Mothman
By
DragonLady of Avalon

Everyone loves a good ghost story. People like to be scared. I guess it reminds us of our primal days, when living from one day to the next was a victory. Who does not get a kind of joy out of hearing a myth that has no viable proof...yet is possible, if not probable? Does it not make one wonder?

It has been a few weeks since I left Avalon for the second time, and I found this world inhabited by wingless, round-eared things. I look enough like one of them under the right conditions, but I have not wanted to press my luck. Having seizures is dangerous enough when alone, I would rather not have to explain to these things why I have antennae and why I could almost fly with my ears.

I have wandered into their towns a few times, sticking to the shadows and saying not a word. Mostly it is for food. The Dragons remain convinced, no matter what era they are in, that I have seizures so often because I do not eat enough.

Tonight, I walk along the side of the road. The trees are to my right, the road and the other set of trees on my left. It is perfectly silent outside, except for the crickets chirping their chorus as I pass. There stars are shining with infinite clarity, winking at me like perfect diamonds on black velvet being examined with a light. The air is chill with a slight breeze raising the temperature three point five degrees out of the northwest, rustling the leaves slightly.

There are no noisy cars. The air is relatively clean for this world, since I have left "civilization" behind me. I am the only living sentient being for miles. Since I am alone, and my wing muscles are starting to cramp, I slide my great, golden-red wings out of the slits in my jacket and flare them. My left wing stretches out over the road, I have to guide my right between two of the trees.

I stretch luxuriously in the night air, considering taking off my gloves and boots and walking baretaloned for awhile. I dismiss the idea quickly, though. I am still used to needing to keep my skin and face covered, lest I be the catalyst for global destruction. Besides which, I can cover my wings quickly enough. Six toes, one growing from the back of the heel, is highly noticeable and placing shabby leather boots back on takes precious time.

Unfortunately, distracted by the sheer loveliness of stars with no glass dome separating me from them, I do not sense the approach of the car in my antennae. I am tuned to smog, ozone, and many other impurities that come from burning fossil fuels, of which my homeworld and Avalon are disinclined to do, making me highly sensitive to the grotesque scent.

But this car is not run on gasoline, it is run on an electric battery. I had not noticed it because the power lines above my head carry a current, which I ignored.

Ignoring it was a mistake, because when I sense the car's approach, my mind begins to race and I freeze. One half of me wants me to take to the sky and flee, the other wants me to defend myself. Neither can relent, so I am paralyzed...but the car is not.

It keeps driving, the driver apparently as paralyzed as I am. I function well enough to bring my wing up, but the slipstream of the car pulls my light, lanky frame into the air, spinning me wildly. I catch my bearings for a moment, but then the car backs up, trying to run me over or get a better look. At that exact moment, a sharp wind blows, spinning me again with the remnants of the vehicle's slipstream.

I come to a clumsy landing, falling backwards and landing on my hands, my knees up and all four talons flat against the car, my hat falling skew into my lap and my tail sticking out.

The driver and his wife jump out of the car immediately, finding me squeezing my eyes shut and fighting back an "aura" (oncoming warning of a seizure, mine being caused by any form of negative stimuli from pain to blinking lights to extreme emotions). They survey me over, their mouths agape and floundering in the air. Their eyes make way from my long, golden antennae above my eyebrows, the straw-like hairs sticking out of my sleeves and pants legs, my outsized ears, and finally to the great red-toned golden feathers on my wings.

Then I open my eyes, knowing what they have been staring at, and give them something else to stare at. Eyes as green as emeralds and grass, slitted like a cat's and reflecting the headlights the way a cat's would, turning them pale golden and green.

I say not a word, but I could hypnotize them with a song, if my seizure does not come first. My tail flits at my side and I scramble to all fours, climbing off the roof of their car, but getting my jacket hung up in something or another. I have to almost tear it to get free, and for a second the woman walks forward to help me, but she is stopped by her husband when he hears me growling and chirping in frustration.

When I am free, I walk slowly to the spot that I was walking on before they tried to run me over, backwards so I neither expose my back nor take my eyes off them. The man looks to his wife and asks if there is a camera in the car. When she says no, they both silently climb back into their vehicle.

As they get in, I hear the woman whisper, "No one would believe us anyway."

I watch the car drive away, then turn around, deciding to walk in the safety of the trees.

But a set of glowing red eyes, looking like candles behind red glass and providing their own inner light, bar my way.

"Don't think too much about it, boy," the voice belonging to the eyes say. "They said the same thing about me."

A/N: Inspired by reports of the Mothman, one of which someone did say, or at least think, "No one would believe us anyway."