AKDC: "Mothman"

A new series of stories taking place in my Godzilla/Marvel continuity, explores the casefiles of the American Kaiju Defense Corps.; men and women dedicated to keeping the United States safe from monsters of all shapes and sizes. Each of these cases will be one-off accounts of agents and their brush with the extraordinary.
Here is the first episode!

Created in 1965, the American Kaiju Defense Corp is dedicated to protecting the United States from all monsters, large and small. Their case files detail many encounters with strange and dangerous creatures deemed a public threat. These are their stories.

CASEFILE 231A1: “MOTHMAN”
1980

“My name is Gabriel Jones, and I am an agent of the American Kaiju Defense Corps. I had been a part of the organization for 4 years when I encountered my most personally dangerous mission. Local reports of a strange creature terrorizing people on the outskirts of Chicago had come to our attention, and due to the consistent description, we felt it warranted investigation. My superiors felt that my service record up to that point justified me taking lead on things, and I wanted to justify their confidence.

In more rural parts of the country I might draw a few side glances, but as a black man in Chicago, I knew I’d be able to operate unnoticed as long as I didn’t draw too much attention. I remember it was December, and driving into the city, I had the heat blasting in my Lincoln to keep me warm. Reservations had been made ahead of time for me to stay at a motel, something low key. People notice someone staying in a fancy hotel, but tend to turn away from those at a motel, implications of certain behavior. While the KDC did have a public face, it preferred to operate inconspicuously. Monsters tended to cause panic, and knowing one of us was in town would get people talking.

The drive from our headquarters in D.C. had been a long one, and I didn’t want to waste any more time than necessary on the road. So I had driven all day, deciding to take my rest upon arrival and start hitting the leads the next morning. During my first night there, I was very certain I was privy to a few conversations concerning felonious activities. But I’m not a policeman, not for humans anyway, so I jotted down a few details in my notebook to pass along to local authorities. I often have trouble sleeping, and for an hour I just sat on my bed, smoking, thinking about how I would proceed with my investigation. I was finally able to settle down, but with the description of the creature on my mind, my sleep was not a pleasant one.

In the morning I took my shower, shaved, and set out. I had breakfast at a diner, and going over the report folders, decided to check them out chronologically. The first incident that we think is part of the pattern, occurred two months ago on a family farm a few miles southeast of the city. Proceeding from that, four more incidents, each more violent, created a trail heading straight for the metropolis. Not only was this thing growing more accustomed to treating humans as prey, it was figuring out where that prey was tightly located. If it wasn’t stopped, these reports would go from every few weeks to every night.

The creature itself was described as something out of a scary campfire story. Between 6 and 10 feet tall, a Lepidoptera-like wingspan of 12 feet, and covered in wilting grey or dark fur. Described as bipedal when not flying, it’s most striking feature was said to be its head; a neckless lump housing a pair of huge, luminous red eyes. As I washed my eggs down with coffee, I picked up a sketch of the Mothman. Despite its light fur coloring, it was exclusively seen late at night, so most depictions of it were dark. Just these glowing crimson eyes staring out from this menacing figure. It was very unsettling.

The farm where the first credible incident occurred belonged to a family who sold their crops at farmer’s markets and other local venues. Living there was Mr. and Mrs. Johnny and Emily Borne. In their 50’s, conservative type, not ones given to flights of hyperbole. The wife was home when I arrived, and appeared reluctant to share her story with a stranger. I showed her my badge, and she expressed that she was relieved that someone with authority was willing to take her seriously.

Over a cup of sweet smelling black tea she gave me the same story she told the police, the same as I had in the file. Her consistency impressed me that she was being truthful, and was not embellishing or lying. Her basic account went like this: One night, they heard a commotion coming from the animal pens, the chickens were shrieking and terrified of something. Fearing that a predator had breached their fences, or worse, a thief was on the prowl, the husband went with his shotgun to investigate. He approached to coop to discover that the chicken wire pen had been trampled, with several odd footprints in an around the spot.

Finding no other sign of danger, he called for her to join him with a flashlight. When she did, they got a better look at the prints, and could not make sense of what kind of animal left them. The sketch in the file was unique, even for us. From a central pad, sprouted four long toes pointing in different directions, as if to grasp things. For a few minutes they continued to inspect the damage to their coop, but thought the alarm raised by the birds might have been enough to scare it away.

