One day, Mothman came to Ashburnham. And the next, he was boring. Whether he came from the stars, another dimension or Hell, Mothman turned out to be more man than moth. Sure, he’s fuzzy like a moth, and he’s got those pupil-less red headlight reflector eyes, but the rest of him is too regular for him to be more than a curiosity. I’m watching him across my counter at Misty’s Grill. He could be part of the furniture. Not marketable enough to be a mascot. And I guess nobody wants to eat at Mothburger. Mothy’s Grill? Big ol’ head on a sign, neon eyes luring folks from miles around. Probably piss off those guys at the army base. No soldiers here today. Not many people in general. Maybe that’s why I’m looking at Mothman. Third refill of our $2 all you can drink coffee. Should maybe tell Misty to up the price. But since I found out how cheap coffee is to buy wholesale, I can’t stomach those bougie chain places. So maybe $2 is fine, ‘specially since he keeps coming back.
He raises his arm, eyes still glued to his book. Suppose that means a fourth cup. There’s a pile of other books next to him, read or to be read. I wander on over with a “fresh” pot. And for the first time, I talk to the Mothman.
“What’re you reading?”
“Huh?” His eyes wig out. Broke his concentration. I repeat my question. “Oh. Local Histories of Ashburnham, PT. 1952-1999. Second Edition”.
“A real page-turner.” I pour him another.
“Absolutely! Did you know that the coal mines out by Lake Louca used to account for 1.15% of total US coal production?” He says, dumping sugar into his coffee. No milk. Never milk.
“I certainly did not.” Not one for social cues, I see.
“I mean, not anymore, obviously, but not just because it’s cheaper elsewhere. People reckon there was something down there. Miners kept going missing, or if they did turn up, it was on the other side of the mountain. Hard to maintain a mine if your miners keep up and disappearing.” Sipped his coffee loudly as I stood lamely, holding onto the pot. “That and uh, it wasn’t super great for the lake.”
“Never figured the Mothman for a history buff.”
“Matt.”
“That’s your name?”
“None other. I’m not the Mothman, after all. Just a Mothman.”
“Did you choose it?”
“Could’ve done. Did you choose yours?” Gestured at my HI, MY NAME IS ‘ECHO’ tag. “Would you not have gone for something alliterative?” Matt Mothman. Mothman Matt? Matthman?
“Probably not. People might think I’m a superhero.
“Echo Law already kind of sounds like a superhero name.”
“How do you….”
“Ah. Sorry. Don’t worry; I’m not spying on you. I know almost everyone’s name. I’m very good at people watching.” He tapped the side of his headlamp eyes.
“No kidding.” So, he’s not spying on me; he’s spying on everybody. “Ok then, how about that guy?” Nodded over to Norman, the guy everyone knew but didn’t really know. He’s sitting in the corner, thick glasses and hat obscuring his face; his pepperoni roll travelling from his plate into the void.
“Oh. That’s Norm. Norm Frost. Used to work for the newspaper. Weather, I think? Not much need for him these days, of course.”
“Isn’t the paper still running?” The Falling Ash. Gramps used to read it while sitting on the porch. He’d always joke that at this point, they should pay him to read it. Certainly more enticing than mining.
“In name only. Got bought out by a company out of state. They laid everyone off. You get maybe a couple of articles actually about Ashburnham. The rest is just fluff they pay people on the internet to write.”
“Jeez. That sucks. Wonder why I didn’t hear about it.”
“Well, it wasn’t in the newspaper.” Maybe Gramps was actually a key source of income.
“Oh. Well. Enjoy your coffee, Matt.”
“I will!” Very enthusiastic about drip coffee. Someone has to be. If there’s room for a Mothman, then there’s room for someone who enjoys the coffee that is at best an accompaniment to a mass of carbs. Even if that someone is the same someone. “Let me know if you ever want to come to the woods!”
“What?”
“Oh. I do that. Woods things. You can come along!”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“No worries!”
