Welcome to Wakeford

"Hey guys, it's Martin! I'm coming to you live from a train on the way to Wakeford, West Virginia!"

Martin Chalmers flashed a smile and a wink to his camera phone before panning the viewfinder to out the window of the passenger car. The mighty Blue Ridge Mountains loomed in the distance, covered with tall trees that seemed to shine like jade under the summer sun. It was a scene right of a classic postcard.

"With summer here," Martin continued, "it was as good a time as any to get out of Washington for a while. You can't help but feel rather congested in the city, sometimes, am I right? So for the next three months, I'll be updating my blog from Wakeford. Hopefully, we can find just as many ghost stories and paranormal happenings in the country as in the city."

The viewfinder left the picturesque scene outside the window and returned to the interior of the passenger car. Across from him sat a girl his age with long, straight brown hair and equally brown eyes. She was rather fixated on her smartphone, on which she was texting intently. She didn't even acknowledge him when he called to her.

"And I won't be alone, either. My sister Madeline is coming with me for the trip to help me out. Say hi to my followers, Maddie!"

The girl, Madeline, only texted away, flipping a lock of her hair over her shoulder. Martin cleared his throat, zooming in on his sister.

"I said, 'say hi, Maddie.'"

Yet again, silence. Was she doing this intentionally or was she just focused on getting the next text out.

"Hey, say hi, already!"

She took her eyes off her phone for a moment and gave an angry wave.

"Yo, what up?" she greeted, deadpan. Martin only slapped his hand on his forehead.

"What the hell, Maddie! You're making me look bad, here!"

"One, you do that just fine on your own, and two, I never agreed to help you in your stupid ghost hunts! What do you think this is, a goddamn haunted house?"

"Look, Wakeford gotta have tons of mysteries to be solved. And I'll need help to accomplish that."

Madeline rolled her eyes before returning to her phone. Martin's overzealous nature never failed to vex her.

"You should find something else worth pursuing. Something normal."

"Says the girl who has a gun fetish," Martin sharply rebuked.

"Hey, I've been the best shot since I was six! Dad taught me well."

"Guns won't work against ghosts," the older brother shot back, shutting off his phone for the moment. "Besides, what were you hoping to do in Wakeford? Just text Josh all summer?"

"I'm going to be in an unfamiliar place, after all."

"That's not true; we'll be staying with Grandpa."

"That's not what I mean, Marty! When's the last time we even came out here?"

"Well, I think that was around-"

"That's right. NEVER. So, while we're in the middle of nowhere, I'd like some connection to back home, thank you very much."

Madeline returned to her phone and continued texting. Martin, expecting nothing else from her, only slumped back in his chair and sighed.

"Unbelievable."

After graduating high school one month prior, Martin and Madeline Chalmers received an invitation from their grandfather to stay in Wakeford for the summer. Martin, eager to find new locales and legends for his YouTube channel, naturally agreed. Madeline, more accustomed to city living, and faced with the prospect of being away from her boyfriend, was less inclined. Regardless, both youngsters boarded a train, kissed their family goodbye, and embarked on the three-hour long ride south towards the little West Virginian town.

The prospect of staying in a small town far from civilization tantalized Martin. While Madeline was right that neither had ever ventured to Wakeford, Martin had long dreamed of traveling to see their grandfather's home. Not only for familial reasons, but for the lore surrounding the town.

Martin's supernatural escapades had largely been confined to Washington D.C. and the surrounding area. However, according to his grandfather, Wakeford teemed with stories of monsters, ghosts, and strange goings-on. Folklore dating back to the colonial era (and even earlier) painted an alluring picture for the young ghost hunter. Besides, he wanted his view to be greener than the grey marble and stone he often found in the city.

The young boy sighed. While he knew he should be excited, Madeline's indifference (or outright hostility at worst) would derail his investigations before they even started. He sifted his hand through his ash blonde hair, wondering how to brighten his twin's spirits. However, an announcement from the conductor broke his line of thought.

"NEXT STOP IS WAKEFORD. WAKEFORD. WE ARRIVE IN FIVE MINUTES."

Martin stood up in a panic, taken by surprise by the sudden arrival. It was only three hours ago when they left Union Station! How did time pass so quickly?

Madeline only groaned and quickly sent a last flurry of texts before stowing away her phone in her pocket. Evidently, she was not in the mood for a grand adventure, regardless of whether it was inevitable or not.

While the train was packed, only a few stood up and proceeded to the passenger car vestibules. Wakeford wasn't exactly a place that garnered many visitors. In the words of Madeline, Wakeford was...

"...a Podunk town in nowhere, America."

