Chapter 2 THE LEGEND OF THE MOTHMAN

"Hey guys, it's Martin again," the young paranormal investigator greeted in a low voice. "I'm here at the Wakeford Public Library doing some research for my first case of local Wakeford legends: the Mothman."

He panned the viewfinder over to his desk, upon which local newspaper clippings of grey, white and black were sprawled everywhere. The headlines themselves were varied, but all tied back to that cryptid which now held Martin's fascination in a vice grip. The clippings stretched back many years, longer than he anticipated.

The viewfinder zoomed in on the headlines printed in bold black letters:

LOCAL COUPLE SPOT STRANGE CREATURE NEAR ARMS FACTORY

IS THE 'MOTHMAN' CONNECTED TO THE BRIDGE COLLAPSE?

REPORTS OF MOTH-LIKE MONSTER ROCK WAKEFORD

WHAT IS THE 'MOTHMAN?'

WAKEFORD BRIDGE COLLAPSES - 30 DEAD, 12 INJURED

"As you can see," Martin explained, running his fingers along the headlines, "accounts of the Mothman go quite far back. He may have been around before Wakeford was even founded. Some of these reports date to the late 1960s..."

He reached out for one particular newspaper, dated August 3rd, 1968, and began reading.

"From the Wakeford Daily Sun, 3rd of August 1968: This photograph has been causing quite a stir in Wakeford ever since it was taken yesterday. The photo shows what appears to be a large bird-like creature climbing up the Wakeford Bridge..."

Martin turned the camera on the photograph. It was colored, but grainy, indicating its age. Against the pale blue sky, climbing up the steel ramparts was a dark smudge. A single red dot glanced at the camera, betraying a sense of nakedness. The creature had clearly been caught out in the open, unaware of being watched.

"1968 was the same year the bridge was constructed. And it turns out the Jacobsens were not the only ones to see him, either. Take a listen to this..."

He grabbed another clipping, dated December 14th, 2001, and read aloud, in as quiet a voice he could:

"Also, from the Wakeford Daily Sun, 14th of December 2001: Wakeford local Jonathan Morley claimed he saw an insect-like creature lurking around the old abandoned arms factory near the edge of town. Morley's description matches the Jacobsens' encounter almost word for word..."

He cleared his throat, not minding the errant stares of confusion from some library-goers. This was far too important a revelation. The matters of etiquette would have to be put aside for now.

"The Mothman is supposed to have an all-black body, stand at least 12 feet tall, have wings that span seven to 10 feet, and most importantly..."

Finally, an artist's rendition of the creature graced the viewfinder. The drawing, while crude and dated, was nonetheless forbidding. Its stare almost cut right through Martin as he glanced at it. Just the sight of it gave him chills.

"...two glowing red eyes."

Martin heaved a deep breath and ran his fingers through his ash blonde hair. He had worked plenty of cases before, but none of them required this level of research. At last, he turned the viewfinder on himself and concluded the recording, saying, almost out of breath,

"Clearly, this thing has been haunting the town for a long time. Now, it could be that these citizens just spotted a rare bird, but...there's no bird I've ever heard of as big as this, and especially not with red eyes. Not only that, but what's the connection between this thing and the bridge collapse? The Jacobsen family encountered the creature just days before the bridge accident. That's got to mean something, right?"

He paused, looking back over his work. Some dots were connected, but others needed a thread to tie them together. He would have to go to the source.

"So, my next move is to go to the Jacobsen family and talk to them myself. I figure getting their input on this makes the most sense. They saw this thing, after all. Anyway, I'll update when I have an interview..."

He shut the camera off and hurriedly piled together the newspapers he had collected. Martin didn't mind much the neatness of his pile or if they were in the correct order; in his mind, he was racing against the clock. It was far better to get a clearer picture of this as soon as possible.

He dropped the pile of clippings on the receptionist's desk with a loud "THUD!" from the weight. The librarian, an elderly woman in her 60s with large glasses, raised a skeptical eyebrow at the tall pile of newspapers.

"... Will that be all, sir?" she asked, taken aback by the large collection of newspapers for withdrawal.

"Yes, I think I've collected all that I needed. Thank you."

"You seem very driven to solve...whatever it is you're solving."

"Oh, yeah, I'm just looking for leads regarding the Mothman."

