Mothman

"If there is a universal mind, must it be sane?"

-Damon Knight. Often misattributed to Charles Fort.

***

December, 1967. West Virginia:

The knock came at midnight. Klein answered; it was the man in the black suit. He came into the motel room, closed the door, and handed Klein a stack of papers.

"You'll be happy to know that you've finished your report," he said. "Here it is."

Klein riffled through the pages. "What did I conclude?" he said.

"You've determined that the initial sightings of the creature the local papers dubbed 'the Mothman' were in fact merely sightings of a large sandhill crane off of its general migratory pattern. Subsequent witness reports were a combination of mass hysteria, hoaxers, and sightings of the same unusual but perfectly harmless and terrestrial bird."

Klein sat in the room's only chair, reading the report over. He was bleary-eyed and unshaven. The room stank of liquor. "And the UFO sightings?" he said.

"A similar combination of natural phenomena and mass hysteria. The reports of, ahem, 'Men in Black,' harassing the locals were just a series of misunderstandings blown out of proportion because of the general atmosphere of paranoia and tension." The man in the black suit smiled. "Or so you've decided."

Klein grunted. The man in the black suit handed him another sheet of paper. "We just need you to sign here," he said. Klein signed, though his hand was shaking and he made a mess of it. The paper was dated December 14th—two days from today. The man in the black suit took the document away, snapped it in his briefcase, and said, "There, done. Do you feel better?"

"No," said Klein. The man in the black suit acted as if he did not hear.

"I believe you have something for me?" he said.

Klein brought out a heavy cardboard box. "That's all of it," he said. "Tapes, transcripts, photos, everything I got from all the witnesses. The original draft of my report is in there too."

The man in the black suit read the draft in silence, pursing his lips now and then. "It's fine work. Almost too bad no one will ever get to read it," he said when he was done. Of course, the report we've furnished is fine work too. Better, in that it will put the public's mind at ease."

"Do you really think it will?" Klein said.

"Somewhat. Time is really what the people need; time to forget. Most will. Not you or I, of course, but then, we're different."

The man in the black suit turned to go, taking the box with him. Klein stopped him at the door. "Wait," he said. "How long until I can..."

"Kill yourself?" said the man in the black suit. He pondered. "We'd prefer you wait at least a year. Any sooner than that might damage the credibility of the report. But if it gets to the point where you really can't take it anymore...six months is probably acceptable. There will be no reprisals against your loved ones after that point."

Klein sagged, relieved. Then he seemed to struggle with something more. The man in the black suit nodded, almost a kind gesture. "Something's going to happen tomorrow, isn't it?" Klein said. "Something terrible, in the town."

"Terrible things do happen, sometimes," said the man in the black suit. "If you really want to know the truth, just look outside. No, not there; the window."

Klein touched the curtain, cautiously at first, then pulled it aside. He stood, transfixed, as a red glow, like a neon sign, filled the windowpane, washing over him. The man in the black suit was careful to look away, turning around and even putting his hat over his eyes until he heard the curtain move back. Klein looked dazed.

"You understand now?" said the man in the black suit. Klein said nothing; there was nothing to say. The man in the black suit left. Klein was alone. Well, not entirely alone. The thing at the window was still with him. But in time, it left too.

***

April, 2007. California:

Kenneth froze.

"Don't say anything," he thought. "Nobody else saw it but you, and if you say anything they'll think you're crazy. Just play it cool. "This he said to himself over and over again as the train's brakes squealed and the doors snapped open.

"This stop is MacArthur," the operator said.

Kenneth stepped onto the elevated platform, knees shaking, but he was careful not to give himself away. No one else had seen the thing on the pillar, and that meant everyone else on this train platform was Kenneth's enemy. If he breathed one word of what he saw, they'd cart him to the loony bin. Can't let that happen, he thought.

He sat on the cement bench. He was squeezing the handle of his briefcase too hard and his knuckles hurt, so he stopped. His phone beeped: a missed call. Normally he would check right away to see if it was Lydia (even though he knew it would not be), but now he ignored it. Good God, he thought, what was that thing? But he had to shut those thoughts off before he panicked and gave himself away.