“Well, uh… back to work.” He might need to work on his approach. Still, maybe that’d work on someone. He waves as I return to my station. Perhaps not surprising that the Mothman would be a little… odd. Ah. I should’ve asked him if he wanted anything to eat. He does eat, right? I’ve never seen him, but I figure he must. I can’t picture him with a pepperoni roll. Maybe biscuits? He takes his coffee with sugar, so perhaps something sweet. Am I just assuming that because he’s a moth? Maybe. Probably unfair. A stollen would go well with coffee, though.
Misty knocked through from the kitchen. Hopefully, not to complain about my lack of upselling.
“You can clock out, Echo,” she says through her mop of red hair. My watch says 8:15 PM. My face evidently shows my confusion. “Givin’ that new kid Brad a trial run. Don’t worry. You’ll still get your money.” I’ll try not to resent the implication that I’d make a scene about losing 45 minutes of just above minimum wage work. Then again…
“Macy’s son? The one who stapled a squirrel onto his school desk?”
“It was dead, hon.”
“Before or after he stapled it?”
“Ashburnham has a fine history of reusing roadkill.” A cookoff is kinda different than an art project, though, right? “In any case, he’s a nice kid. Sure I could call up your mom about weird stuff you did in school.”
“Nothing involving dead animals, far as I recall.” I’ll try not to resent that implication either. Sides, any cruelty on his part has to be balanced by being called Brad Bradley. Brad Bradley! That sure as hell ain’t a superhero name. God, I hope that’s on his name tag. “I’ll head off then. Thanks, Misty.”
“Hear you around, Echo.”
“Harharhar…” Gets funnier every time…
At night, you can walk for miles without seeing a single soul. Not that there aren’t people around, but they’re hidden, in bars and alleys and the edges of nowhere. It’s kind of peaceful in a weird way like the world has switched off for a while, so you can too.
Tonight is different. I can see something in the distance. Green, glowing. And smiling. Or at least, the image of a smile. It’s tilted to the side as if it’s too heavy for its body.
“Hello?” No reply.
[=)]
Was that a mistake? But it moves. The face flops from side to side. Some kind of grinding noise. Some weird tourist attraction. Or a prank. Or many other things that aren’t what my brain is telling me. It hasn’t changed. Unblinking. Like a light or a screen. But I can feel it looking at me.
It’s moving closer. Kinda snaking through the shadow. If I run, and it’s just some kids screwing around, I swear.
“Halloween isn’t for months, y’know!” The face disappeared. Or it turned off. I didn’t think that’d work. Home is still forward. Do I still want to go ahead? Still about a half-mile to go, past the gas station and over the old railroad tracks.
I can’t hear the noise anymore. I walk back over to the sidewalk. Can’t be afraid of my own town. If something is lurking in the dark, then I don’t want to stay out here anyway. Quicken my step. Ashburnham isn’t for the speedy, but neither is it for weird shit in the night. I don’t want to use my phone as a flashlight lest it confirms my fears.
Bump. I’m stopped by something. Cold but not hard, a lump of fabric and… something else.
A noise. A light. It’s above me. It’s shifted to two, maybe three storeys high. The face looks down—the same face. Nothing moves for a while. Not me, not it, not even the air. Wires hang still around me—a buzzing sound, louder and louder. Breathe.
Run. To the left, then forward. Messenger bag hangs heavy, slipping around like a pendulum. Don’t look back, don’t look back. Is it following? Phone buzzes. “It looks like you’re running. Do you want to record a workout?” Not now! I can still hear it. Not louder or quieter. Keeping pace. I try to speed up. Breath runs ragged. Maybe I should’ve been hitting those activity goals.
Red lights cut across the dark. Headlights? No, they’re too close together, too high up.
“Hey there, Echo.” Matt. His eyes are blinding without the glasses. He looks up and down. “Going for a run?”