Well, even if it was a Podunk town in nowhere, it was still the home of family. Family was more important than anything. Even if it meant traversing from the big city to a small mountain town.

The train station was constructed from clapboard painted white with a black roof. Atop the doors leading to the station interior sat a black sign bearing the town name in red cursive letters. The platform stood on stilts and was painted white, with a picket fence around the rims to protect people from falling off. Porters helped passengers with their baggage as they stepped onto the platform while a scant few others moved past each other in a silent, unwitting dance towards the station.

There, standing alone in denim overalls and a white T-shirt, stood an elderly man in his 70s. His wiry grey hair was starting to thin around his scalp. A pair of tortoise shell glasses magnified his bright blue eyes and his handlebar mustache bent to his warm, inviting smile as he called out,

"Hiya, kids! Good to see ya!"

"Hi, Gramps!" Martin greeted jubilantly, throwing his arms around him. "Great to see you too."

"Yeah," Madeline added, somewhat less enthusiastic, as she joined in the hug. "Just great..."

"You kids must be starving after that long train ride. Lucky for y'all, I know just the place in town that should fill ya up."

The two teenagers accompanied their grandfather out of the station and to the small square parking lot out front. There, near the entrance of the station, sat his red Chevrolet pickup truck. It was an older model, boasting a grille, headlights and front hood that were straight out of the 1940s. How this truck was still in such prime condition, neither Martin nor Madeline could hope to know. Their grandfather had to spend quite a bit of time maintaining it himself.

As they pulled away from the station, their grandfather was quick to play the game of catchup all grandparents play.

"So, kids, how's school been? I heard you two graduated."

"Yeah, we did," Madeline revealed, staring out the window listlessly. "I'm so glad that it's over." Their grandfather laughed.

"Yeah, I bet. Started thinkin' 'bout college yet?"

"I have a few places lined up. I haven't heard back from any of them yet, though."

Martin, sitting in the back seat, leaned forward and explained in his grandfather's ear.

"Maddie's not going to college right away. She wants to take a sabbatical and work for a while."

"Oh, that's a good idea. Yeah, you'll gain some good life experience that way."

"And stay with Josh for a little longer," Martin snickered.

Madeline shot a stony glare at her brother who soon retreated to his seat with a snort. Looking out the window, the tantalizing sight of Wakeford laid out before him.

Wakeford, even if it was a "Podunk town in the middle of nowhere," was nonetheless picturesque. A tall mountain cast a long shadow on the town while an old coal mine perched like a bird at the summit. A little way to the right of the summit was an immaculate and ritzy-looking hotel, with the sign "Mount Jackson Hotel" in large flashing lights atop the roof. The downtown business section was lined with mom-and-pop stores and small hole-in-the-wall retailers along a single main road. Further in the distance and closer to the mountain, Martin saw small shacks and cottages scattered amongst the trees, marked by thin trails of smoke from chimney drafts. It reminded him of a classic Christmas card. To Martin's eyes, it teemed with possibilities for new stories and interesting locales. For Madeline, she was more content to continue texting.

"Marty," their grandfather remarked, "I think you'll like the restaurant here in town. Plus, there's someone here who's been dyin' to meet ya."

"You mean one of your friends?"

"Nah, more like...an admirer, you could say," he corrected, waggling his shaggy eyebrows.

"You mean someone who follows my YouTube channel?" Madeline snickered.

"Yeah, wouldn't surprise me if one of your 15 subscribers lived here. Dork."

"Piss off, would you Maddie?"

"Make me!"

"Easy, Maddie," their grandfather warned. "There's no need for that. I won't be havin' you kids squabble like fools the whole summer, y'hear?"

"Yessir..."

The truck pulled up to a parking meter outside a neon sign reading BILLY'S BURGERS AND SHAKES. Signaling this was their destination, all disembarked and went inside.

The diner in town was rather quaint, evoking a sense of nostalgia the instant the trio walked in. A checkerboard floor, red leather seats, and a large vinyl jukebox reminded both Madeline and Martin of a scene from a 1950s-era movie. Even the uniforms of the staff were reminiscent of cast members of American Graffiti.

Waiting at the front desk as people were ushered in was a young girl around Martin's age. Her curly, dark brown hair was held up in the back by a gold hairclip while bright blue eyes lit up under the fluorescent lighting. A touch of rouge tried (but failed) to hide the freckles on her cheeks while her red lipstick complemented her matching ruby uniform. She smiled with a sense of knowing as Steven approached the desk.

"Oh, hey, Mr. Chalmers. How've you been lately?"

"Just fine, Julia. You got a booth for three open anywhere?"

"Sure do. Follow me."