The librarian's face went pale at that word. She rolled back in her chair as she caught her breath. If Martin didn't know any better, she had just heard him say the most terrible word imaginable.

"W-why would you want to research that?"

"Pardon me...?"

"That thing...is nothing but trouble."

"Well, apparently, it's the source of the trouble. So, I'm trying to get to the bottom of the mystery behind it. Call it a hobby, I suppose."

"I don't mean to be rude, but you should pursue something else, if you value your life."

"You make it sound like this Mothman is a serial killer..."

She removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. The youth of this world seemed cursed to be foolish, constantly driven to find out what was better left kept under wraps.

"If I may: where are you going after this?"

"To the Jacobsen family."

At the very mention of that name, the Librarian's face grew even paler. Her brow broke into a cold sweat.

"T-t-t-t-the J-J-J-J-Jacobsen family!?"

"Um, yeah. They were the victims of that incident one year ago. They lost their 18-year-old daughter too..."

The older woman looked around the library, to make sure nobody was present. She ushered Martin closer, her voice lowered into a fearful whisper.

"You won't get any answers from them. They've...changed since then."

"I know, they're still grieving. My grandpa already told-"

"NO. It's more than just that. They turned into completely different people."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The librarian recoiled back, fearing she spoke too much. She stared at her black shoes and wiped off the sweat with a handkerchief.

"F-forget it. I've said quite enough already. I'm scanning the papers for you now."

In a flash all the clippings he needed for his investigation were scanned, on the condition he return them in one week's time. With any luck, he would have this mystery solved well before then. However, the librarian's unwillingness to share information only raised further questions. This Mothman was clearly something feared. It was more than just a harbinger of bad luck or a strange creature. It was a force exerting itself over the town.

It only spurred Martin that much faster out the door.

Martin didn't know what he was getting himself into. He knew better than to disrupt the peace of a distressed family, but he needed answers. If he was going to figure out what this Mothman was all about, he had to go to the witnesses themselves. Perhaps they could obtain closure as well.

Approaching the house, he noticed, how old and worn down it was. Remnants of the blue coat of paint chipped off the clapboard walls while an errant roof tile slid off porch awning like autumn leaves. How long had it been in this state of disrepair? Years at least. Years left in shambles, like the life of the Jacobsen's since the bridge collapse a year ago.

Taking a deep breath, the young ghost hunter knocked on the door, three times. After a moment of silence, the door suddenly opened, revealing...a disheveled woman in her 50s, holding a bottle of wine. With a quick swig of the bottle, she asked Martin, her speech slurred.

"G-g-g-good d-d-day! How c-c-can I h-help you?"

"Um, Hello. I'm Martin, Steve Chalmers' grandson. I'll be staying here for the summer."

"OHHH, that's right! He told me some things about ya! C-come in, come in!"

Before the teenager could protest, the woman yanked on his arm, dragging him into the house. Compared to the house's exterior, the interior was cleaner...that is, if one could bypass the dozens of dirty dishes piled up on the kitchen sink. Or the few holes on the wall big enough for a fist to fit through. Or the endless bottles of wine on the carpet floor. Martin gulped a lump in his throat. What in the hell did he get himself into?

"It's not much, b-b-but make yourself at home. I'll have Audrey make you some tea."

"T-thanks. Wait, Audrey...but I thought-"

"AUDREY!" the drunk woman shouted. "GET OVER HERE, NOW!"

The startled Martin heard a shuffling from upstairs and seen Audrey herself, meekly walking down. She was a pretty young girl, younger than Martin by three or even four years. She was petite for her age as well, whether it from a stunt in growth or something else was uncertain. She wore a pink hoodie with a unicorn in the center and a green skirt with black leggings. Complimenting the style were two pigtails that went down to her shoulders.

"Y-yes, Mom?"

"Be a nice girl and bring our guest some tea. Hurry it up!"

"A-alright."

As fast as she could, Audrey raced to the kitchen to fetch some tea and offered it to Martin.

"H-here you go."

"Thank you...Audrey."

Upon further observation, Martin noticed a difference in "Audrey." She had a much rounder face and broad shoulders. Back when he seen a picture of her from the old magazines, she looked drastically different. Not only that, the voice was obviously masculine. If that's the case, then, this girl...

