Snallygaster (Book 3, the Crytpid Chronicles)

Chapter 3

Pulling his gaze from the dark empty sky, Donny turned his attention back to the van. The front end of the vehicle was mangled, and the front tire sat at an odd angle. He wasn't a car guy, but he suspected the tie-rod was busted. Hoping the van would still run, he climbed into the driver's seat and turned the key on the stalled vehicle. Thankfully, the engine cranked and went into a smooth idle, so he wasn't completely screwed. If the repairs weren't too expensive, maybe he wouldn't even turn it into his insurance. With a small smile, he removed the keys from the ignition and dropped them in his pocket. That van was everything to him; he wouldn't know what he'd do if it was totaled. That thought prompted him to put on his hazard lights before locking up.

Next, Donny pulled out his phone to check the reception. There were no bars on this desolate mountain, but he dialed 911 anyway. It was no surprise when the call wouldn't complete, so after powering the device down, he returned it to his pocket, knowing he may need to conserve the battery for when he did have reception— or when he needed a flashlight.

Hoping the monster was gone for good, Donny walked to the center of the road and looked in both directions. He saw nothing. Not the Mothman or a car for miles. He was truly alone, which struck him as very odd. Shouldn't there be some traffic? It wasn't like it was the middle of the night. The last time he'd checked, it was barely eleven o'clock. Oh well, he had no other option. He'd have to walk back to the small town of Macon.

Pineville was bigger, but he didn't want to walk up the mountain and back down just for a larger town. Besides, it would take him hours, and it made more sense to use a tow truck from Macon since it was closer. By his best estimate, he'd only traveled two miles out of town, three at most, so the trip should take him less than an hour.

Donny had left his unloaded Sig Sauer back in his van. He was pretty sure Kentucky was an open carry state, but he didn't have a state license, and he wasn't confident enough with the local laws to risk a run-in with a small-town cop. In his experience, they could be weird, if not down-right assholes.

His way was dark, with the moon mostly hidden behind the clouds, but he could see well enough to not fall down the mountainside. The temperature had dropped with the sun, and the elevation didn't help, so he zipped up his jacket and pulled the hood over his head. It limited his visibility, but any car that came along would likely have its high beams on, and the monster ... well, the Mothman would get him regardless of his outerwear.

Thirty minutes later, he was almost off the mountain. Gravity had been his friend, though his knees were a little sore from the strain of walking downhill. The dim lights of Macon shown less than a mile ahead. To be safe, Donny spun around to check his surroundings but didn't see anything. His van was hidden around multiple bends of the road, and the monster wasn't behind or above him, only dirt, rocks, and trees. Donny would've had a great view of the stars this far out into the country if not for the clouds.

It was a shame; the night sky fascinated Donny. Once as a kid, he'd tried to count the stars but was forced to give up when the little specks of light blurred and danced before his eyes. Before losing his place, he'd made it to five hundred different stars, which had only comprised a tiny corner of the heavens. One day, he'd like to try the impossible task again, but he didn't hold out much hope of completing the job. He'd since heard there were more stars in the heavens than grains of sand on a beach, which was hard to believe. A beach must have millions of grains of sand, if not billions. Could the universe really have that many stars? It was difficult to fathom, but either way, the universe contained a lot of stars and a lot of planets orbiting those stars, which meant lots of chances for life. And that was just this universe. The multiverse offered endless possibilities for sentient beings.

Donny found aliens as interesting as cryptids. Unfortunately as with both topics, there were plenty of liars, cheats, and crooks who would deceive for fame or profit. However, if a skeptical mind was applied to the stories, it was easy to separate the wheat from the chaff. Much as he believed the Roswell crash actually happened, and the Patterson-Gimlin film was real footage of a living sasquatch, those events were the exception, not the rule. Most UFO reports were just satellites or the ISS, same as most pictures of Bigfoot were nothing more than odd shadows or tree stumps.

A gust of wind stirred Donny from his usual musings while pushing the hood back on his head. The stiff breeze was followed by a loud screech. Donny lowered his hood the rest of the way and scanned the sky but found nothing. It had sounded like an owl, but he had his doubts after seeing the Mothman.

Pulling out his phone, he found his bird app and waited. If he could catch a recording, the software should be able to identify the culprit. It was a useful tool to keep him honest while hunting for the unusual. He didn't have to wait long. Seconds later, his phone caught the next ear-piercing shriek. Despite his best efforts, Donny jumped but still saw nothing in the darkness. He took a couple of deep breaths to regain his composure while the app processed the sound. He prayed it would come back as an owl or some other nocturnal avian. It didn't.

The app's response was inconclusive, which likely meant the monster was back.

Or it had never left, just biding its time, stalking Donny, waiting for the opportunity to strike again. But why not attack him while he was still on the mountain? The creature could have easily knocked him off a cliff and fed on his tattered remains. However, given what Donny knew about the Mothman, it wasn't a killer. From the stories and movies, the Mothman only chased people while scaring them half to death. And when the sightings started in an area, they were followed by paranormal activity leading up to a big catastrophe— a tragedy the Mothman had foretold, though no one was ever able to decipher its cryptic warnings.

Just because the stories claimed the beast was harmless didn't mean it was fact. Most people considered Bigfoot to be a gentle woodland ape, which, in Donny's opinion wasn't true based on the hundreds of hikers who went missing each year. He considered making a run for it, but Macon was still a good half-mile away, and Donny wasn't in the best shape. Sitting in a van all day didn't give him much opportunity to exercise.

Resorting to a gait that could best be described as a fast jog, he'd made it a couple hundred yards before the Mothman landed gracefully on the road in front of him. Donny skidded to a stop, wishing he'd brought his pistol. Even if he turned back the way he came, it would only delay the inevitable. There was no escape for him on this desolate highway. He would have to accept his fate. Donny squared his shoulders and stuck out his chin. "What is it? What do you want?"

The Mothman folded its feathery wings behind its back.

"Are you here to warn us about a disaster?" Donny asked hesitantly.

The thing stood at least seven feet tall. Glowing red eyes stared back at Donny.

"Or . . . or . . . are you here for something else?"

The monster held up its hand like before. Razor-sharp claws protruded from the end of each finger.

"Umm . . . do you want me to . . . to wait? Wait for what?"

The Mothman didn't respond to the question before a noisy V-8 engine raced towards the unlikely pair. The beast took flight before the bright headlights could illuminate it. Donny wasn't so lucky. He brought his arm up to cover his eyes, but he was still blinded by the pair of high beams.