Martin was lost in the sounds and sights of the diner as the waitress, Julia, ushered them in. Madeline could only express some agitation at the saccharinely sweet chords of the Chordettes' "Mr. Sandman."

"50s-style diners still exist? I thought they went out of fashion..."

"I'm kind of surprised myself," Martin admitted. "I was expecting to be more...run down."

"You can thank my pops for that," Julia quipped cheerfully. "The inheritance he left for me was just enough to keep this diner kicking. I even gave it a face lift, as you can tell."

"Wait, you own this place?" Madeline asked, shocked. "How old are you again?" Julia only laughed.

"Hey, now, didn't your parents ever teach you not to ask a lady her age?"

In a quieter corner of the diner, the trio found their booth and sat down. As she handed out menus, the perky waitress introduced herself.

"My name's Julia Farnsworth. I'll be serving you today. So, Mr. Chalmers, who are the newcomers?"

"Oh, just my grandkids. They're stayin' with me for the summer."

"Really? That's just swell! I finally get to meet the legendary twins." Madeline and Martin exchanged confused glances.

"Wait, you know about us?" Martin asked.

"Sometimes it's hard to get him to talk about anything else!" Julia chuckled. "He especially has a lot to say about you, Martin." She leaned in with an almost devious grin. "Or should I call you...the Shadow Hunter?"

At the drop of that moniker, Martin's brown eyes lit up. He had another fan in this town, and never even realized it? Why didn't his grandfather say anything before?

"You've seen my videos?!"

"Plenty of them since your debut. My favorites are the Rock Creek Park and the Old Stone House ones. Those were cool. Oh, and your latest one about the Hay-Adams Hotel was great, too!"

"Oh, not those episodes!" Martin cringed a little. "My hair wasn't done right, and a crappy camera to deal with too. I must've looked ridiculous."

"On the contrary, you looked mighty professional to me."

"T-thanks. So, um...if you like my content so much, that must mean you are well informed, too. I was hoping to do some ghost hunting out here." Madeline sighed expectantly as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Oh, God, here it comes..."

"As a matter of fact, I think I have something to sink your teeth into."

"You know," Madeline interrupted, "I just remembered that I had to text my boyfriend."

She moved to leave, but her grandfather took her hand and made her sit back down. The normally jovial blue eyes turned cold, reminding her of a glacier.

"Oh, no you don't, young lady. Your mother told me all about your escapades. I'm responsible for you and your brother for the summer, and it's only fair that you spend time with your family more."

"Y-yes, sir," Madeline muttered quietly.

And so, with Madeline stuck in place, Julia cleared her throat and begun her tale.

"So, tell me, Shadow Hunter, you ever heard the legend of the Mothman?"

Martin leaned back, the leather scrunching under his weight. Ever since he started his YouTube channel, he had been focused primarily on the haunted sights around Washington D.C. The local parks, houses of former politicians and even presidential residences were common targets. However, his knowledge of the paranormal only extended to the Capitol suburbs. Everything beyond Fairfax and Prince William counties was as foreign to him as another country.

"Sorry, but no. Is it a really famous one?"

"Only the most well-known monster 'round these parts!" Julia proclaimed, grinning wide. "I'll tell you the details, but first, can I get you guys anything?"

"The usual for me, Julia," their grandfather returned, nodding. "What 'bout y'all?"

The two youngsters soon placed their orders. Being newcomers, they asked for something simple. In the downtime between ordering and waiting, Martin and their grandfather got to talking about his YouTube channel.

"So, how has your channel been doin'? I hear you got quite a followin' now."

"Yeah, I have about 10,000 subscribers." Their grandfather threw back his head in a laugh

"10,000?! Dang, son, that's mighty good. You're fixin' to be an Internet star, I take it." Martin shook his head.

"Personally, I'd be happy with any attention. The fact people engage and really want to know more about the supernatural is what keeps me going. It's encouraging that people care."

"Yeah, dumbass people," Madeline scoffed under her breath.

"You don't believe, do you?" their grandfather pried, somewhat resentful at the girl's tone and language.

"Grandpa, no offense to you, but in the years I've been living on this earth, I have yet to see any evidence of ghosts, monsters or any other ghoulies out there."

"How'd ya know? Ever been in one a' Marty's videos?"

"And make an ass of myself in the process? To hell with that bullshit."

"Hey, language!" Steve chided her.

"Yeah, language," Martin agreed, just as offended.

Martin sighed tiredly. He had heard this from Madeline far too often. Whenever he did invite her on his ghost hunts, she would, without fail, tell him off and demean his endeavors. He couldn't remember the last time his sister ever helped him in his hunts. So, for that reason, he almost always worked alone.