“You didn’t- did you see it?” Turned around. Nothing. It didn’t seem as dark as before, either. Hands on my knees, gasping for air. I gesture to him to move ahead. Even if it’s gone, I don’t want to be near where it was. Maybe I’ll take the long way tomorrow.
“See what?” Eyes lit up. Uh, even more, anyway. “Something strange?”
“I dunno. There was a face. Like, not a real face. An emoticon face. I thought it was some weird billboard. But then it disappeared, moved… it was connected to something, but I couldn’t see.”
“Hmmmmmmm. First I’ve heard about something like that.” He pulls out a notebook and starts flicking through. It’s full of doodles and post-its and spider-like writing. Moth-like writing, I guess. He writes “WEIRD COMPUTER GHOST?” in big letters on a blank page.
“Appreciate the question mark. It makes me feel less uneasy.” Less. I still feel shaky. Still have no idea what the hell that was.
“Well, maybe it isn’t a question. That’s why I wrote it in pencil.” Slams it shut. “Nice seeing you, Echo!” He turns on his heel and walks away.
“Wait, wait. You are way too calm about this. If it is a… a….” He turns back.
“Weird computer ghost?”
“Yeah. If it’s a weird computer ghost, shouldn’t we be freaked out?”
“Oh, sure. But since I don’t know if it is one yet, I dunno. And besides, it wouldn’t be the first weird thing to happen in this town. S’what the notebooks for.”
“All of it?”
“Well, ok. Some of them are shopping lists. But mostly!”
“That’s what you meant by ‘woods things’?”
“Sure. What’d you think I meant?” A pause. Too long. “Well, anyway. I look in the woods for weird stuff. Other places too. But the woods are where the good stuff is. Or uh, the main street, apparently.”
“Are they all question marks?”
“Mostly. I mean, that or it’s something mundane. I really thought I was getting somewhere with the Deer Haunter, but that turned out to be a pervert wearing deerskin.”
“Ew. That’s mundane?” Does he name them all like that?
“Well, it’s gross, but yeah, perverts aren’t that unusual.” Suppose not. He looks into the sky. “Still. I know there’s something more to Ashburnham. It can’t just be….” Trails off.
“It can’t just be you?”
“Right.” Sadness in his voice. Something I hadn’t considered before now. Yes, the Mothman is more normal than expected, but he is still the Mothman. The “why” of the Mothman is a mere idle curiosity for the town folk. A living nightmare for Matt. The likelihood of him being the only supernatural thing in this town, this world…
“You know, I kind of want to know what just happened to me. Do you think we’d find anything in the woods?” Half pity, half genuine curiosity. Maybe not the exact ratio, but thereabouts.
“There’s a chance. Not many other places to hide. You want to come with me?” I’d say his eyes lit up if I hadn’t already done that bit. Too easy.
“Sure. I’m off Thursday Friday. That work for you?”
“Thursdays have weird auras about them.”
“So uh, Friday?”
“No, no, DEFINITELY Thursday. No other day it could be.” Ahuh. “Oh. But could you bring some coffee? I’m out, and I can’t make anything as good as what you do at Misty’s!”
“Oh. Sure.” Does he not know it’s just a machine? Not even a fancy espresso one. A giant push-button jug of coffee comes out kinda one. He hands me two very crumpled 1’s. “You really don’t need to pay for it.”
“Of course I do! I’d never dream of stealing coffee.” The theft is charging two dollars for it.
“At least one of those two dollars is the cost of getting to sit in the diner for hours. And you’re helping me out. That’s at least a dollar, right?”
“Hmmm.” He tilts his head. “Alright.” Stuffs them into his pocket. “Matt and Echo, Mystery Hunters! Finding ghosts in the ghost town! Secrets lurking in the dark of the woods, what will they find in the next issue-“
“You’ll have to pay me if you’re gonna keep that up.”
“Duly noted.” He mocks zipping his lips, something I ain’t seen anyone do in decades. “Let’s hope we find some weird shit.”
“Or not.”
“Or not.”