by Mae Clair
“Lyle?” Weston huffed a guess.
“No.” Caden turned his back on the window behind Eve’s desk, blocking a view of the Ohio River. Fifteen years ago, the tall towers of the Silver Bridge had commanded that vantage point. “The Bradley brothers just came into the River Café, going on about the Mothman.”
“Aren’t they always?”
“This is different. Duncan says he shot the thing. Might have even injured it enough to kill it.”
A loud clatter echoed over the line. Small wonder if Weston dropped something. “He’s certain?”
Caden scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “As certain as he can be.” An excited babble of voices drifted beneath the closed door, alerting him a crowd gathered in the lobby. Apparently, word had spread from the café to the hotel. “Duncan said he and Donnie were scouting in the woods when the thing burst out of nowhere. He put a bullet in it when it soared over their heads.”
Weston spat a curse. “Let me guess. They’re getting everyone fired up to go into the woods with them.”
“Something like that. I’m still at the hotel. I left Ryan in the café trying to keep a lid on things. A lot of it’s just swagger, but some of these guys are going to be piling into their cars and trucks with guns to go Mothman hunting.”
“I hear you.” Weston exhaled noisily. “Rosling’s at the station. I’ll call in and have him put a patrol together. With any luck, this whole thing will blow over in one night. If we’re going to have a lot of idiots running around with guns, we need to be visible.”
“I’m headed there as soon as I hang up.”
“Good.” Weston paused, and Caden had the sense he was mulling something over. “What do you think? Did Duncan really hit the thing?”
“Hard to say.” The thought lay like a rock in his gut. The Mothman had saved his life more than once. How did you wish death on a being like that? His gaze dropped to his forearm where the marks the creature branded him with peeked from beneath his sleeve. “I’ll radio if I find anything.”
“Do that.” Weston’s voice was gruff. “We don’t need this turning into a circus. If the media gets wind of it—”
“I hear you. Gotta run.” Caden hung up the phone as Eve stepped into the office. A din of voices rose behind her before she muffled them into silence by closing the door.
“Word’s spreading.” She moved closer to the desk, absently twisting the diamond ring on her finger. Her eyes appeared overly bright, the corners of her mouth stretched in an anxious line. “I’m worried, Caden. What are you going to do?”
“My job.” There was no time to go back for a patrol car, but he kept a .38 locked in his glove box. If the thing was dying, then he needed to end it humanely before some half-assed hit squad splattered the TNT with the creature’s innards.
“Tell Ryan where I’m headed.” Rounding the desk, he gave her a quick kiss, then headed for the door. “Do me a favor and keep an eye on Evening. Something about that guy doesn’t add up.”
“He already left.”
“What?” Caden stopped in his tracks.
“He left the café not long after you did.” Eve twisted the ring again, worrying it back and forth. “It’s crazy out there. There’s a crowd growing in the lobby. Mostly guests, but people are starting to wander in from the street. And Duncan and Donnie are trying to round up a hunting party to go into the TNT.”
“Great.”
“Ryan read them the riot act and told them to keep away from the place, that the sheriff’s office would handle it. Some of the guys aren’t buying it, and Shawn Preech is telling everyone whoever finds the Mothman is going to be famous. Mr. Evening left right before things got hectic.”
“Ryan’s going to have to deal with it. If he has to, he can call city police.” Caden needed to get to the TNT and find the damn creature before someone else did. If word spread through town, it wouldn’t only be hunters headed to the old munitions site, but reporters too. Weston didn’t want a circus, but there wasn’t much they could do to stop the frenzy. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He opened the door and stepped into the lobby—directly into the chaos of rumormongers and camera flashes.