That was when a crackling sound drew their attention to the top of their house. Nestled on the apex of the roof, something was moving. There as no moon out that night, so as they trailed the flashlight’s beam up the side of the building, they saw rivulets of blood dripping down the panels. When the light finally reached the thing, they saw a hulking creature perched like a gargoyle on their roof, with a mess of blood and white feathers on its hands and face. The second they laid sight on it however, it snapped to look back at them, its huge red eyes so striking it frightened the husband into firing a shot.

Whether he hit it or not, the creature shrieked, threw down a fistful of bones and feathers in their direction, and took off flying. Aside from one dead bird, some minor property damage, and a few nights of nightmares, their encounter was relatively harmless. I asked if they had put aside the chicken’s remains, and she led me to the garage, where, in a freezer box she showed me a sealed zip-lock bag. When asked if she minded me taking the bag with me, she was glad to be rid of it, having only kept it as proof. Seeing as I was the only person with a badge willing to believe her, she trusted me.

I then asked if I could see the spot on the roof where they had seen it perched. She provided me with a ladder with which to reach the side of the roof, and from there, crawled over to the location in question. Time and exposure to the elements invariably degrades or destroys evidence whether your investigating a murder or a Kaiju incident. Clearing away some snow and a thin layer of ice with my pocket tool, I was however able to discern a few long scratches in the tiles. Definitely the kind that an animal would leave behind. Judging by the design of the feet, I decided that these must be claw marks from the forelimbs, these ones being in groups of four and all running parallel.

I felt like I had gotten everything from this site I could, and decided to move on. I thanked Mrs. Borne for the tea and for her help, put the bag of frozen remains in a cooler in my trunk, and covered it with some ice cubes she was nice enough to supply from her kitchen freezer. The chicken bits would have to thaw before I could properly examine them, so I’d just have to that back at the motel. Also, I’d have to update the file with a sketch of the claw marks.

It’s not really advertised, but part of the requisite training for all KDC field agents was a course in sketching things from memory. I was no artist, but I did well enough.

The next incident was a reported by a 33-year old Karen Newsome, in the suburbs. There wasn’t too much to it; she was heading out for her night job as a dispatcher for a taxi company. And came out to find the Mothman on the roof of her car, back to her, peeling it open like a sardine can. Of course she screamed, and this caused the creature to leap off the vehicle in her direction. Karen sprinted back inside her house and locked the door behind her, tossing a nearby bureau in front of it for reinforcement.

Karen then hid behind a corner, out of sight of the windows of the door. But she could see a shadow moving through the light cast from the outside, and was certain that it was just on the other side of the threshold looking into the house. She stayed like that for an hour before she peeked around the corner, refusing to answer the phone when her job called ask why she was late.

Fortunately for her the ordeal was over, and was subsequently able to switch to a day shift. Unfortunately for me, the car was taken to the shop after the incident, removing any evidence that may have been left behind. Her description matched the one from the Bornes, and I didn’t think there was anything new to be learned from an interview. I decided to skip seeing Ms. Newsome.

The third encounter was the first one that got violent. I suspect that the Mothman began to perceive humans as prey by this point. Humans run from it like rabbits from a wolf, how could it not? Exactly what this creature was, was still unclear. Was it alien? Was it extra dimensional? Was it some lost species unearthed in modern times? I suppose of Rodan could hatch from an egg millions of years after it was laid, I couldn’t rule anything out. What was apparent, was that it perceived itself as the top of the food-chain.

One month ago, A 15-year old boy was walking home from a friends house after dark. Along his path was a stretch of road with forest on either side, nothing he’d had reason to be concerned for as he’d walked it many times. This night however, as he made his way through this area, he reported feeling like he was being watched. Scanning his surroundings, he found a tall dark shape standing in the woods that he had never noticed before. That was when he reported seeing the eyes. Suddenly the two red eyes were staring back out at him, and he began feeling dizzy.

The figure walked forward slowly, not blinking, making no sound, but keeping its mesmerizing gaze locked. It might have gotten all the way to him if a car had not come along and broken the spell. The car passed, and the teenager lost sight of the creature when he turned to watch the vehicle go by. Shaken, he tried to hurry the rest of the way home, but made it as far as the end of the road before it struck.

Swooping down from above, the creature latched onto his backpack and lifted him off his feet. He struggled to get away, and managed to slip out of the straps and drop to the ground. The fall was a short one, and he quickly scrambled to his feet. Unburdened by the back-pack of school books, he ran the rest of the way home, with the creature’s screeches behind him. The bag was recovered the next morning by him and his father at the end of a trial of ripped papers, torn apart and left two-dozen meters into the woodline.