He realized someone was staring at him: It was a woman, slightly on the short side, nondescript, but watching him with a mildly puzzled, disgusted look on her face. Kenneth's mouth went dry. The way she was looking at him...she must know something is wrong! His heart rate accelerated. He was seized with the urge to push this woman right off the side of the platform. Yes, kill her before she endangered everything! Before he could really think about what he was doing his hands were moving, but he stopped once she spoke:

"You saw it too. Didn't you?"

Her voice was small. Kenneth saw fear in her eyes. And then he broke down, sobbing. He couldn't help it; one look in the strange woman's eyes and his resolve crumbled. The stranger hugged him and he buried his face in her heavy coat until he could get a hold of himself. The panic flowed away, and he could breathe again, although the manic, flapping sense of anxiety would not completely leave him. The woman sat with an arm around his shoulder. People were staring, but it was all right now. The woman waved them on and they paid Kenneth no mind. When his voice came back he said: "I thought I was the only one. I thought I was alone."

The woman shook her head. "I saw it. And when I saw the look on your face I knew you'd seen it too, but we were the only ones. I wanted to talk to you but I was frightened. I thought...I don't know why, but I felt like everyone around me was out to get me."

"Yes!" Kenneth said, a bit too loud. "I felt the same way. Such a strange feeling..." He was more rational now. The woman's voice evened him out. "I think...I think it was because of its eyes. Yes, the eyes—"

The woman stopped him. "We shouldn't talk about this here."

She was right, of course. Without another word he followed her down the escalator, out the fare gates and into the parking lot. It was a gray day. Kenneth realized he was late for work. He must have been sitting on that bench for much longer than he thought. He should call in sick, but for some reason the idea of the phone frightened him just now. Hell, everything frightened him. Rather than think about anything, he allowed himself to be led.

The woman took him beneath the overpass, past block after block of tepid concrete to the cheap motor lodge on Telegraph where she had a room. She was in town for business,m she said. Kenneth wondered what she did that couldn't afford her better accommodations, but he didn't ask. He sat in the room's only chair, playing with his tie, not knowing what to say. Outside, voices shouted. The woman made coffee. The cup was reassuringly hot in his hands, and the black, acrid taste jolted him back to reality a little more. She sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forwad. Her hair was tied back in a braid, but a few stray wisps had come loose and floated around her head in a distracting way. She pursed her lips, obviously trying to work out what she should say. She said her name was Kathleen May.

"Kenneth Arnold," he said, wincing because the coffee had burned his mouth a bit.

"Can I call you Ken?"

"Kenneth. Please."

"Okay. Kenneth..." She paused and Kenneth could tell she was debating how best to start. "Back on the train—"

"It was black," Kenneth said, staring into his mug. "It was a huge, black shape, hanging underneath the freeway overpass and clinging to the pillar. But it was alive. It didn't move, but you could tell it was alive and it was...waiting for something." He licked his lips. "I was standing near the window, and the train was pulling into the station, and we'd just gone under the freeway overpass, and I looked up from my phone and there it was, hanging in midair. And it had—"

"Two huge eyes."

"Yes! Glowing-"

"Red."

"Like stoplights. Those horrible eyes..." His voice dwindled and died out as he shuddered. It was a moment before he could speak again. "I couldn't, you know, make out much of it besides the eyes. Except..." He groped for words. "It had wings. Not like a bird, or a bat, but like an insect." He made a little fluttering motion with his hands. "A big black thing, with wings and glowing red eyes. It sounds insane."

"But I saw it too. Just like you described it. It has to be real if we both saw it."

"What does it mean?"

"I don't know. The part that worries me is: why us? Only we saw it. I think it means that it wanted us to see it. And only us. Do you think it's a sign? Like, an omen? Or a message!"

"If it was a message then why don't we have a clue what it means?"

Kathleen shrugged. "Maybe there's some other part of it. Or maybe whatever it was doesn't know the right way to communicate. Or maybe..."

She stood up abruptly and then kneeled down by Kenneth's chair. She laid her head down on his lap. Kenneth was so startled that he didn't even react, just froze in place, mystified. Kathleen closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just needed...to be held for a second. My head is all out of sorts still. Like I've been drugged. Do you know the feeling?"

