by John A. Keel
IV.
On November 4, Derenberger was riding with a coworker on Route 7 outside Parkersburg when he felt a tingling sensation in his forehead. Then thoughts from Mr. Cold began to spring full-blown into his mind. Cold explained that he was from the planet of Lanulos which was in the “galaxy of Ganymede.” Lanulos, he said, was very like the earth, with flora, fauna, and seasons. He was married to a lady named Kimi and had two sons. Folks on Lanulos had a life expectancy of 125–175 earth years. Naturally there was no war, poverty, hunger, or misery on Lanulos.
When the transmission was completed, Cold urged Woody to brace himself because withdrawal would be painful. Woody felt a sharp pain in his temple and nearly passed out.
Two weeks later, though Woody wasn’t aware of it at the time, two salesmen visited Mineral Wells and went from house to house with their wares. They weren’t very interested in making sales. At one house they offered bibles. At another, hardware. At a third they were “Mormon missionaries from Salem, Oregon” (a UFO wave was taking place in Salem at that time). One man was tall, blond, and looked like a Scandinavian. His partner was short and slight, with pointed features and a dark olive complexion. They asked questions about Woody and were particularly interested in opinions on the validity of his alleged contact.
V.
“Old Bandit’s gone,” the six-year-old boy said sadly. “Mister, do you think you can bring him back?”
Gray Barker shifted his large frame uneasily. The boy’s father, Newell Partridge, ordered the child off to bed.
“It’s all so weird,” Partridge complained. “I just can’t figure it out.”
Barker smiled understandingly. Ever since he had investigated the Flatwoods monster back in 1952, he had been listening to weird stories. A pioneer ufologist, Gray had made many outstanding contributions to the subject. He had also managed to make himself a somewhat controversial character in a field riddled with controversies and characters. The die-hard fanatics who dominated sauceriana during the early years were a humorless lot and Gray’s mischievous wit baffled and enraged them. At times it baffled me, too. This towering bear of a man was very hard to “read.” But his investigations were always thorough and uncompromising.
Now he was sitting in the home of Newell Partridge near Salem, West Virginia, talking about an errant television set and a missing dog. On the evening of November 14, 1966, Bandit, a big, muscular German shepherd, had dashed into the darkness and vanished.
“It was about 10:30 that night, and suddenly the TV blanked out,” Partridge said. “A real fine herringbone pattern appeared on the tube, and at the same time the set started a loud whining noise, winding up to a high pitch, peaking and breaking off, as if you were on a musical scale and you went as high as you could and came back down and repeated it.… It sounded like a generator winding up. It reminded me of a hand field generator that one might use for portable radio transmission in an emergency.”
Outside on the porch, Bandit began wailing. Partridge picked up a flashlight and went outside to investigate.
“The dog was sitting on the end of the porch, howling down toward the hay barn in the bottom,” Partridge continued. “I shined the light in that direction, and it picked up two red circles, or eyes, which looked like bicycle reflectors. Still there was something about those eyes that is difficult to explain. When I was a kid I night-hunted all the time, and I certainly know what animal eyes look like—such as coon, dog and cat eyes in the dark. These were much larger for one thing. It’s a good length of a football field to that hay barn. Probably around 150 yards; still those eyes showed up huge, for that distance.”
As soon as the flashlight picked out the “eyes” Bandit snarled and ran toward them. A “cold chill” swept over the man and he felt a wave of fear which kept him from following the dog.
That night he slept with a loaded gun beside his bed.
The next day he went looking for the dog.
“I walked out to the barn, looking for tracks. Here and there I could see Bandit’s paw prints. These were rather easy to find, for he was a heavy dog, and the area was muddy.”
At the approximate position of the “eyes” he found a large number of dog tracks.
“Those tracks were going in a circle, as if the dog had been chasing his tail,” Partridge explained, “though he never did that. And that was that. I couldn’t see them go off anywhere, though I did see a series of fresh tracks which apparently led from the porch to the spot where he ran in circles. There were no other tracks of any kind.”
