The Mothman Prophecies by John A. Keel

Author:John A. Keel
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, pdf
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

11:

If This Is Wednesday, It Must Be a Venusian

I.

James Lilly stood on his lawn surrounded by reporters from Charleston and Huntington newspapers, Sheriff George Johnson and his wife, and a host of others. Hundreds of automobiles lined the Camp Conley Road, dark and silent except for the glows of cigarettes. Other cars cruised in slow streams along the rutted roads of the TNT area to the north.

“It’s just about that time,” Jim Lilly announced, glancing at his watch. It was exactly 8:30 P.M. “They come over every night right about now.”

Horns suddenly began to bleat and excited shouts echoed through the trees.

“Right on time,” Lilly chuckled. “You can set your watch by ’em.”

“My God! What is it?” A reporter and novice UFO-watcher cried out as a brilliant white light slowly glided into view. It arched gracefully overhead about one hundred feet above the trees. Car doors slammed up and down the road as families scrambled out of their vehicles to watch. Newsmen floundered with their expensive cameras.

“What in hell is the matter with this? The shutter didn’t trip!”

The light passed slowly toward Point Pleasant, the ground below lighting up in its glow as it passed.

“Where’s that guy Keel?” someone asked.

“He’s probably up there riding in that damned thing,” someone else answered.

A light plane suddenly circled over the TNT area, all its lights ablaze.

“Here comes Doc Shaw again,” Jim Lilly laughed. “Who does he think he’s fooling.”

But voices were crying out in the dark, “There goes another one!”

The plane cut its engine for a moment and glided.

George Johnson turned to his wife. “Well, you wanted to see a UFO.”

“It was like seeing a ghost,” she shuddered.

The air was filled with the sounds of auto engines grinding away impotently and drivers snarling and cursing because their cars wouldn’t start.

The light traveled on to the ravine that passed behind North Park Road, then it dipped down and moved low along the bottom of the ravine. Betty Kelly, thirteen, looked out the kitchen window of the Kelly house and screamed.

“Ma … it’s back!”

The glowing thing was appearing nightly behind the Kelly home. It seemed to settle in their backyard at times and the glow faded slightly so they could see a definite object. They even thought they saw a triangular doorway in it and what appeared to be frosted glass windows. Their neighbors had all been watching, too, but had wisely avoided publicity. They didn’t want their street to become another Camp Conley Road or TNT area.

When Betty cried out, Bill Kelly, her father, grumbled in the living room. He was an electronics engineer and he had just taken the back off the family’s brand-new color TV set. The set had blown out the night before when the object had paid a visit. “Somebody should do something about these things,” he complained.

The object began to glow more intensely and then it vanished.

“Where did it go?” Mrs. Kelly asked her daughter.

“I don’t know—it—it just went.” She started to cry. She would be so nervous and upset that she wouldn’t go to school the next day.

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