"My channel's a one-man operation," he revealed. "I don't really ask others for help unless it's something really big, like a hotel."

"Y'know, some people say the Mount Jackson Hotel is haunted. Maybe that could be one a' your stops?"

At that moment, Julia came by with their orders. Martin had a rather sumptuous-looking hamburger topped with mushrooms and swiss cheese, with chicken tenders for Madeline, and a bowl of vegetable soup for their grandfather. As she set them down, she picked up on the comment regarding potential ghost-hunting spots.

"Oh, the hotel is a great place. I've heard it's crawling with ghosts. So, you'd rather hear about that or the Mothman?"

"Mothman first," Martin replied before biting into his burger. "So, you say it's really famous? What's the story behind it?"

Julia knelt until she was at eye level. Those orbs of sapphire were entrancing as she spun the local yarn.

"Legend has it that a moth-like monster lives out near an old abandoned arms factory on the edge of town."

"When you say a moth-like monster, what do you mean, exactly?"

"It looks like your average moth, but about the size of a full-grown man. It has giant grey wings and glowing red eyes with a stare that cuts right through you. And when it screeches..." The waitress shuddered at the thought. "...oh, it's a frightful sound, lemme tell ya."

"Is it as frightening as when Marty screams after I fire my gun?" Madeline asked sardonically with a devious smile. Martin returned the snark with a glare sharper than a knife's edge.

"Buzz off, killjoy."

"Whatever..."

"Anyway," Julia continued, undeterred, "about a year ago, a couple driving by the arms factory late at night say they saw it fly over their car and almost dropped right in front of them. And when they flashed its lights, the red eyes almost blinded them before it flew off into the night with a loud screech. Thing is, after the couple saw that thing, the local bridge over the Shenandoah River collapsed."

"Why's that important?"

"Some people think that the Mothman is a harbinger of bad luck. Whenever you see him, it means disaster isn't too far off."

Martin and Madeline's grandfather nodded thoughtfully as he imbibed another spoonful of soup. He leaned in and offered his knowledge of the local legend.

"Yeah, I know the family that saw it. The Jacobsens. They lost one a' their kids when the bridge collapsed. They...ain't never been the same since that day. If you ever ask 'em 'bout that night, they just go silent...and the waterworks start happenin'."

The young ghost hunter's interest was now thoroughly piqued. It had been a long time since he had encountered such a foreboding and frightening story like this. Even urban legends from the D.C. suburbs didn't compare to this. A monster that could bring bad luck to anyone who saw it. While he was not necessarily a believer of fate, he had to know more, regardless of the risks.

"Do you know where I can find out more about this?"

"You can get the old newspaper archives from the local library." Martin looked to his grandfather with a hopeful glimmer in his brown orbs.

"Can we go there tomorrow, Gramps?"

"Sure thing, Marty. But first, I should get you kids home. You must've had a long day. Julia, the check if you please?" The perky waitress nodded.

"Comin' right up! And it was very nice to meet you, Martin."

"Y-yeah, same here..."

They soon paid for the food and made their way out the door. Julia waved them goodbye, and Martin couldn't get her perky voice, bright sapphire eyes or curly hair out of his head, long after they left the downtown business section. It was not often he met his followers, but she seemed especially nice, he thought. Not only that, but she pointed him in the right direction for his next investigation. If only he could have her accompany him on his ghost hunts. Julia surely was of more help than Madeline ever was.

Out beyond the downtown area, and into the sparser, residential areas, Martin found himself dozing. It had indeed been a long day since leaving Washington D.C. But the first day in Wakeford proved promising. Not only was he with his grandfather, but he had found a new mystery to investigate. Things could only get better from there, or so he thought.

Glancing out the window, Martin saw the ruins of a factory in the distance, surrounded by tall pines. A long, serpentine trail extended out to the factory from the main road. The factory was closed off by a chain mail fence with a warning sign out front, but that was not what caught his eye. Instead it was something unexpected. Something...otherworldly.

Peeking out from behind the walls of the factory stood a tall, black silhouette. One large wing-like protrusion stretched out from the figure's back and a single, blood red eye seemed to track him as the truck sped along. Not minding the ongoing chatter in the front, or the country music blaring on the radio, Martin reached for his phone, switched it to camcorder mode, and pushed on the record button.

He zoomed in, focusing the viewfinder on the figure. Its wing-like protrusion retracted towards its back, almost recoiling in disgust. The eye almost cut through him, and Martin was certain it was staring directly at him. Not at the landscape. Not at the truck. Him.

"What the hell...?"

The figure slipped away behind the factory and faded into the woods. The glowing red eye was the last to disappear, but even afterward, its indelible stare, one that cut right through him, stayed etched in his mind. He turned the phone on himself and muttered,

"Tell me you guys saw that."