Bandit simply vanished into thin air.
“I think that the hardest thing to explain is the feeling involved … except to say it was an eerie feeling. I have never had this sort of feeling before. It was as if you knew something was wrong, but couldn’t place just what it was.”
Sudden fear. Eerie feelings. Something unnatural was stalking the hills of West Virginia that November. The fear would become contagious. Those frightening red eyes would settle in Point Pleasant, while Mr. Cold and his crew of cosmic zanies would spread their propaganda in Mineral Wells, forsaking their flying lantern chimney for a black Volkswagen.
6:
Mothman!
I.
High explosives were manufactured in Point Pleasant during World War II. Seven miles outside of town part of the 2,500-acre McClintic Wildlife Station, an animal preserve and bird sanctuary, was ripped up. Miles of underground tunnels were dug, linking camouflaged buildings and factories. One hundred “igloos” were scattered across the fields and woods—huge concrete domes with heavy steel doors where the finished explosives could be safely stored. Dirt and grass covered the domes so from the air the whole area had a harmless, pastoral appearance. A few scattered buildings linked by unimproved dirt roads with no suggestion of all the activity going on below ground. It looked like nothing more than what it was supposed to be, a haven for birds and animals in the Ohio River valley.
After the war most of the explosives were carted away. The factories were dismantled. The entrances and exits of the tunnels were plugged with thick concrete slabs. Some of the igloos were given to the Mason County government as possible storage vaults. They still stand empty. Others were sold to the Trojan-U.S. Powder Co. and the LFC Chemical Co. Some were leased to American Cyanamid.
The years washed away the camouflage and now the igloos stand out starkly on the landscape, row upon row of white mounds with deer and rabbits running between them. The old factory buildings are broken shells. The big generator plant near the entrance to the area still stands, its boilers rusting, its windows gone, water dripping shyly across its floor while the wind rattles the high steel catwalks and pigeons flutter in its rafters.
Local teen-agers use the decaying dirt roads for drag strips, and further back, where the woods thicken, lovers park in the deep shadows during the summer mating season. While the TNT area had witnessed many biological events over the years, it had no reputation as a haunted place. The local police cruised through it every evening, occasionally flashing their lights into a darkened car. Everyone raised in the area knows every corner of the place. Sportsmen clubs have built an archery range and picnic area there.
At 11:30 P.M. on the night of November 15, 1966, two young couples from Point Pleasant, Mr. and Mrs. Roger Scarberry and Mr. and Mrs. Steve Mallette, were driving through the TNT area in the Scarberrys’ 1957 Chevvy. They were looking for friends but no one seemed to be out that night. All of the twisting back roads were deserted. The few homes scattered among the igloos were dark.
Roger, then a strapping blond eighteen-year-old, was driving. They aimlessly made the circuit of the roads around the igloos, returning to the old generator plant near the unlocked gate. As they pulled alongside the plant, Linda Scarberry gasped. They all looked into the blackness and saw two bright red circles. They were about two inches in diameter and six inches apart. Roger slammed on his brakes.
“What is it?” Mary Mallette, a strikingly attractive brunette, crie
d from the back seat.
The lights bobbed away from the building and the startled foursome saw they were attached to some huge animal.
“It was shaped like a man, but bigger,” Roger said later. “Maybe six and a half or seven feet tall. And it had big wings folded against its back.”
“But it was those eyes that got us,” Linda declared. “It had two big eyes like automobile reflectors.”
“They were hypnotic,” Roger continued. “For a minute we could only stare at it. I couldn’t take my eyes off it.”
It was grayish in color and walked on sturdy manlike legs. It turned slowly and shuffled toward the door of the generator plant which was ajar and hanging off its hinges.
“Let’s get out of here!” Steve yelled.
Roger stepped on the gas and they shot through the gates, spun onto the exit road, and headed for Route 62. Suddenly they saw it, or another one like it, standing on a small hill near the road. As they hurtled past it, it spread its batlike wings and took off straight up into the air.