"Yes," Kenneth said. He'd felt the same way since the train. Kathleen, he saw, was on the verge of passing out, her eyes swollen and red, and he suddenly did not want to disturb her. Instead he let her fall asleep on his lap, watching the sun rise higher and higher in the sky outside, vanishing overhead as it neared and passed noon. He looked at the sun more than he should. It hurt, of course, but that was okay, because when he was looking at it he was finally able to forget about the burning red eyes of the creature from the train.

Eventually Kenneth got up, laying Kathleen on the bed. He closed the blinds and got his phone. Though he remembered it ringing earlier, there was no missed call message. He called the office; Teena was pissed about him not showing, but he talked her down, played sick, worked over her sympathies. When he hung up, he spent a long time staring at the phone. He wanted to call Lydia. But no, he had called her the day before, and left a message, and she had not called him back. There was no point in repeating the ritual today. Still, he wanted to hear her voice...

He jumped when Kathleen put a hand on his shoulder. He hadn't realized she was awake. Her eyes were still red around the edges, but she seemed a little better. She patted his arm again, assuring him. He had to swallow before he could talk. "You okay?" he said.

"Yeah." Her voice was gravelly. "You?"

"I think I'm evening out," he said. "I've never been in shock before."

"Me neither." He gave her a hug, but all the while he was thinking about Lydia. Then he jumped again when he felt Kathleen's lips, very softly, on the side of his neck. She planting, small, wet kisses there that tickled a bit. Her body tensed up in his arms. Her hands wandered up his back, clasping him behind the shoulders, pulling him in a little; one of her knees bent and her legs parted, just a little. Her mouth wandered up to beneath his earlobe and then—

"Wait," Kenneth said. He stepped back. He moved so fast she almost lost her balance and was left looking surprised, balanced on one foot. Kenneth ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. "Wait," he said.

"I'm sorry." Kathleen turned away, blushing.

"No, it's all right," Kenneth said.

"I don't know what that was," she said. "I'm still upset, and you're the only one here, and—"

"It's all right," he said again. He put a hand on her shoulder. "It's not, you know, you, it's just...I'm married."

She looked at him out the corner of her eye. "You don't have a ring."

Kenneth shrugged; now he was the one blushing. "We're having some problems. Trial separation. Last time I saw her I noticed she wasn't wearing hers anymore, so I took mine off out of spite. Now I can't remember where I put it."

"You lost your wedding ring?" Her tone was something between amusement and pity. Kenneth shrugged, blushing again.

"Yeah, well, it's been a crazy week," he said. "First that...now this."

Kathleen laughed, a loud, genuine laugh, and seemed to relax for the first time. "I'm going to shower, so if you want the chance to slip away and never see me again, go right ahead. If you're still here when I get out why don't we find something to eat and then figure out what we're going to do about, you know, our problem."

He watched her as she went into the bathroom and closed the door. He waited to hear the sound of the lock, but it didn't come. Then there came the rush of water. Kenneth sighed and sat on the bed, looking at the window. More voices shouting from outside. He thought, I wonder what—

The ringing phone startled him. He'd forgotten he was still holding it. Was it Lydia? No, no number was listed. He answered; the voice on the other end sounded strange, like a machine imitating a voice, but poorly. It was a kind of buzzing, clicking sound that just happened to resemble words. "Kenneth?" said the voice.

"Yes?"

"Kenneth Arnold?"

"Yes?" Kenneth said again. His palms started to sweat, for some reason.

"Isn't it a lovely night, Kenneth Arnold?"

"...yes." Kenneth's voice changed, becoming relaxed. His pupils dilated, and his head nodded a little to one side.

"Would you care for a game of solitaire, Kenneth Arnold?"

"Yes," Kenneth said. His voice was a dreamy monotone.

"That's good. But first we want you to do something."

"Whatever you want," Kenneth said.

"Go to Kathleen. Right now."

"All right."

Kenneth blinked, looking at his phone. He was sure it had rung a moment ago, but there was not missed call indicator. He shrugged; his fingers trembled a little as he put it down. The shower was still running. The bathroom door was open, just a crack, and shower steam curled out. Kenneth felt funny, half-drunk and half-hung over. He loosened his tie and took off his jacket. It wasn't a warm day, but he was still sweating. He closed the door behind him with a loud click Through the haze of the curtain, he saw Kathleen turn. She tugged the curtain open, inviting. Kenneth left his clothes in a pile on the floor.