* * * *
It took a good hour for the lobby to clear out. Katie was thankful when most everyone who remained congregated in the café. The majority of the curiosity seekers had left, a few snapping pictures of the famous Mothman photo that hung in the lobby. It would be interesting to know what Glenda and George Whitmore thought of the latest uproar. Eve had told them they could stay free whenever they wanted thanks to the business their photo brought the hotel. It had certainly drawn a lot of attention tonight, even if Katie did think it looked like an indiscernible gray blob. Enough papers and science-fiction journals had splashed it on their front page, that everyone from fanatics to the mildly curious viewed it as the holy grail of Mothman evidence.
A muffled din of conversation drifted from the River, as she busied herself straightening up the lobby. Donnie and Duncan had left with eight to ten others, all of them hyped up on the idea of tracking down the Mothman.
“There’s gotta be a blood trail,” Donnie had said. Others agreed.
Ryan left a little before they did, headed for the TNT to rendezvous with Weston’s patrols. Most who remained simply wanted to coast on the wave of lingering excitement. When she’d popped her head in the eatery a few minutes ago, some of the older patrons were sharing tales from the ’66 and ’67 sightings. Mothman fever was back, and it looked like it was going to be a while before the flurry died down.
The sound of the front doors opening drew her attention from the magazines she was arranging on a table by the window. She straightened in time to see Suzanne Preech step inside and sweep a hand through her hair, taming her platinum curls.
“Hi, Suzanne.” Katie picked up several outdated magazines, cradling them in the crook of her arm. “If you’re looking for Shawn, I think he’s in the café.”
“You mean he didn’t go with the others?” She flattened a hand against her stomach, sounding relieved. “I got wind Duncan and Donnie were telling everyone they shot the Mothman.”
Katie nodded. “Things have mostly calmed down since then. Duncan and Donnie went to the TNT and took a bunch of the guys with them.”
“I was sure Shawn would go.” Biting her lip, Suzanne took a hesitant step forward. A mixture of pride and jumpiness warred in her gaze. She was obviously flustered by something.
“He wanted to, but Ryan Flynn talked him out of it.” Katie didn’t add it was because Shawn had downed too much beer to be traipsing around in the woods with a loaded gun. If he didn’t fall flat on his face, he’d likely shoot himself.
Suzanne closed her eyes. “Thank God.” She flattened her hand against her stomach a second time before seeming to realize her voice betrayed too much. Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her chin. “I mean… That’s nice.”
Katie experienced a moment of sympathy. “I’m sorry about Duke. Ryan told me what happened.”
“Thanks. I miss that big smelly dog.” A faint smile touched Suzanne’s lips before her gaze drifted in the direction of the café. “I should probably go round up Shawn. It’s getting late for a work night. If he wants to kick back with a few cold ones, he can do it tomorrow on a Friday.” Having said her piece, she started past Katie. She was halfway across the lobby when she halted. “I heard Ryan’s been visiting you a lot.”
Katie stiffened, immediately defensive. It was no one’s business if Ryan came to see her. She was about to blurt something about small town gossip when Suzanne’s face softened with a smile.
“You know how people change when they get older?’ She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Ryan’s the same kind-hearted, decent guy he was when he was a kid. If I were you, I’d hang on to him.”
There was nothing smug or threatening in the observation, not even a challenge he might still be fair game. Bef
ore Katie could say anything in return, Suzanne left and headed down the short hallway to the café. Bewildered, Katie listened to the door swing open. The din of voices grew louder with the barrier removed, one rising above all the others.
“Look who it is,” Shawn Preech slurred. “My lovely wife. And mother-to-be.”
* * * *
Caden reached the TNT before anyone else. Starting with the empty shell of the old north power plant off Fairgrounds Road, he explored the crumbling interior, using a flashlight to guide his way through the dark. The beam sent some small creature scurrying deeper into shadow, but he discovered nothing to suggest the winged humanoid had been there. Later, he checked the igloo where he’d run afoul of the oracle-like being who lurked inside. Nothing.
He attempted to communicate with the thing, hoping to discover where the Mothman was hidden, but the igloo was empty, silent as a tomb. It would only be a matter of time before Duncan and Donnie returned with a lynch-mentality search party. Legally, there was nothing he could do to stop them from roaming the grounds, but the situation felt primed for disaster. Hopefully, the patrols Weston promised would arrive first, the police presence enough to keep any thrill-seekers in order.