“My God! It’s following us!” The couple in the back seat cried. Roger swung onto 62 on two wheels.
“We were doing one hundred miles an hour,” Roger said, “and that bird kept right up with us. It wasn’t even flapping its wings.”
“I could hear it making a sound,” Mrs. Mallette added. “It squeaked like a big mouse.”
“It followed us right to the city limits,” Roger went on. “Funny thing, we noticed a dead dog by the side of the road there. A big dog. But when we came back a few minutes later, the dog was gone.”
Panic-stricken, the red eyes still burning in their minds, they went directly to the Mason County courthouse, charged into the sheriff’s office, and blurted out their story to Deputy Millard Halstead.
“I’ve known these kids all their lives,” Halstead told me later. “They’d never been in any trouble and they were really scared that night. I took them seriously.”
He hopped into a patrol car and followed Roger’s car back to the TNT area. At the edge of town they looked for the dog’s body. It was gone.
Back at the power plant there was no sign of the red-eyed specter. Halstead switched on his police radio and a very loud signal blasted out of the speaker, drowning out the voice of the police dispatcher in Point Pleasant.
It was a loud garble, like a record or tape recording being played at very high speed.
Deputy Halstead, an experienced cop, looked taken aback but said nothing. He switched the radio off quickly and peered uncomfortably into the darkness, reluctant to really search the old building. But he was convinced.
The next morning Sheriff George Johnson called a press conference. Local reporters interviewed the four witnesses. Mrs. Mary Hyre sent the story out on the AP wire and that evening the “Bird” was the chief topic at supper tables throughout the Ohio valley. Some anonymous copy editor gave it a name, spun off from the Batman comic character who was then the subject of a popular TV series. He tagged the creature Mothman.
II.
November 16, 1966. Three years to the day since John Flaxton and his companions had seen the ambling winged monster in Kent, England. Long lines of cars circled the TNT area slowly. Men bristling with guns surrounded the old power plant, poking into every bush. There wasn’t much to do in Point Pleasant, a town of six thousand people, twenty-two churches, and no barrooms, so Mothman was almost a welcome addition.
A large red light moved around in the sky directly above the TNT area that night but few of the monster-hunters paid any attention to it.* One carload of people was watching it, however. Mr. and Mrs. Raymond Wamsley and Mrs. Marcella Bennett and her baby daughter, Teena, studied it, puzzled.
“It wasn’t an airplane. We couldn’t figure out what it was,” Mrs. Bennett said.
She and the Wamsleys were probably the only people in the crowd who were not looking for the red-eyed creature. They were on their way to visit the Ralph Thomases who lived in a neat bungalow back among the igloos. Mr. Thomas was the superintendent of the Trojan-U.S. operations there. His wife, Virginia, was a slender, gentle woman blessed—or cursed—with second sight. She had accurately predicted numerous accidents and local events over the years. She was careful not to seek attention and only her friends knew of her remarkable abilities. Deeply religious, she went to church almost every evening and on this night both she and her husband were out. The Wamsleys and Mrs. Bennett found only three of the Thomas children, Rickie, Connie, and Vickie, at home. After exchanging a few words with the youngsters, they headed back to their car. Off in the distance they could hear some trigger-happy hero firing a rifle around the power plant.
Suddenly a figure stirred in the darkness behind the parked car.
“It seemed as if it had been lying down,” Mrs. Bennett told me. “It rose up slowly from the ground. A big gray thing. Bigger than a man, with terrible glowing red eyes.”
Mrs. Bennett uttered a little cry, so horrified she dropped the small baby in her arms. The child began to cry, more insulted than hurt, but her mother couldn’t move to pick her up again. She stood transfixed, hypnotized by the blazing red circles on the top of the towering, headless creature. Its great wings unfolded slowly behind its back. Raymond Wamsley grabbed the paralyzed woman and the child and they all ran back into the house, slammed the door, and bolted it. There was a sound on the porch and the two red eyes peered in through a window. The women and children became hysterical while Wamsley frantically phoned the police. It was 9 P.M. Hundreds of people, many of them armed to the teeth, were less than a mile away and would not know about the episode until they read it in the local papers the following evening.