Martin shook his head. No, he wouldn't press the matter. For now, he needed to focus on the task at hand. He needed to interview them.

"May I ask where Mr. Jacobsen is?"

"Oh, he's still at work right now. Won't be back in another hour, I think...?"

"Three hours," Audrey corrected her mother.

"Yeah, yeah, that."

"Well, "Martin began, "I guess I'll catch him another time. If it's alright with you, I would like to ask a few questions. About...the incident."

Just then, the somewhat friendly atmosphere changed. A dark cloud seemed to roll into the house as Audrey's eyes darted around as she shifted from her seat uncomfortably. She glanced wearily at her mother, Mrs. Jacobsen, who lowered her head and grew quiet. Martin produced an article from his bag and carefully opened it up, reading the contents as he went along. It was the very article that reported the collapse of the bridge and...the tragic loss of one of their own. "Audrey" glanced over at her mother, whose hand squeezed tightly at the wine bottle she carried.

"I know it's not an easy thing to talk about but...I would like to know what happened to your eldest daughter, Audrey Jacobsen."

"What are you talking about?" Mrs. Jacobsen denied. "She's sitting right there."

"Mom...please. I'm not-"

"Shut up Audrey, I'm talking here, not you!"

"B-b-but I'm not Audrey. I'm Billy-"

At that defiant protest, the angry drunk of a mother threw her empty wine bottle at Billy, forcing him down on the carpet floor.

"Stupid brat! Watch who you're talking to!" Then she turned her hateful gaze towards Martin. "And YOU! I don't know what the fuck you're here for but if you are just some paparazzi getting a high raise for harassing people, you've come to the wrong house!"

"P-please, I mean no disrespect. I just wanted to- "

Suddenly, the angry, violent drunk produced a knife from under her sofa she sat in and menaced the teenager. The boy sat up, panicked. Where the hell did she hide that knife?!

"GET THE FUCK OUT! GET OUT!"

Just then, Billy intervened. He held on to his mother's hands, despite his short stature.

"Please leave!" he cautioned, trying to shoo Billy away. "We have nothing to say about the incident. Please leave us be!"

Billy pushed his mother away and turned his physical efforts towards the young paranormal investigator. Martin, through Billy's insistence, made a beeline for the entrance door. However, he was desperate for answers, any at all, and tried to fight through Billy's grasp. But it was no use; the boy was stronger than him, and he thrust him out the front door. Martin expected a loud slam in his face, but instead he got something different. Billy shut the door behind him and approached him in a low voice.

"Look," he said hurriedly, "you want the truth about the incident? The bridge collapse fucked them in the head. Badly."

"Clearly," Martin returned, straightening his brown jacket. "But what about the Mothman?" Billy narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"What...?"

"The Mothman! I know your parents saw it. The encounter was days before the bridge collapsed. And I know the Mothman's been sighted near the bridge ever since it's been built. Tell me: what did they see that night?"

The cross-dressing boy closed his eyes and tried to piece together the fading memories in his mind. It was a complicated, broken puzzle that was nearly impossible to assemble.

"It was so long ago. We...we were driving home from...someplace, I can't remember where. We stopped at a gas station to fuel up the car. While we were waiting for our parents. Audrey and I saw a pair of red eyes, staring right back at us. They were hiding behind tall grass from a distance. When our parents came back, we tried to tell them. They laughed it off, thinking it was some joke we made up."

"So, they just drove you guys home...past the arms factory." Billy nodded.

"Yeah, and that's when it came for us." Martin reached for his recorder and switched it on.

"Can you describe exactly what happened?" The boy looked down at his machine with suspicion.

"What are you, a reporter?"

"No, just...an investigator."

Billy, unconvinced, roughly grabbed the 'investigator' by his jacket collar and hissed,

"Put my name out in public and you're dead."

"I think you've suffered enough, pal. Now just talk to me."

"You want my testimony? Here it is: Fuck off. This little interview is over." Billy stormed up the steps of the porch and offered Martin a final warning. "Stay away from my family and don't go anywhere near the arms factory. Leave this 'Mothman' alone." Growing agitated, Marty stood his ground.

"Sorry, but no. Something freaky is going on here and I will get to the bottom of it."

"What do you even want!? Are you looking for money? Power? Fame?"

