The Mothman

  

     This story is like one of those “dark and stormy night” stories that we often read. It was not actually stormy, but it turned out to be a terrifying night. I have two excellent friends, actually, I have several good friends, but only two of them are included in this story. Although you need names, I cannot use real names. I will refer to the women as Dias and Sander and Moke will be the man and narrator of the story.

     It was Friday, the last workday of the week and we only worked a half day. Sander receives a telephone call from Dias. Dias’s son was supposed to pick her up at the Little Rock Airport, but was unable to do so because of car trouble. Our dear friend Dias is stuck at the Little Rock Airport and asked Sander to come and get her. The Little Rock Airport is about 150 miles from De Queen, meaning a 300-mile round trip for Sander. Sander, being the wonderful person she is, told Dias that she would be there shortly. She asked me if I would go with her so that she would have someone to talk to during the three-hour trip to the airport. Knowing how wonderful conversation with Sander is, I agreed to accompany her. We anticipated a fun six-hour trip with excellent conversation and pleasurable company. Little did we know what terror awaited us.

     It was an enjoyable trip to the airport. Dias was waiting for us and soon the three of us were discussing our favorite subject, where to eat. I voted for Marconi Grill. I remain unaware of what the others had, but I had grilled tuna with pasta. I can tell you every meal I had at every Marconi Grill between Little Rock, Arkansas and Austin, Texas. After the meal, the trip was going great. The three friends discussed how great the meal was and found themselves wishing there was a Marconi Grill in De Queen. Things were about to change drastically.

     The trip back to De Queen was so wonderful that I hated to see it end. Well after dark, we entered the town of Lockesburg. The Old Lockesburg Highway is the shortest and quickest way to get to our homes in Horatio. There is a stretch of road just out of Lockesburg littered with a few houses. At night, this area can seem extremely dark. As the three of us drove through that particular area, we all became extremely quiet. The conversation had stopped and silence loomed in the car. Then all of a sudden—KAWAM!  The thud of something hitting the car broke the silence.

     The car had hit something hard and the whole car shook. I saw it and knew it hit hard. Then a strange thing happened—I realized that although I was in the car with two women, silence still hung in the air. No one said anything. I wondered if they had failed to see or hear what had happened. I was unaware that I had apparently entered a strange time warp situation. Both women later swore that they screamed when the object hit the car, but I failed to hear their screams at that time.

     It is difficult to describe what happened next. Sander had once told me about seeing a mouse in her house. When she saw the mouse, she screamed and the mouse jumped straight up into the air and landed on the floor—dead. The mouse had dropped dead after hearing her scream. I can testify that is a very likely possibility. After hearing her scream, I was fortunately able to maintain control of my bowel and bladder or you would never have the chance to read this story. After regaining my hearing, the first thing I heard was, “What was that?!!!” This situation worried me a little more now. Following the initial impact and the delayed reaction, I thought they saw something that I had not seen like a body. The other cars seemed to be driving normally. Since we did not have a flashlight, we decided to continue on our way. We were all shook up. Once we arrived at my house, I got a flashlight and examined the car. There were not any dents or broken glass and everything seemed fine. The next morning I drove to the area of impact, but failed to find anything.

     Things got very strange next week. On Wednesday, Sander received a large envelope, believing it was from one of her Internet students. Upon closer inspection, the envelope looked strange. Sander brought it to me and asked if I knew anything about it. Of course, I said, “No,” and asked her what the problem was with it. She showed me the envelope and I noticed several odd things about it. It was a large 10x12 envelope, crudely designed to appear as though it arrived through the mail. A crude drawing of a U.S. stamp with a cancelation appeared in one corner. The address was misspelled in the oddest way. It was almost like reading a text message. When we opened the envelope, it became even stranger. The envelope contained a crudely sketched picture bearing a caption that read, “Axul foto of wat u dided.” A two-year-old child could have provided a better sketch. The sketch showed a car with a woman gesturing a “one-finger salute” out the window. Above the woman was a text balloon reading, “Take that, you Mothman Puke.” Now, I know as an impartial witness that nothing of this sort had happened. Below the sketch was a message that took some time to decipher. The message was, “Ve no wat vu did. Vu klt little Buba Mothman. Vu knked his ed clen off. Ve wil cotact the FBI if vu do not pya $1.35 in smll bils at 2:23 am ffryday. C vu ten. Hap a gu dy. King Mothman.” We were unsure how we were going to pay that in small bills. We each contributed a dollar for good measure. There was not a place indicated to drop off the money. We just put it back in Sander’s mailbox. Nothing ever happened. To this day, we have no idea where the letter came from and they never sent another. The FBI never contacted Sander. The whole incident remains a mystery to this day.

     It was sometime later that I watched a movie “Mothman Prophecies” and experienced déjà vu. The beginning of the movie was the same as what we had experienced. The movie indicated that the Mothman appears prior to a disaster. I searched on my news web site and discovered that the day we hit the object, an earthquake had occurred in Java killing 15,000 people. Now, tell me, is that not a scary story?

©2012 Michael L. Wright