"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."

was dark. The grounds of the arms factory were quiet, save for the cry of crickets from the woods and the hushed mutterings of a young paranormal investigator.

After his spat with Madeline, Martin made a beeline straight for the munitions factory on the edge of town. While it wasn't terribly far from their grandfather's house, the darkness of the night made the trip that much longer. When he finally reached the area, he had to crawl on his hands and knees through a hole in the fence, sealing off the factory from the outside. Now, he traipsed along the grounds, skirting the edge of the woods, guided only by his camera's night vision.

"Okay, guys," he whispered, "I'm here at the arms factory. This is where the Jacobsens allegedly saw the Mothman that night while driving home from gassing up their car. Now, it seems like all the notable sightings of this creature emanate from around this area. This must be where the Mothman makes his home, or perhaps he stops here while traveling..."

He panned out to the woods.

"Right now, we're just looking for any kind of sign, any trace that the creature might be here..."

"There you are, Marty!" called a familiar voice from behind him.

Martin jumped in fright from the sudden call and whirled around. His night vision revealed a young girl, exactly his age, with straight brown hair and chocolate eyes. She was wearing a dark blue sweatshirt, a black hoodie, and tight denim jeans.

"Christ, Maddie, are you fucking kidding me?!" he hissed.

"That should be my line. You're not supposed to be here."

"Yeah, so?"

"Are you an idiot? Grandpa Steve is going to be hella pissed if he finds out we're out here in the middle of the night."

Martin only scoffed and started to walk on. He would not be deterred in continuing his investigation. Madeline followed closely after him.

"He won't know unless you squeak about it! Now piss off."

"No," Madeline insisted. "You're coming back to the house with me."

"Since when were you in charge of my decisions?!"

"How about right now?!"

And with that, Maddie roughly tugged at Martin's sleeve, dragging him towards the entrance of the grounds. Martin would have none of it and tried to resist, but he was still holding his camera and greatly feared dropping it.

"Dammit, Madeline! Let go!"

"Martin, enough is enough!" she fought back. "It's about time you let go of this middle school crap. The Mothman is just a myth!"

"How's this for a myth!?" Martin spat.

The young investigator took his sister by surprise by shoving her away aggressively. Madeline stumbled backwards a few feet to the edge of the woods. Her foot tripped over a rock and her body fell over after it, scraping her pantleg on something sharp as she collapsed into the earth.

"Oww!"

Martin, on instinct, dropped everything to race to his sister's side. Even if he had qualms with his sister, she was still family. The investigation, the hunt for the Mothman, all of it no longer mattered.

"Sis! Shit, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to..."

Setting his camera down next to him, he reached for his flashlight and shined it on Madeline's leg. The denim had been torn, almost to her knee. Underneath the tear a long, vertical cut extended up her calf, bleeding slowly and staining her jeans.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, I feel great...peachy even," Maddie grunted in pain, trying to sound sarcastic. "It's just a mere flesh wound is all."

"Please don't joke at a time like this. Let me clean it at least."

The young investigator searched his backpack and reached for a first aid kit. He always kept one on his investigations in the field in case of accidents, though its usage was rare. He never thought he would have to use it to aid his sister, who always rejected any invitation to join him. A single cloth wiped away the excess blood before an aerosol can of antiseptic disinfected it. Madeline tried but failed to hide a wince as the antiseptic stung the wound.

"Goddammit, what is that? Acid?"

"Don't complain. If it hurts, that means it's working..."

Martin was about to cover the cut in gauze when a low, near-undetectable noise left him frozen. It reminded him of an insect's chitter, but it was deeper, like a bear's growl.

"Maddie, tell me you heard that..."

"Heard what?" she groaned, fighting through the pain.

Martin reached for his camera and scanned the woods. The night vision was the only possible way he could detect anything. Madeline struggled to dress her wound herself as her brother cautiously, fearfully called out into the forest,

"Hey, is someone out there?"

A low chitter sent the hairs on his neck standing on end. He hesitated to venture further, as each step he took, the sound grew closer, louder.

Madeline propped herself against a tree while Martin slowly trudged forward, the grass sifting beneath his feet with every step. Once again, a low chitter emanated from the woods. Could it be the famous creature?

Just then, Martin thought he saw something in the corner of his viewfinder. A vague, dark shape, man-like in appearance, but impossible to tell for sure. He focused on it and again called out,

"Hello? Anyone there?"

