could lose a Point Pleasant teenager much prestige), one had to be precise. He leaned over Linda and looked at the thing lying at the side of the car, now almost undefinable after the headlights had left it.
“Get the flashlight,” Steve yelled, “Maybe somebody’s hurt!”
Roger reached over Linda and withdrew the flashlight from the glove compartment. Nervously he shined it at the object.
It was a large dog, a hound of some sort, they gathered from their quick inspection.
“Oh, that poor thing,” Linda sympathized. “Somebody’s hit it and it’s crawled off the road to die.”
“Get out, Steve,” Mary begged, “and see if it’s hurt badly. Maybe we can take it to a veterinary.”
“It’s dead, I can tell,” Steve said as he shined the light on it again; “dead as a doornail.”
“Then, from behind a tree, or from the ditch,” Roger told us, “this thing came out and jumped over the car. We got a good sight of it running through the field, still staggering sidewise like a crippled chicken!”
Again shaken, and their anti-phobic urges dispelled by the third sighting of the creature, the men assented to their wives’ request and decided to drive back to the police station.
“We first went to Tiny’s Drive-in. I suppose we did this in order to get Gary Northup’s reaction to what we had seen. We’ve always admired him. As we arrived, he and two employees were leaving, but we blew the horn and stopped him and told him about it.
“ ‘Are you kids drinking?’ he asked. Then, looking at the girls, then back at us, and seeing how pale we were, he apologized: ‘I’m sorry. You look all shaken up!’ Then he went into the Drive-In and called the police.
“The cops told us to drive back up the road and that they would follow us. We stopped at the Lewis Gate to show the officers the dog carcass, but it was gone! About a mile up the road we saw this thing again, on the left side of the road in the field. We stopped, but when Gary’s car, ahead of the police, caught up, the thing suddenly disappeared.”
The police parked in the T.N.T. area and invited Mallette to get in and sit with them. But no Mothman. Occasionally a dark shadow would come over the building. This puzzled the officers because they couldn’t determine the source of the shadow.
Although the obvious skepticism of the officers had never been well hidden, Steve noted a discernable change of attitude, and, for the first time, a suggestion of fear in the men, when the sergeant began sending a radio report back to the dispatcher at Point Pleasant.
During the dispatcher’s first response a strange transmission, apparently of great power, completely blotted out most of the reply.
“What did this transmission sound like, or what did it say?” I asked Steve.
“It didn’t say anything. It was a high-pitched noise, kind of like, I’d say, a record playing at a fast speed, but still not distinct. You couldn’t distinguish any words or anything. I heard something like that on the Adams Family TV program (he referred to a humorous horror TV series which utilized weird music and sound effects).
“It was also like when you run under a power line that’s leaking, when the noise blots out the car radio—only in this instance the squeaky sounds came through.”
Roger interrupted: “Have you ever heard a mouse squeak?”
“I think so,” I replied.
“But really loud and strong, but still like a mouse?”
“Would it be like a transistor radio squeal, when it isn’t functioning correctly?” I countered.
“Yes, but this wasn’t like a radio, either. I just can’t describe it. We were parked near the cruiser and everybody in my car heard it.”
The strange transmission ceased, and was not repeated. After half an hour the police decided to abandon the vigil, and everybody drove back to town.
“When we were going to bed that night,” Roger continued, “I swear that I heard that squeaking sound again, right over the
“Get the flashlight,” Steve yelled, “Maybe somebody’s hurt!”
Roger reached over Linda and withdrew the flashlight from the glove compartment. Nervously he shined it at the object.
It was a large dog, a hound of some sort, they gathered from their quick inspection.
“Oh, that poor thing,” Linda sympathized. “Somebody’s hit it and it’s crawled off the road to die.”
“Get out, Steve,” Mary begged, “and see if it’s hurt badly. Maybe we can take it to a veterinary.”
“It’s dead, I can tell,” Steve said as he shined the light on it again; “dead as a doornail.”
“Then, from behind a tree, or from the ditch,” Roger told us, “this thing came out and jumped over the car. We got a good sight of it running through the field, still staggering sidewise like a crippled chicken!”
Again shaken, and their anti-phobic urges dispelled by the third sighting of the creature, the men assented to their wives’ request and decided to drive back to the police station.
“We first went to Tiny’s Drive-in. I suppose we did this in order to get Gary Northup’s reaction to what we had seen. We’ve always admired him. As we arrived, he and two employees were leaving, but we blew the horn and stopped him and told him about it.
“ ‘Are you kids drinking?’ he asked. Then, looking at the girls, then back at us, and seeing how pale we were, he apologized: ‘I’m sorry. You look all shaken up!’ Then he went into the Drive-In and called the police.
“The cops told us to drive back up the road and that they would follow us. We stopped at the Lewis Gate to show the officers the dog carcass, but it was gone! About a mile up the road we saw this thing again, on the left side of the road in the field. We stopped, but when Gary’s car, ahead of the police, caught up, the thing suddenly disappeared.”
The police parked in the T.N.T. area and invited Mallette to get in and sit with them. But no Mothman. Occasionally a dark shadow would come over the building. This puzzled the officers because they couldn’t determine the source of the shadow.
Although the obvious skepticism of the officers had never been well hidden, Steve noted a discernable change of attitude, and, for the first time, a suggestion of fear in the men, when the sergeant began sending a radio report back to the dispatcher at Point Pleasant.
During the dispatcher’s first response a strange transmission, apparently of great power, completely blotted out most of the reply.
“What did this transmission sound like, or what did it say?” I asked Steve.
“It didn’t say anything. It was a high-pitched noise, kind of like, I’d say, a record playing at a fast speed, but still not distinct. You couldn’t distinguish any words or anything. I heard something like that on the Adams Family TV program (he referred to a humorous horror TV series which utilized weird music and sound effects).
“It was also like when you run under a power line that’s leaking, when the noise blots out the car radio—only in this instance the squeaky sounds came through.”
Roger interrupted: “Have you ever heard a mouse squeak?”
“I think so,” I replied.
“But really loud and strong, but still like a mouse?”
“Would it be like a transistor radio squeal, when it isn’t functioning correctly?” I countered.
“Yes, but this wasn’t like a radio, either. I just can’t describe it. We were parked near the cruiser and everybody in my car heard it.”
The strange transmission ceased, and was not repeated. After half an hour the police decided to abandon the vigil, and everybody drove back to town.
“When we were going to bed that night,” Roger continued, “I swear that I heard that squeaking sound again, right over the
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