"Of course not!" Marty insisted. "I'm trying to figure out what's going on in this town! Nobody is saying jack shit and it's frustrating the hell out of me..."

Billy sighed tiredly and continued marching up the stairs, where his mother still awaited him. Marty was miffed by this. Why was he going back there? He was just going to get hurt again.

"Are you seriously going back to that house?!" Martin chided, worriedly. "Can't you see this isn't healthy? Look what they're doing to you!"

Billy's cold glare softened, and he tugged at his sleeve.

"I know what it looks like. But, my parents...they're all I got now. I want to believe they can change. I want to help them through this. So, I'm willing to pretend to be Audrey for as long as I live. If that can make them happy..."

"But, that's not what you want," Martin challenged. "Is it?" Billy scoffed and turned his back on the investigator.

"Like you would EVER understand."

And with that, he slammed the door behind him, leaving Martin in the dirt to ponder his words. The older boy only snort in annoyance and turned his back on the run-down house. He should have known better than to expect rationality from a grieving family hit by tragedy. The wounds were still fresh, and his presence only rubbed salt deeper into them. But this would not be the end of his investigation.

Far too often, others mocked him, belittled him and demeaned his endeavors. Complete strangers. His classmates. His own sister. Now, even the victims of potential paranormal activity. But in the time, he had spent chasing ghosts and unraveling mysteries, he learned that, while the truth could be painful, incredible, even, it was no reason to throw in the towel.

"I want the truth," he muttered to himself as he kicked a stone along the dirt road. "No matter how scary, I want the truth."

After a long and grueling walk along the dirt road, Martin finally came upon his grandfather's Victorian-style house, pristine and comforting amidst the lonely waves of grass and the woods that spotted the landscape. It stood two stories tall, with a bay window on the bottom floor and a porch complete with a bench swing. Sitting on the swing was a familiar face, one Martin didn't expect to see so soon after arriving.

Julia was almost unrecognizable without her waitress' uniform. She let her curly brown hair fall past her shoulders to the small of her back while skin-tight blue jeans highlighted her slim figure. A red and black plaid flannel jacket was wrapped around her frame, with one of the sleeves almost covering her hand as she greeted Martin with a wave.

"Hey there, Marty! I was waiting for you to get back!"

"You were waiting for me?" Martin repeated, confused. "What for?"

"Your grandpa told me what you were up to, and..."

The perky brunette rubbed her arm, slightly uncomfortable. Martin feared she, perhaps the only person who had welcomed him warmly in this town, would take the same stance as the other locals. He took a step back, as if confronted by the Mothman himself.

"...and?"

"And I think I spotted the Mothman, too."

The young paranormal investigator's jaw nearly dropped to the front stoop at that declaration. This was just what he needed. If the Jacobsens couldn't provide him with any further evidence and testimony, then surely Julia, the girl who gave him this legend in the first place, would. He reached for his recorder and cautiously rose up the steps to the front porch.

"So, you saw him?"

"Yeah, I th-think so, at least."

"Where?"

"By the old munitions factory. I...was driving home and I thought spotted two red eyes in the forests nearby."

"So, all trails lead back to the arms factory."

He sat down on the porch swing next to Julia and turned on the recorder. Julia looked askance at the device but said nothing. Instead, she only leaned back as he posed her questions.

"What time was this?"

"I-It was p-pretty late at night. I think...nine-thirty, 10 o'clock, maybe? I don't really remember." Martin nodded and scooted closer to her.

"Do you remember anything else? Anything out of the ordinary that stuck out to you?"

Julia fiddled with her fingers, clearly uneasy. What had this poor girl seen? Was this Mothman truly that terrifying? Clearly it had an effect on the Jacobsens, but they were older, more vulnerable. And Julia, while more than forthcoming with details on the legend, didn't strike him as someone who deeply believed. Merely, she seemed an enthusiast. Perhaps this encounter shook her to her core.

"Well..." she began.

The recorder pressed closer to her, almost touching her lips. Julia raised an eyebrow at his eagerness. Catching himself, he withdrew and just ushered her, his voice more subdued,

"Go on."

With that little nudge, the waitress continued her tale. About how she ventured close to the arms factory. How she almost mustered the courage to investigate the grounds herself. How she caught and restrained herself from going too far. How the red eyes seemed to track her, hypnotize her with their unblinking stare.

