Just Creepy: Scary Stories - TERRIFYING Mothman Encounters That Will HAUNT Your Dreams

Episode Date: September 4, 2024

These are 8 TERRIFYING Mothman Encounters That Will HAUNT Your Dreams Get your Mothman merchandise today!: https://just-creepy-shop.fourthwall.com/?source=dashboard Linktree: https://linktr.ee/its_just_creepy Story Credits: ►Sent in to https://www.justcreepy.net/ Timestamps: 00:00 Intro 00:00:18 Story 1 00:16:23 Story 2 00:29:08 Story 3 00:34:14 Story 4 00:36:36 Story 5 00:42:46 Story 6 00:53:39 Story 7 01:02:28 Story 8 Music by: 'Decoherence' by Scott Buckley - released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wM_AjpJL5I4&t=0s Business inquiries: ►[e-mail] #scarystories #horrorstories #mothman #cryptids #deepwoods #pointpleasant #scarystoriespodcast 💀As always, thanks for watching! 💀

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What's up, Cryptid fans? We're super excited to unveil something. mysterious today, our all-new mothman merchandise. From chilling designs to must-have gear, we've got everything you need to rep the legend himself. Whether you're a die-hard mothman believer or just love a little bit of crypted flair, these exclusive items are going to fly off the shelves, just like mothman into the night sky. Get yours tagged below or go to just creepy.net. 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, re-igniting 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, West Virginia. This diminutive city, Despite covering a mere three square miles and hosting just over 4,000 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 12, 1966.

It was then that five grave diggers, laboring in a cemetery on the edge of Clendenin, 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 14, 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 spoke. 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 banned it, 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 15, two young married couples burst into the Mason County Sheriff's Office in a state of panic and distress. They were Mr. and Mrs. Roger Scarberry and Mr. and Mrs. 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 seven 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 Partridge's German Shepherd. As they past this strange-looking figure, it rose into the air and proceeded to fly out of the car. Mr. Scarberry, who was driving, sped up close to 100 miles per hour, 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. Dr. 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 Mrs. Ray, Mr. and Mrs. Raymond Worsley, along with Marcella 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 II to store ammunition. It is also adjacent to the 2,500-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 9th,

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 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 Dr. Robert Smith's interpretation, positing that the mothman could simply be a misidentified large bird, an idea that isn't entirely without merit. The Sand Hill 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's 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 seven 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 miles per hour, 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 inflame 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 first place was a result of those first four encounters. These four sightings all happened over the course of as 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 firsthand 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 first mothman sighting, a sewing machine salesman by the name of Woodrow Darenberger, 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 Darenberger telepathically, asking about the strange glow on the horizon,

not realizing that it was the lights of a distant town. Darenberger 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 Derenberger 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 UFOs 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's 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's 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 20, 2016, almost exactly five 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. A text says, you're on my mind. A bouquet from 1-800-flowers says, You're my everything. Heartfelt moments belong in the real world, not just your phone. For 50 years, 1-800 Flowers has helped millions of people make memories that'll last a lifetime,

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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 wood 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 degrees, 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, 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 five, four, 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 one 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 edge 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. Its 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 where 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.

been his skin. Almost nine 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 fiber 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 stand-off 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 that somehow it could not be good. With shaking hands, I fumbled for the cell phone in my pocket. Though I would get no signal out here, the camera still worked. Slowly, so slowly, I fumbled 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 resolve 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, 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 five 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 onto 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 dad.

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 seven 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 tens 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 stepsister 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 seemed 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, were 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 stepsister'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 good night. 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 a quarter, 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 moth man? 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 five 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 ten 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. All. Pay off your home, travel for life, drive a Ferrari. In celebration of the world premiere of the Monopoly,

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Who knew your questionable music taste will be a money-making machine? Your style can make you cash. Start selling on Deepop where Taste recognizes taste. Driving on FM 157 between Venus and Mansfield, Texas, 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. 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 Jeepers 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 rearview 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 first, 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 anyone 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 Road in Middle Tennessee. It was around 10.30 p.m., 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 seven and a half 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 creature's colors 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 seven or eight 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 a hundred yards down the road. Taking a deep breath, I turned the car around, my heart's 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 listened 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,

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 Arna Road. 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 left over 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 tail. 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. Okay, but why was it abandoned in the first 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. Okay, 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. Two 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 road somewhere between Pyrusburg 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 urged the old 1950s Chevy Clyde had left me up the hill. After about a quarter 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 Naljean bottle, and a small maglight, 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 moth man, 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 reched. 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 pounds 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. Whoa, 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 twenty feet from me. It, this abomination, this clear affront to God, stood easily seven 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 creature's 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 quick, quickly rolled onto my back and instinctively shielded my face. Three 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.

be careful, you never know what you'll find up here in the mountains. Twenty-seven years ago, I was just an eleven-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, its 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 streetlights flickered on, a warning that trouble awaited if I lingered too long, or worse, if I faced 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 warm. 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 other-worldly 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 moth man, 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 West Virginia, 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. that I wasn't afraid of some myth. So as the sun set 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. I called. 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 belonged 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 sown 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 Lodont 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. Spring just slid into your DMs. Grab that boho look for that rooftop dinner, those sandals that can keep up with you, and hang some string lights to give your patio a glow up. Spring's calling. Ross, work your magic.