I made sure to make my visit to the family a short and polite one. Dealing with juveniles can be tricky for us, they are often left very frightened after experiences, have trouble recalling necessary details, and have very protective parents. The meeting took place in their living room, his mother present, the father at work. I asked him if there were any details he might have left out of the police report, anything at all. He gave me an interesting description of how he felt when the passing car woke him, like he was being lulled into a trance.

They presented the back-pack to me before I had even asked, they seeded desperate for me to believe them. They claimed that the responding officers tried to convince them that the kid had been attacked by a very aggressive owl, and the bag destroyed by other animals that discovered it during the night. I was allowed to take the bag, which would be good for bite and claw samples.

Before I left, he was able to tell me one last thing. While he was being carried by the Mothman, he could fell the body heat radiating off the creature. He also described an odd smell, ‘like a musty old factory, dust, rust, and rotting wood’. This could be a clue as to where the creature has chosen for a lair, or it could be some pheromone or other natural scent. I thanked them for their time, and left.

By then it was evening, and I had some work to do back at my room. The fourth incident was just a sighting, a man sitting in his car at a red light saw the creature fly by overhead. Nothing of particular to note other than its progressive closeness to denser population centers. I could have the whole day tomorrow to follow-up on the latest, and by far most violent incident.

I remember I stopped and grabbed some take-out from a pizza shop for dinner before arriving back at the motel. Carrying my hot meal through the door with one hand, and in the other the evidence I‘d collected. Clearing a table, I set the torn bag on the surface. The chicken remains still needed to thaw, so I torn the cover off of the pizza box, and emptied the frozen bits on it, and placed it in the microwave. Set to defrost.

With a fresh slice of cheese and pepperoni in hand, I examined the boy’s bag. I could tell a bite mark apart from a claw or simple tear, as there was a distinctive pattern to the edge. Small increments, staggered incisors, and very sharp. There also appeared to be a small splotch of a dark colored liquid in the fabric. It could be nothing, or it could be a drop of the creature’s saliva. I cut the patch out with a knife and bagged it for further forensic analysis. Remembering the boy’s account, I took a few deep sniffs of the bag, and did in fact perceive a faint hint of the unpleasant combination of odors.

When the chicken was done thawing, I put the make-shift tray on the table, and did the best I could to parse the many pieces. Not much was very useful, though I imagined that there would certainly be traces of saliva on these. Digging through, I found a patch of skin where I could tell a bite had been taken out of the side of the bird. Folding back the bloody feathers I was able to see the bite pattern in the flesh. It matched perfectly the marks on the backpack.

I laid the evidence out, and took a few Polaroids to add to the case file. Satisfied that I had done all I could do for the time being, I placed it all in protective bags, and secured them in a silver security case.

Having some time to kill before bed, I burned through another few cigaretts, and put some news on the television. Apart from the usual assortment of babbling talking heads making mountains out of molehills, there was a report about some of the recovered Space Titanium from the Simeon’s MechaGodzilla being used by the Soviets on their spy planes. Kinda hard to think that just five years ago the world was watching Godzilla save the world from alien invaders, and hasn’t been seen since. I have to wonder what will happen when he finally resurfaces.

Laying in bed I stared at the ceiling, thinking about what I might do if confronted by the Mothman. Would I be calm enough to try and observe it? Or would I just pull out my sidearm and try to kill it?

The next morning I spent a few hours working on my official report for my supervisors. Most KDC investigations were procedural, after the fact, confirming certain details, and basically debriefing witnesses. A bureaucracy like any other. When I got as far as I could, I set out to speak to the couple involved in the most recent incident.

Five days ago, Jennifer McClermont and her fiancé Thomas Longfellow were driving home from a night out in the city. At approximately one a.m., they were driving on the highway when the creature came after them. Thomas was at the wheel when he looked to his side and saw the Mothman flying parallel to their car in the left lane. At the time the car was going about 60 miles an hour, and the creature appeared to have no trouble keeping up. He claimed to see fairly clearly the arms and legs tucked underneath, and the wings flapping at a steady pace.

For half a mile they traveled side-by-side, the couple astonished by the strange beast. Suddenly it slammed into the driver-side door, nearly causing them to lose control. The creature latched onto the car, smashing out the window and digging it’s claws into the roof. Their screams were outmatched by the Mothman’s own howling, which they described as sounding like a really deep howler monkey. In all the chaos and panic, the car ran off the road and rolled into a ditch.