Julia's story intrigued and astonished him. What was this creature after? What drew it to Wakeford? Why did it come for the Jacobsen family? Was it an enemy or an ally? So many questions with no answers in sight. He needed to keep digging, regardless of how deep the hole was.

"Thank you, Julia. I know it wasn't easy to talk about it. But I appreciate it all the same. The more we know about this thing, the sooner we can lay this mystery to rest." Julia smiled, satisfied and slightly bemused.

"I kind of feel better already. I really needed to get that out of my chest. So, what's next for you?"

"Well, I've got some papers I collected from the library. I'll be reading more of them now that I have plenty of free time." Julia eyes widened slightly, and she stifled a giggle.

"Wow, you're devoted, eh?" Julia asked. Martin nodded, grinning proudly.

"Of course. It's been a little hobby of mine."

"You know, I'm actually kind of jealous. It's inspiring to see someone have that kind of passion for something."

"Oh, it's nothing to brag about, really..." Martin admitted, blushing.

Julia only flashed a grin and rustled his hair like one would a younger sibling. They laughed and talked on the porch for the better part of an hour about things Martin could barely even remember. Throughout their time together, Martin was put at ease. Of all the locals he had encountered so far in Wakeford, Julia proved the most welcoming and helpful. To say nothing of her willingness to feed him a new case, she didn't treat his fascination with the supernatural as strange. In fact, she seemed as enthusiastic about it as him.

Finally, as the sun dipped behind the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance, Julia stood up and stretched her arms.

"Well, I think I better get going. It's a little late and I need to check on the diner."

She marched herself down the steps of the porch towards a green Pinto parked out front next to his grandfather's red pickup truck. However, before she got into her car, the older girl offered the ghost hunter a warning.

"By the way, I'm not advising against it, but...you should be careful about factory. I've heard that if someone goes in there, they...never return. Like, EVER."

Martin broke into a cold sweat, but he hid his trepidation with a slight nod.

"I-I'll that in mind, thanks, Julia."

The brunette's stoic expression melted quickly into a perky smile before she started her car and drove off. Martin scratched the back of his head. He was half expecting Julia to snuff out his attempts of investigation. Maybe she was really was his fan after all.

Two Hours Later

"I'm back! Anything cool happen?"

Madeline arrived home after a day of exploring the town, yawning as she opened the door with a creak. However, her fatigue was overtaken by surprise as she found her shared room with Martin littered with newspapers. Her brother stood in a corner of the room, with various clippings pinned to a dashboard with long threads of yarn zigzagging across like a railroad map. With a single lamp shining on the board, and Martin pouring over all of his research materials, he seemed the picture of a crazed hermit, babbling about farfetched conspiracies.

"Wh-Whoa! What happened here?" Martin looked up and smiled, waving her in.

"Oh, hi, Sis. Sorry about the mess. Just reading is all."

"Yeah, I can see that. But, what's it about?"

The first clue she had was a chicken scratch drawing on the whiteboard. It was a dark figure with wings and red eyes. Madeline blinked once. Then twice.

"Oh no, don't tell me..." Martin confirmed her suspicions by showing her an article of the Wakeford Bridge collapse.

"I found all sorts of stuff in the library about this thing. I even tried to interview the Jacobsen family, though that didn't go too well. Whatever this 'Mothman' is, people are scared shitless of it, that's for sure."

Madeline only stood in uneasy silence as Martin showed her more articles and highlighted sections of books. For more than three years this had gone on. For three years she put up with her brother's interest in the supernatural and paranormal. She used to be so close to him. What drove him to such research? And here she was, hoping for a normal vacation.

"Anyway," Martin continued, his pace almost frantic, "I was able to speak with Audrey-I mean, Billy-about the incident. Apparently, he and his late sister saw the Mothman at a gas station near the arms factory. So, I think that could mean one of two things. Either it was stalking them, or it was trying to warn them about the bridge before they drove to Wakeford. What do you think, Maddie?"

Madeline heaved an exacerbated sigh. For too long she tolerated his antics. This had gone on long enough. With almost gentle hands, she took the article from Martin's hands.

"You want to know what I think?"

Without hesitation, the girl ripped the newspaper in half, much to Martin's horror and confusion.

