowned with what
seemed like two massive orange eyes that continued to burn into
the night. My sister and I, frozen in our
hammocks, could only watch as it then folded itself into the
driver's seat with a grace that belied its size.
The creature turned slowly, and for a moment it felt as though
the entire world paused. Its gaze met mine.
The eyes were not merely orbs now, but seemed to pulse with a
life of their own, bright and terrifying.
A silent scream clawed at my throat, trapped by the sheer
impossibility of what I was witnessing.
Time lost meaning as we stared at one another, until a sudden
movement from my sister broke the spell.
She began to cry softly beside me, the sound heartbreaking in
its despair. Her tears shattered my
paralysis, and I found my voice at last, calling out in a hoarse
whisper to our parents below. Yet no matter how loudly we
cried, our parents did not wake, their slumber undisturbed by our
panic. In desperation, we tumbled from
our hammocks, falling upon our unsuspecting parents in a heap
of limbs and whispered sobs. Still, they did not stir.
As though under a spell of deep, unnatural sleep, we lay there,
huddled together on the floor, our cries eventually dwindling
into exhausted whimpers. The rest of the night was a blur
of terror and confusion. I remember lying next to my mom,
her familiar scent mingling with the musty odor of the van, my
sister's small body pressed against my side as we both cried
until sleep mercifully took us. Morning light brought no relief,
only questions and disbelief. The driver's door was indeed
cracked open, just as we had feared.
Yet our parents dismissed our story, convinced we had simply
forgotten to secure it after a nocturnal excursion.
But we knew the truth of what we had seen and felt.
No amount of skepticism could erase the memory of that night,
the night the Mothman visited us in the Lonely Mountains of New
York.