“How much further?” he asks, his tone hushed and serious.
“Further to where?” I ask back, my tone equally hushed. “I’m not taking you somewhere specific. Just guiding you through the woods in the dark.”
Russ doesn’t answer me. Instead, he turns to Big Jim and they have their own hushed conversation. I catch the gaze of one of the other men, then smile at him. But he does not smile back. They are not a friendly bunch. In fact, they are very, very serious and I’m just about to start worrying that maybe this plan wasn’t one of my better ideas when from above there is a great flapping of wings.
The group of men lets out a collective gasp. And there is a rattling as all their guns are aimed at the treetops.
But the flapping has stopped and there is no shadow across the full moon above us.
“What was that?” someone asks.
“An owl,” Russ Roth whispers back.
“That wasn’t no owl,” Big Jim mumbles. “It was huge.”
“Let’s keep going,” Russ hisses. “They’re here, I can feel them.”
“Them?” one of the other men asks.
“And why are they flying?” yet another says.
“Yeah,” the first one says. “You said squonk, Jim. You didn’t say nothin’ about no Mothman.”
“Mothman?” another man says. And do I detect fear in his voice?
“I didn’t sign up for no Mothman,” another grumbles.
“What’s the difference?” Russ says. “A monster is a monster, right?”
“Well,” I say good-naturedly, “that’s not really true. I’ve heard of this Mothman. He seems formidable. And even though I am a stranger to the squonk, that beast comes off as… well… the opposite of formidable.”
“Yeah, I don’t think we’re prepared for a Mothman, Jim,” one of the men objects.
“And it’s getting late,” another says.
“And it’s kinda cold,” yet another adds.
“What’s wrong with you pussies?” Jim barks. And his voice is so loud compared to all the other hushed whispers, everyone does a little jump. Even me. “We’re here to catch a monster! If you do not want to be here, then go the hell back!”
There are several seconds of awkward silence as the men and I look at each other, picturing ourselves anywhere but out here in the dark, cold, Pennsylvania woods.
“That’s what I thought,” Jim growls. “Now let’s—”
But that’s as far as he gets. Because a great winged beast is suddenly coming at us from above!
Everyone screams.
Well, mostly the pussies scream. Russ shoots at it. Then Big Jim is shooting too.
Bang, bang, bang! All sorts of firecracking is happening. Smoke in the air, the smell of gunpowder, and ringing in my ears.
And when the dust settles… one of us is missing.
“Where’s Mark?” one of the pussies says. “Where’s Mark!” He screams it.
While I am not quite sure which one was Mark, I do know where to find him. So I point up and yell, “Up there! He’s up there!”
There is a commotion, and screaming, and Mark is futilely kicking his feet in the empty air because he has been strung up by the nape of his jacket on a tree limb.