"HEY! The hell, you psycho!? I have to return that to the library!"

The younger twin callously threw the torn pages into the carpet floor, not minding the mess. With a fiery, almost hateful glare, Madeline placed her hands on her hips.

"Martin, I think I've had enough. You need to let this bullshit go. You're never going to succeed in life as a ghost hunter. It's time to grow up! Go find a girl and get laid or something."

At that cutting, acerbic response, Martin's eyes grew wide and slowly narrowed with frustration. What was her problem? All he did was ask a simple question. It would have been nice to hear some feedback, but what else was he expecting? His twin had always doubted him and sloughed him off, all because of his unique hobbies. The same hobbies she scorned mercilessly.

"Ex...cuse me?" Her sister's eyebrows dipped between her eyes, unflinching.

"Did I stutter?" Madeline challenged, voice dripping with acid. Martin crossed his arms and mounted a sharp, condescending glare.

"I know that you can't stand my hobby, but at least I have something I want to work towards. What exactly do you have? That's right, nothing. You have no goals, no dreams, no interests, just talking all day to your spineless bitch of a boyfriend! So much so that after we graduated, you flat out told Mom and Dad that you didn't want to go to college or get a job! Maybe you are more than content to waste your life away with no aspirations, but I'm NOT! You have NO right to criticize me for pursuing my dreams!"

"That's exactly what this is: a stupid dream! Tell me: how does chasing ghosts and hunting imaginary monsters put food on the table? Will it get you six figures? Will it get you a wife and a nice house? All it does is garner unwanted attention from ignorant fucking hicks like the people who live here!" Martin laughed sarcastically.

"You really want to call my 10,000 plus subscribers hicks?"

"YEAH, THEY ARE!" Madeline screeched furiously. "THEY'RE ALL JUST A BUNCH OF GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING SHITBRAINS FOR BELIEVING IN YOU!"

The older twin's mouth dropped at another scathing, foul mouthed remark. Was she so fed up with him that she was willing to demean his followers? The people who loved his work and supported him? The people who were his very livelihood? Madeline continued spewing verbal venom like a viper.

"You're nothing but a hopeless child, Marty! Most kids wise up after finishing high school, you know! Do me a favor and drop this worthless, garbage obsession, for my sake and yours. You're just wasting your energy on another wild goose chase."

"Worthless...? Garbage...?"

The young investigator's hands curled into fists, vibrating with anger at each word. One by one, the threads of endurance in his mind snapped. This was not the first time he had been told to give up. His counselors at school, his classmates, his sister, strangers, and even a broken family victimized by this creature. All of them did nothing but try to quash his passion. Over and over people tried to dissuade him, and over and over he pushed back. He'd be damned if he just threw in the towel just because someone disagreed with him.

He angrily crumpled a piece of newspaper in his hands, forming it into a ball of repressed hatred.

"You know what!? FUCK YOU!"

Martin threw the ball at Madeline, who dodged it with a shock of surprise. Now it was his time to counterattack, recounting the quotes from those who disapproved of him.

"I've heard it all before, Maddie! 'Give up Martin, you'll never succeed as an investigator. Give up, Martin, you should be a construction worker instead. Give up Martin, ghost hunting is just kids' stuff. Give up Martin, you're embarrassing yourself. Give up, give up, GIVE UP!' Well, I'm still fucking here, aren't I?!"

The sister backed away slowly, shocked and dismayed by her brother's anger. Martin took a deep breath and grabbed his backpack. He unplugged the charging cable on his camera.

"Maybe you think my dream is stupid, but at least I'm making something out of it! 10,000 subscribers on YouTube and 1,500 dollars a month on Patreon's gotta mean something! That's far more than anyone can say about you! All you care about is texting your boyfriend about the next time you two are gonna 69 each other. So, you know what? To hell with you!"

He slung the backpack over his shoulder and donned a black baseball cap, bearing the words "Shadow Hunter" in deep red letters.

"I'm going to that arms factory and I WILL solve this mystery, one way or another! If you got a problem with that, shove it up your ass. Go back to sexting Josh for all I care."

Martin stormed out of their room, slamming the door behind him, and leaving Madeline soaked with shock. As he marched down the stairs, he checked his flashlight. The batteries were still working. He would need them.

"I want the truth. No matter how scary, I want the truth."