My name’s Scott, and I’ve spent more mornings than I can count in the timber of Floyd County, but Thanksgiving of 2019 is the one that still keeps me looking over my shoulder. It was right around 6:00 AM, that hour where the light hasn’t quite decided to show up yet. I’d hiked deep into the middle of nowhere where the silence feels heavy, like the trees are holding their breath. I eventually crossed paths with a group of wild turkeys moving through the undergrowth and, after a patient wait, I took my shot.
One went down clean, and the rest scattered going every direction, but the echo of my gun hadn’t even died out before the woods split open with a screech so awful it made my bones go cold. I spun around, heart hammering against my ribs, and looked up into the skeletal branches of a massive old oak. Perched there was something that defied any logic of the natural world. It looked like a nightmare’s version of a man crossed with a predatory bird, standing at least seven feet tall with a heavy, dark brown frame and wings that looked wide enough to shroud a vehicle. But it was the eyes that froze me two glowing orbs, somewhere between a deep ember red and a sickly yellow, staring right through the dawn. Before I could even think to move, the creature dove out of the tree, its wings catching the air as it peeled away toward the north. I didn’t wait to see if it was coming back or if it had been stalking those turkeys alongside me. I grabbed my bird and broke into a dead run for the truck, the woods suddenly feeling a lot smaller than they had ten minutes prior.
It wasn’t until a few months later, sitting in my living room during the height of the COVID-19 lockdowns, that I saw a documentary on the Mothman. The description hit me like a physical blow—the height, the wings, and that terrifying reputation for appearing right before the world tilts on its axis. We aren’t that far from the West Virginia line, and looking back on that morning, I can’t help but feel that thing wasn’t just a random encounter, but a shadow cast by the tragedy that was about to settle over all of us.