Another growl. Then, at the same time, two red orbs blinked open, eyeing him with a strange, hypnotic stare. Martin instantly froze in place, as still as one of the trees. Slowly, a vague shape emerged. It stood at least 10 feet tall, with what appeared to be wings hidden behind its back. It looked vaguely human, but its legs and arms resembled more a bird's or an insect's. Finally, the two red eyes, as large as saucers, didn't resemble any Martin had ever seen. No pupil, no sclera, just two red masses. It didn't take Martin long to recognize the creature.

"Oh fuck, it's him...!"

"Him who?" Maddie asked somewhat fearfully, following her brother's gaze.

"The Mothman...!"

A loud, animalistic screech sent Martin fleeing back towards his sister. Whatever they did, they had clearly agitated the creature, and the time had come to go. Any desire to continue the investigation disappeared into the night, drowned by the Mothman's rabid scream.

The two twins fled the woods, heading towards the arms factory. Behind them, the Mothman pursued with a loud thump each time he set down one of his feet. In the darkness, Martin scrambled to find where he entered. The hole in the fence couldn't be that far away, could it?

"What the hell is that?" Madeline breathed.

"Whatever it is, we pissed it off!"

The beam of Martin's flashlight feverishly wobbled and oscillated, looking for an opening in the wire fence. Had they strayed so far from their entrance? Behind them, a tall, dark silhouette emerged from the woods, two ruby red eyes staring right at them. If they waited any longer, this thing would kill them both. She did the only thing she thought to do: stall for time.

Underneath her hooded jacket, Madeline kept her special weapon. Much to Martin's surprise, her hand drew out an old semiautomatic handgun with a large box magazine in front of the trigger guard. It reminded Martin of Han Solo's blaster from Star Wars, but Madeline proved it was no movie prop.

"STAY AWAY FROM US, YOU FREAK!"

BANG! BANG!

Twin shots rang out, murdering the otherwise still silence of the night. One shot grazed the creature's right wing while another connected with its arm. Wounded, the monster let out a terrifying screech of pain, stunned by the girl's retaliation. A small window opened up, and Madeline grabbed Martin by the wrist, leading him to the arms factory. If they couldn't run, they would hide.

"You brought your gun with you?!" Martin asked in shock as they entered the factory through a backdoor.

"You think I'm gonna be out in the middle of the night unarmed? I always carry my C96."

"Well, you coulda told me a little earlier...!"

There was no time for further bickering, as they needed to find a safe hiding spot to lose the Mothman. And the factory had no shortage of such places.

The arms factory was an old, decrepit structure, standing two stories tall. Dating back to the Second World War, it had been condemned and abandoned following the Allied victory. Remnants of that time were littered about the factory, from spare artillery shell casings, rotting wooden stocks for rifles, and conveyor belts with bullets still ready to be assembled. The place was dingy and dirty, and a strong scent of rust and spent gunpowder hung in the air as they searched for places to hide.

Madeline found an open door leading to the remains of an office. Overturned file cabinets and the corpse of an office desk made for the perfect places to wait their monstrous pursuer out. Madeline took cover underneath the office desk and pulled a rolling chair back, providing total concealment, Martin in the meantime curled up behind a filing cabinet laying on its side. He lay as close to the ground as possible, hoping.

They finally caught their breath, and the rate of their heartbeats slowed. Outside, they could still hear the cries of the Mothman as it tried to flap its wings. It reminded them of a helicopter revving up its rotor.

"Jesus Christ..." Madeline whispered. "And here I was, thinking we were going to have a nice vacation..."

"Do you believe me now?" Martin hissed, checking his camera and flashlight. "I told you this was the real deal!"

"Now's not the time, Marty. We can talk about it later..."

"No, I want to hear you say it!"

"Later, Marty!"

"Say it!"

"No!"

"Say it or I'll tell the Mothman you're here!"

"Okay, okay!"

Madeline heaved a deep sigh. She never imagined in a million years she would have to say the following words, but there was no sense in trying to deny it. She wished it weren't true, but, this time...

"Marty, you were right. You were right and I was wrong. So, so wrong." She blinked and stared at her brother, her eyes glistening with tears. "Happy?" The once indignant glare in Martin's face melted away, replaced with a warm smile.

"...Very."

Whatever reconciliation they had achieved was cut short when the monster screamed above them and came roaring through the ceiling windows outside the office. A loud crash followed as shells, bullet casings, and all sorts of machinery were knocked over, destroyed and trampled upon. A moment of uneasy quiet followed as it the Mothman chittered lowly and started to skulk, searching for its prey.

"You don't think...?" Madeline asked fearfully. Martin shook his head.

"No, not likely. It couldn't have seen us go inside this room. We should be fine as long as we don't move..."