At this point, neither of them recall what happened to the creature that attached them, or why it decided to leave them alone. They woke up in their upside down car and opted to stay inside until daylight. A police patrol found them at roughly 0530, and managed to coax them out for medical attention. Due to the serious nature of their encounter, the damage to the car was thoroughly documented by local police, and the vehicle is currently at the junkyard.

My first stop for the day, after getting some fast-food breakfast, was to the car. I found it sitting by itself in the yard, and noticed that the rottweiler on the property refused to go near it. The damage of the crash would make it difficult to determine exactly what was caused by the creature, and what was the accident. The best clues I found, where the series of holes in the roof that went clean through, possessing the same spacing and pattern as the marks I found on the Borne’s home.

Towards the rear of the car, I found a few curious perforations of the metal. My suspicion that that these were caused by the elongated talon-like digits of the feet. Other than that, any good evidence had been smashed to hell.

Over my lunch I seriously debated visiting the couple. Was there anything more they could really tell me? The police report had been decently comprehensive, and with the event so recent, they might not be willing to relive such a terrifying story. Besides, my theory about the creature was evolving. I could be misreading its movements, perhaps it was simply looking for a more comfortable habitation, or following some unknown motivation not unlike geese in seasonal migration. It’s probing of humans began to remind me of sharks bumping into surfers out of curiosity. If it wanted to taste human flesh, it must have had ample opportunity by now, so why just the close calls?

Too many unanswerable questions.

Instead of trying to further traumatize the couple, I chose to go over the map of encounter locations. Since it retreated from the daylight, it must find shelter to protect it, I tried to figure out where it might like to hide. The encounters near wooded areas would suggest it preferred natural surroundings, so perhaps a cave or large burrow. Encounters in more populated areas might suggest hiding in unoccupied buildings, and that could explain the musty odor. Then again, based on how strong a flyer it was, there was the possibility that it was foraging further and further out from a central location.

Looking at the line of encounter marks, I noticed that they were on either side of the same forest. We could have been looking at the progression of incidents all wrong. I almost had enough to make a call for containment units to be deployed, I just needed some solid evidence of where they could find it. The agency tended to frown on the idea of combing through a major city looking for a single creature that could hide in an abandoned van.

There was only one way to test my theory, I had to go into the forest.

At the local library I was able to research the history of the woodland, and discovered that there was an abandoned coal mine located in the west quarter that did not show up on any maps after 1957. There were a few dirt trails that bisected crisscrossed the green, so I took a few minutes to plot a route from the closest road to the mine. If I hurried, I anticipated being able to make my way there before sunset.

While enroute, there was a motor vehicle accident that created a traffic jam, which I got stuck in. When I was finally able to get by the obstruction, it was already getting dark, and I began to consider the possibilities that I would be caught alone with the monster.

I reached the point where I’d have to leave my car behind and trek into the woods, a hikers trail that led you on a scenic path to the other side. From the trunk I procured an AK-47, as I felt that my .45 might not be up to the challenge. Normally most agents like to go for an M-16, lightweight, accurate, and can take a 30-round magazine. But the AK is more reliable when dirtied, and packs a higher caliber 7.62 round instead of the 5.56. In case I’d need to make a hasty retreat, I packed two more magazines in my coat for the weapon, and a bottle of water. Nothing too burdensome.

The snow on the trail had been packed down somewhat by travelers, but it was still a tough go. And that was on the main path, when I turned off onto one of the smaller trails, I was stomping through a foot of powder. It got dark quickly, but tonight was a full moon that left me some light to navigate by.

I’d like to say that I went into the forest and had some harrowing encounter with the Mothman, but that isn’t what happened. Truth be told I spent the next few hours trudging around in forest freezing my balls off, until I fell through a layer of ice and into a pit of waist-high water, and began to literally freeze my balls off. I had no choice but to return to my car before I lost control of my legs to hypothermia.

Getting back to my car, I was angry about blundering into the forest and wasting my time shivering for nothing. I was cursing myself as I secured my AK back in the trunk and slammed it closed. My own frustration blinded my awareness. As soon as I shut the trunk, I realized my mistake.

Staring at the rear window, I saw the two red eyes standing behind me, the rest of its body cloaked in the night’s darkness. I couldn’t move, I felt paralyzed, too afraid to do anything that might get it to attack. It moved closer, and I began to feel its body heat make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I heard it breathing, and make a sound like loud purring.