By the time the police reached the house the creature was gone. But for Mrs. Bennett this was just the beginning of a long and frightening series of adventures.
III.
Woodrow Derenberger was living in bedlam. A group of local UFO enthusiasts representing the Washington-based National Investigations Committee on Aerial Phenomena (NICAP), largely a lobby urging congressional UFO investigations, visited or phoned him daily, raising his ire by ordering him not to talk to anyone else about his experiences.
His farm looked like the TNT area. Every night streams of cars would park all over the property he was renting and people would sit quietly in the dark. Watching. Waiting. Some brought guns and hiked into the nearby hills to sit behind trees. Widespread rumors said the UFOs planned to come back and land on the farm. Some of Woody’s visitors were determined to bag themselves a spaceman.
In the midst of all the chaos, a black Volkswagen drove up, parked, and a tanned man in a neat black suit got out. He and Woody walked casually to the edge of the porch and talked. After a few minutes, the man got back into his VW and drove off. The great hunters continued to sit in the bitter cold behind their trees, their eyes anxiously searching the skies.
According to Derenberger, he had been suffering from a stomach ailment for some time. Mr. Cold gave him a vial of medicine, he claimed, which cured his problem instantly. Cold now had a first name—Indrid.
IV.
Across the Ohio River, almost directly opposite the TNT area, a music teacher, Mrs. Roy Grose, was wakened by the barking of her dog at 4:45 A.M. on the morning of November 17, 1966. It was unusual for her little pet to bark late at night, so she got up to investigate. The moon was out and was very bright, she recalled. She looked out the kitchen window and saw an enormous object hovering at treetop level in a field on the other side of Route 7. It was circular, the size of a small house, and brilliantly illuminated. It seemed to be divided into sections glowing with dazzlingly bright red and green lights.
“I was stunned,” she said. Before she could wake up her husband, the object made a zig-zag motion and suddenly disappeared. She did not mention the sighting to anyone outside her immediate family until weeks later.
That afternoon a seventeen-year-old boy was driving down Route 7, not far from Mrs. Grose’s home in Cheshire, Ohio, when a huge bird sudd
enly dove at his car and pursued him for a mile or so.
On the eighteenth two firemen from Point Pleasant, Paul Yoder and Benjamin Enochs, were in the TNT area when they encountered a giant bird with big red eyes. “It was definitely a bird,” they stated flatly. “But it was huge. We’d never seen anything like it.”
Everyone was now seeing Mothman or the “Bird,” or so it seemed. Sightings were reported in Mason, Lincoln, Logan, Kanawha, and Nicholas counties. People were traveling for hundreds of miles to sit in the cold TNT area all night, hoping to glimpse the creature. Those who were unlucky enough to see it vowed they never wanted to see it again. It evoked unspeakable terrors. Like flying saucers, it delighted in chasing cars … a very unbirdlike habit, and it seemed to have a penchant for scaring females who were menstruating, another UFO/hairy monster peculiarity.
Five teen-agers driving along Campbells Creek on the night of November 20 got the shock of their lives when their headlights bounced off a man-size birdlike creature standing beside a rock quarry. It turned and scurried into the woods. “Nobody believes us because we’re teen-agers,” Brenda Jones of Point Lick complained. “But it was real scary.”
An elderly businessman in Point Pleasant found Mothman standing on his front lawn. He stepped outside to see why his dog was barking and confronted a six- or seven-foot tall gray apparition with flaming eyes. He stood transfixed for several minutes, unaware of the passage of time. Suddenly the creature flew off and he staggered back into his house. He was so pale and shaken his wife thought he was having a heart attack.
V.
While the people of West Virginia were being overrun with Garudas, the rest of the country was being engulfed in wingless flying objects. A great wave began that Halloween and continued through November. On November 22 a family from Wildwood Crest, New Jersey, near the tip of thinly populated Cape May, crossed the thin line that separates our reality from something else.