After driving for some time, randomly pulling off here and there to investigate trails cut between the trees, he decided he was going about it all wrong. Once or twice, he heard the distant rumble of a car engine or caught a flash of light deep in the woods, alerting him others had arrived. If the Mothman was out there, he wasn’t going to find the cryptid playing needle in a haystack. In every encounter he’d had—except the first, when he’d helped the creature—it had come to him. Maybe it would do the same again.
Caden drove farther down the road, then pulled off in an area void of trails. An owl hooted somewhere off to his right. Leaving the vehicle behind, he wound his way through a knotted tangle of pine, firs, and oaks, heading deeper into the endless labyrinth of trees. The air was heavy with the scent of dried leaves and dark loam, the wind rustling branches overhead. Old wood clacked together with the sound of hollow bones. A full moon helped guide his way, and the beam of his flashlight sliced a trail through the dark.
Careful to note his path, he headed in a southwesterly direction for about five minutes. It was easy to get turned around in the woods, especially at night. Depending on how far you ventured, the ground could quickly turn into marshy soil or boggy wetlands. Eventually, he paused, waiting for any unusual noise. When nothing came, he flicked off the flashlight and waited.
You’ve got to be out there somewhere.
Most people who’d seen the Mothman claimed to have spotted it more than once. A few eyewitnesses from the sixties adamantly maintained the cryptid had been trying to communicate with them. Some believed it had attempted to warn the town of the Silver Bridge disaster before the collapse. Others insisted the monster was a harbinger of evil and had caused the tragedy.
Duncan and Donnie had spotted the Mothman last June. How ironic if the thing returned in an attempt to communicate with them and the idiots had shot it instead. For all he knew, the creature had secreted itself away in isolation to die. Caden’s life had been in danger every time the creature appeared. Is that why he couldn’t find it now…because there was no threat of harm?
The hum started as a low vibration.
It rolled over Caden, awakening a memory of sulfur and chaos, a being born of nightmare. The sound pulsed and thrummed, growing louder. A second later it exploded in a shrill burst that drove him to his knees. Dropping the flashlight, he clamped his hands over his ears. Anger pummeled him, raw and beet-red. Not his emotion, but the intrusion of something alien. A disorganized mind locked with his, battering him beneath a blizzard of fury and pain. Wind howled through the trees, the branches chattering like the dead. He clamped his jaw, grinding his teeth.
Stop! I can’t—
And just that quickly, the wind died and the conduit of emotion snapped. Something crouched five feet away. The hum remained, a muted drone at the back of his skull.
Slowly, he stood. The glowing eyes of the Mothman tracked his movement.
It was hard to look at the creature, its face a mere suggestion of form. There was nothing where the head should be, just two enormous eyes, red as scarlet wine. Much like a human, it had two arms and two legs, but its feet were three-toed, ending in long, lethal claws. Talons took the place of fingers, and two massive gray wings sprouted from its back. Half humanoid, half bird-like, it was wholly demonic and nightmarish in appearance.
Caden wet his lips, unsure how to communicate. The thing seemed able to project emotion, so he tried to do the same. In the dark, he couldn’t tell if the Mothman was injured, but did his best to mentally convey concern.
Instantly, he was blasted by rage. Staggering beneath the violent onslaught, he took two steps backward. The Mothman rose to its full height, towering well over seven feet. The tips of its wings arched above its back. Caden flicked on his flashlight, passing the beam over the creature. It didn’t as much as flinch, but he spied a bullet hole near the top of its right wing. Duncan had shot the thing. Far from mortally wounding the creature, he’d only served in ticking it off. Royally.
Another surge of rage pummeled Caden. No words, only a pulsing need for retribution.