The loud footsteps of the monster echoed closer and closer as it searched the perimeter of the main work area. It stopped whenever it passed a room. Martin, despite every ounce of logic telling him otherwise, reached for his camera and started recording. Madeline only looked on, trying hard not to shiver in fear.

"Guys," he whispered frantically, "I'm in the arms factory now, a-and M-Maddie's with me. I...I think...it's in the building. I think the creature is in the building."

Martin looked over the edge of the filing cabinet towards the door, slightly ajar. Even if he was taking his life in his hands, he needed the evidence. Besides which, if it passed them, they could escape in safety.

"I d-d-don't care what anyone says," he murmured, his eyes bouncing between the camera and the door. "I need to get it on camera. I...need to prove to everyone...that it's...real..."

He nudged the camera up so it was just peeking over the edge of the cabinet, aiming the viewfinder at the door. A loud metal clatter almost shook them out of their spots, but they remained in place. A low growl followed as the creature pushed the door open. There it was at last, for all to see.

With a clearer, unobstructed view, the Mothman seemed to resemble a bird more than a moth. Its talon-like feet reminded Martin of an owl's, while its strange hands resembled those of a moth's leg. Atop the head were two insect-like antennae. They fluttered every few seconds to shake off the dust in the air. Its red eyes, unblinking and hypnotic, were giant rubies flashing in the night.

Again, the creature warbled in a low tone. It seemed like hours as it just stood there in the doorway. Staring. Watching. Judging.

At last, seeing no movement, it moved on to better pastures, in a desperate hunt for its prey. The footsteps echoed on the concrete floors as it drifted further away until the twins breathed a heavy, relieved sigh.

"Thank God," Martin thought aloud with relief as he slid down.

He turned the camera to Madeline, still hiding beneath the office desk, who looked the very picture of fear. Every bead of sweat was captured in night vision as she gently pushed away the chair and crawled out from underneath the desk. Martin gave one last message to the camera.

"Well folks, I think we just made the biggest discovery of the decade. The Mothman is real. It's not just a legend. It's real."

"Yeah, congratulations," Madeline offered, sardonically. "Can we go now?"

"...right. Let's get the fuck outta here."

Martin hopped over the cabinet and, with camera still in hand, peeked out from behind the door. The Mothman, its back turned, was still checking each room, hoping to find its scared quarry. This creature, while clearly intelligent, was still just a dumb animal. It could be outwitted. Martin hurriedly hailed his sister to leave as he kept the camera fixed on the monster as it continued on, unaware.

"Alright, the coast is clear. Let's go!"

The young girl didn't need to be told twice, and soon made straight for the nearest door. Martin followed close behind, keeping an eye on the creature all the while. Once out of the factory, they made for the wire fence and started looking for the hole through which both entered.

"Man, that was way too close," Martin sighed as he shined his flashlight, searching for a break in the wire.

"Yeah, you're telling me. I never thought one of your kooky legends would actually be real."

"Hey, you learn something new every day, huh?" Madeline chuckled ruefully to herself.

"I just didn't think I'd learn this. And certainly not so...creepily."

"Look on the bright side: with this footage, we're gonna be famous all over the world."

His light beam shone on the hole in the fence. Beyond it lay a dirt trail connecting to the main highway leading back to town. Martin and Madeline smiled before high-fiving each other.

"Then let's go get famous, bro."

"Right behind ya..."

Madeline only took one step forward when another ear-piercing screech froze them in place. Martin looked back and managed to catch a black silhouette swoop down from the sky with lightning speed. It landed in front of the fence with a loud thump. Martin screamed in fright, backing away while Madeline, defiant to the end, produced her semiautomatic.

"Eat lead, you mother-!"

BEEP BEEEEEEEP!

A car engine roared from behind the monster, and a pair of bright lights revealed its true form. The Mothman was black from head to toe, its eyes reflected the light like a jewel, blinding the two youngsters. The wings, which resembled an owl's, spread out to blot the car's headlights.

The monster let out a terrible scream as one of doors opened. Out stepped an elderly man with wiry grey hair, rather sloppily dressed in just striped boxers and a sleeveless white shirt. On his feet were what looked like bedroom slippers. Clearly, the man had just gotten out of bed. His tortoise shell glasses reflected the beams from the headlights, glinting like two mirrors. In his hands he held a pump-action shotgun, the muzzle aimed directly at the creature's back.

"Don't you touch my grandkids, ya overgrown owl!"

"Gramps!" the twins shouted in unison.

The agitated monster tried to cut off the teenagers' route of escape, but was greeted with a shot to its wing. A cry of pain almost burst their eardrums, but their grandfather was unrelenting.

"SUCK IT!" Steve shouted, unloading on the creature.