The hot water stung his neck and shoulders. He took a minute to adjust. There was not much room, so the two of them stood, slightly awkward, a few inches apart, unsure how to begin. Kathleen crossed her arms over her breasts and then uncrossed them. "You should probably know," she said, "that I'm married too."

Kenneth blinked. "You're not wearing a ring."

"I take it off when I travel."

"Always?"

"Always..." she said. Kenneth kissed her. It was strange; he hadn't kissed any woman but Lydia in, what, almost 20 years now? Since high school. He'd expected it to be very different, but Kathleen's lips felt more or less the same. With his eyes closed, he could pretend that it was Lydia. Yes, that would work. Her wet, naked flesh rubbed against his. She'd just begun to soap herself and she was slippery all over. Her wet hair was just about the same length as Lydia's. As long as Kenneth kept his eyes closed, he could run his hands through her hair and pretend that she was his wife. Gauzy steam filled the tiny bathroom. Kenneth decided to act as if there was nothing beyond it. The whole world was just a hot, impenetrable cloud surrounding this tiny vestibule.

Kenneth ran his hands down her. She felt a little like Lydia, but not really. She had thick legs, but that was all right. He liked good thighs. He sometimes wished Lydia had them. Now, in a way, she did. And her breasts (hot from the steamy water, slippery from the soap) were larger and rounder than Lydia's, another thing he liked (he'd always secretly wished Lydia would get implants, but was too appalled to ever say so). Kathleen's body was almost perfect for him. With his eyes shut and his hands exploring her curves and contours, he imagined he was sculpting the ideal body.

They had so little room that it was impossible to do anything without touching. It felt like one of those childhood games, where you run and try not to be caught but you know you always will be eventually, and really you want to be. Kenneth buried his face against the side of her neck, biting. She gasped and then exhaled in a long, warbling sigh. He bit again, and again, and she clung to him tighter, wrapping her arms and legs around him and holding on. She was shaking. He thought she might be crying but of course it was impossible to tell, and he never looked at her face for long anyway.

He thought about Lydia. Their first time had been in a shower too. They'd been going steady (that was the term she used, "going steady," like the teenagers in an old movie) for a year at that point. She'd backed out of sex twice, already saying she wasn't ready. Graduation came and went and still she didn't relent. Her parents were out of town that weekend and he'd snuck into the house to spend the night. She went to shower and he said, joking, "Maybe I'll join you." Then, a minute after the water started, she'd opened the door and said: "Ken, come in here for a minute. I need you."

Maybe it was the sense of isolation that he had now that made her finally agree. The feeling of wet skin on wet skin and hot breath on your bare neck, all hidden from the world by glass, metal, and steam. They'd been awkward, of course, without a clue what they were doing. She was scared of him going in and buried her face against his bare shoulder, almost panicked but telling him to do it, insisting, in fact. She said later that it hurt, but she was glad. If it hadn't hurt, she said, she would have felt let down. Kenneth thought he understood. Until the day 20 years later when she admitted she'd never stopped hurting.

Kathleen's nails raked his back and brought him to the present. He was unused to long nails. She was positioned against the wall now, legs open, his cock poised just against her, the slippery wet skin of her sex rubbing against his. Wet hair clung to the sides of her face, the tips of a few strands touching the corner of her mouth and her full lips. She was telling him to do it. The words rang an echo from 20 years earlier. "Go ahead Kenneth. Go ahead." The exact same words. But those nails biting into his shoulders, those weren't the same. It wasn't going to work. He felt himself stall. He felt—

Without thinking, he spun her around. She cried out in surprise as he pushed her face-first into the wall. She bent at the waist to avoid slipping and he grabbed her by the hips, pulling her into him. Her fingers splayed against the tile (far away from him, far away from their distracting touch). And now her face was turned away. Yes, now there was nothing to reveal who she was. Except that his wife would never have let him manhandle her like this. And she certainly would not have encouraged him when the tip of his cock slid, for a second, by accident, against the inside curve of her ass, nudging the tight hole there. Kathleen moaned and stopped him when he started to move. He rubbed against her again. She moaned a little more. Then she reached back and spread her cheeks, inviting him in.