“Don’t.” This time he spoke the word aloud. “They were afraid. They reacted like anyone would. You can’t—”
The hum swelled in savage retaliation.
He grunted, doubling over. His fingers clamped down on the flashlight, and the beam wobbled over the ground. Mercifully, the loud vibration retreated. He breathed raggedly through his mouth, anger mushrooming within. His own.
“These are my friends. My town. You will not terrorize them.”
The Mothman shrieked. With a burst of motion, it launched straight up into the sky. The thunder of its wings was almost as painfully loud as the humming synonymous with its presence. It hovered only seconds. Long enough to drill Caden’s mind with a primeval need for vengeance.
He raised an arm to shield his face when a gale-like wind buffeted him. He didn’t have to look to know the creature was gone.
Or that Point Pleasant was its target.
Chapter 12
Katie was happy to take a lunchtime break when noon rolled around. She’d snagged a booth at the River Café for her and Sarah. Eve was unable to join them, but Sarah wanted to get together, and Katie agreed it would be nice to chat about something other than the Mothman. For three days, the monster had terrorized the town. It stampeded cows in several farm fields, chased a carload of teenagers on Route 2 more than a mile, and buzzed Warren Gardner in his backyard—or so the stories went. True or not, the reports had everyone on edge, Point Pleasant plagued by the same heightened sense of fear that overshadowed it in the mid-sixties.
Ryan and Caden, along with a number of deputies, had been working double shifts, frightened residents calling if they heard so much as an unusual rustle at night. Duncan and Donnie, having recruited a few followers, still tromped around the igloos hoping to spot the creature, but so far, the cryptid had proven elusive. Duncan was disappointed he hadn’t killed it or gained overnight fame, but several reporters had shown up to talk to him. Thrilled by the attention, he and Donnie made the most of the limelight.
Business at the hotel boomed with curiosity seekers arriving daily, requesting directions to the TNT. A few claimed to have experienced their own encounters, but many simply wanted to soak up the atmosphere of Mothman fever. As a result, the café was busier than normal for a Monday. Everyone seemed to be chatting about Point Pleasant’s famous “bird.” UFOs were forgotten, and Katie hadn’t heard of anyone spying a man in black clothing for days. With the exception of one, the mysterious strangers had gone low profile.
Lach Evening strolled into the café from the lobby, halting just inside the door. His black eyes swept the room before pausing on her. A strikingly handsome man, there was something unsettling a
bout him.
Katie glanced at her watch, hoping Sarah would arrive. Lach made her uncomfortable despite being nothing but polite each time they spoke.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Lynch.” Evening appeared on the opposite side of the booth, looking woefully out of place in a tailored black suit with crisp white shirt.
Who walked around like that during the day?
“I wonder if I could speak with you?” His voice was almost melodic.
She took a sip of the soda Nancy had brought earlier. “I’m meeting someone.”
“It will only take a moment, I assure you.” Inviting himself, he slid into the seat across from her. His smile was staged to perfection as he rested one long-fingered hand on the table.
She tried not to stare at his oddly shaped fingertips.
“I’d like to ask you about Lyle Mason,” Evening said.
“Like you asked me about my mother fifteen years ago?”
His smile faltered. “I beg your pardon?”
“The night the Silver Bridge fell.” She could be wrong, but wouldn’t know without pressing. “You were looking for my mother, Doreen Sue Lynch. I was outside of her hair salon and you asked where you could find her.”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. It must have been someone who looked like me.”
“I don’t think so.” She gazed pointedly at his fingertips.
Evening cleared his throat. Withdrawing his hand, he laced his fingers in his lap. “I don’t believe I’ve ever visited Point Pleasant before.”
She didn’t buy it. “You look the same.”
He chuckled. “There, you see? I would have aged a great deal after fifteen years. I do not want to take up your time, Ms. Lynch, only ask you about Lyle Mason. I believe he might try to contact you.”
“Ryan told me about him.”
The hand reappeared, two fingertips tapping the table. “Ryan?”