Another shotgun shell connected with the giant monster's arm, spouting black blood as it knelt on one knee. With the mothman wounded and writhing in agony, the kids took that as their cue to retreat into their grandfather's car. Steve wasted no time in stepping on the gas and speeding away. As they were soaked in shock and exhaustion, Martin hugged his camera, thankful that it was unharmed.

"You two were mighty lucky! I thought for sure I'd be too late. What were ya'll thinking, goin' to that factory in the middle of the damn night?!"

"Sorry, gramps," Martin sighed, mildly guilty. "It was my fault. I was so hell-bent on wanting to know more about this Mothman...I nearly got Maddie and myself killed."

"Well...at least you're safe now. Getting angry forever ain't my style. Gives me too many wrinkles."

"How did you know we were out here, anyway?" Maddie asked. "Where have you been lately?"

"What, ya think I didn't notice Marty goin' gung-ho with his sleuthin'?" Steve chuckled. "Julia called me up the other day, told me what he was up to. Frankly, I was waitin' fer ya to ask me for some info."

"Wait a minute," Martin interjected, confused, "you mean you've seen this thing before?"

"Yeah. 'Bout a year ago, just 'fore the bridge collapse."

Despite their recent brush with danger, Martin still mustered the energy to turn on his recorder and listen to Steve's account.

"One night-musta been 'round 10 or 11 o'clock-I heard some growlin' in my yard. At first, I thought it was a raccoon or somethin', gettin' into my garden. But when I looked out my bedroom window..."

The old man shuddered. Whether it was from the coldness of the night or the terrible memory was not certain.

"...I saw it. Big, black, and two bright red eyes starin' at me. I thought for sure he would fly up to my window and snatch me right then and there."

"What did you do?"

"Well, I did what any man would: I grabbed my shotgun, rushed out to the backyard, and fired a couple shots to scare it away. It certainly did that much."

Just then, the trio heard a loud, pain-filled shriek echoing from the arms factory. Martin and Madeline looked out the rear window and saw the vague silhouette of the Mothman fly up into the sky. It soared over the forests, heading west towards the valley. The sight reminded Martin of a bat returning to its cave.

"Just what the hell does that freak want...?" Madeline asked the wind.

"Probably the blood a' kids. Or their souls," Steve bluntly answered.

"I didn't want an immediate response!"

"Or maybe it was trying to warn us of something," Martin thought aloud. "I mean, it didn't kill the Jacobsens, or anyone else that saw it. Could've killed you, Gramps, but it didn't." Steve rubbed his chin in thought.

"Y'know, I think it all has somethin' to do with that bridge. Marty, you saw it was seen climbin' it, right? And all the sightin's happened just before it collapsed. My guess? It was warnin' all of us of what was comin'. But we were too scared to listen." Madeline choked back a scoff.

"Well clearly it doesn't understand that screeching in your face isn't the best way to fucking warn people!"

"Maddie is right, Gramps. If that were the case, it has a twisted way of showing concern for humans. That's why I need to figure out why it's here and what it wants. I think that's the way to go."

"Even though you were close to losing yer life?" Steve challenged.

Martin fell silent for a moment. True, he was overwhelmed by the danger of the supernatural. True, he was just a teenager trying to unravel a mystery that was much bigger than him. Even so, he had seen how this creature has affected the people of Wakeford, including a young boy's life. They deserved to be free of the shackles of this monster.

"No matter how scary it is, I will keep digging for the truth. Now that I know this is real, I'm going to figure out just what it wants."

In the rear-view mirror, Martin saw a hint of a smile crawl across Steve's mouth. As he pulled into the driveway of his house, he glanced back at the two kids.

"In that case, you're gonna need some help. From now on, I'm comin' with ya on yer hunts."

"For real?" Martin beamed, hopeful.

"For real. Ain't no way I'm lettin' you hog all the fun! You might get too cocky for yer own good."

"Gee, thanks!"

As the grandfather and grandson shared a hearty laugh and shook hands in partnership, Maddie could only stare at the rear window, listlessly. In all her three years, she took Martin's hobby to be a joke and a lost cause. Now...she couldn't see it the same way. The Mothman was real. The supernatural did exist. She had witnessed it firsthand. Her world was shaken. She was sincerely hoping for a nice summer vacation, not having to do anything strenuous. But now? It was as remote as this town. Tonight proved her wrong, horribly so.

With the truth revealed to her, she couldn't deny it anymore. Perhaps it was better if she never came to Wakeford? Perhaps it was better that she stayed at home?

Did it even matter? Regardless, this was her new reality. Madeline Chalmers could not escape it.

"I can't do this," she whispered to herself.