The Mothman leaned in so close, I could feel it pressing against my back. It took a few long sniffs with some appendage I couldn’t see, and my scent seemed to agitate it for some reason. It started to grunt, like it wanted some response from me.

I tried to run, my nerves making me rattle moreso than the cold. I darted to my left, hoping to get to the drivers seat and take off. But I hadn’t gone three steps before it was on me, the strange talons gripping onto my overcoat and lifting me off the ground.

My mind instinctively went to my .45 revolver in the shoulder holster under my suit jacket. I reached in to fish for it, but before I could draw it out, I was slammed onto the hood of my car stomach first. Immediately its foreclaws flipped me over, and put me face-to-face with the monster. It put a foot on my chest to hold me in place, and leaned down to inspect me. I had never been so close to a kaiju before, and this experience made sure I never would again.

It began sniffing at me again, and with its foreclaws tore into my overcoat, ripping through the layers of insulation down to the jacket. Its hands were more like fur covered paws, and I kept thinking that it might rip right into my chest.

That was when I felt its searching digits bump into my pack of cigarettes. It got curious and used a claw to cut through and pick my Marlboros free. The Mothman held them up to its face and sniffed them, and made these strange snorting grunts. I guess he liked the smell of menthol.

The pack disappeared into whatever passed for its mouth, and I could hear the plastic being chewed. Like you’re told to do during a bear attack, I just kept still and damn near pretended to be dead.

It’s foot was still pining me down, and when the chewing stopped, thought I might be hiding more smokes somewhere. The paws ripped apart my overcoat and jacket, tossing them apart like a hawk disemboweling its prey. In the process, it lacerated my chest and abdomen in multiple places, though this did seem unintentional. Unable to find what it wanted, it next began tearing off my pants with a similar disregard for my safety, and left me uncovered to the freezing winds.

It tossed my pants away and began sniffing at my cuts. The cold helped to stem the bleeding, but it still got a good amount mopped-up in its fur. This went on for about 20 seconds, way shorter than I thought at the time. Eventually it lost interest and shoved me off the car while it remained hunched over and gripping the frame. I was still afraid to provoke it, but I couldn’t lay in the snow with no protection, so I got to my feet and sought-out what remained of my overcoat and my pants.

As I moved about the creature watched me retrieve my things, and it was right then I realized that I hadn’t seen it blink yet. I was forced to reconsider the theory that it was predatory towards humans; it had the perfect opportunity to take a bite out of me, but my only injury was inadvertent. I was beginning to think that the creature’s intelligence was perhaps on par with gorillas, chimpanzees, or dolphins. Either way, this was good news for the creature, it meant that capture was the most likely course of action. Predation on humans typically carried a death sentence.

I was able to recover all my of my important belongings, and had nothing else to do but stand there and wait for it to get off the vehicle. After a few minutes the Mothman jumped down flew off into the darkness.

I didn’t want to waste another second standing around, and I stumbled into the driver’s seat. I threw my things on the passenger seat and fished for the keys, fumbling with my shaking hands.

I found them, stuck the key into the ignition, and was about to turn it when I realized that I had left my door open. And standing there next to me, was the Mothman. I could see it in the side mirror, literally just standing an arm’s length away.

Without a sound it reached out with its left arm, put its paw on the open door, and closed it for me. I took the hint, and drove off.

From the hospital I contacted the Agency, updating them on the situation. It took three hours, and it was decided that a containment team would be sent out to try and capture the creature. My orders were to stay put in the motel and recover, to which I raised no objection.

The team arrived the next night, two teams of five, accompanied by their specially designed vehicle for transporting Tier 3 Kaiju. By then I was able to guide them to where I had encountered the creature, and where I believed it to be hiding. We searched all night, and all the next night. But we found no trace of the Mothman, and were surprised to find that the entrance to the mine had been sealed for years, with no evidence of having been damaged.

While I wanted to maintain a presence, the higher-ups thought otherwise, and recalled me and the team back to D.C.. I was told that if any further activity was reported, then we could resume the investigation. As of this moment, 10 years later, there have been no further substantiated reports.

The Mothman remains a mystery, its origin, biology, its life habits. While it is tentatively classified as a Tier 3 Kaiju, theories range from being an extraterrestrial, to being extra-dimensional. The biological samples taken from the back-pack and chicken remains failed to render any useful clues.

As a personal note however, there have been several times since my encounter, where I would wake up during the night to the very unsettling feeling that I was being watched."