"The Mothman stole mah chicken!"
"Now Maggie, there is no evidence that the Mothman actually exists. It was probably just a coyote."
"Ain't no coyote 11 feet tall with glowing red eyes."
"Well, maybe it was a mawbeast; there have been reports of them around this area."
"Its skin was pitch black. I know what I saw, Sheriff. It was the Mothman."
"Have you been moonshining with daybreak cactus again? You know that makes you see things."
"That's got nothing to do with it. I saw it, it looked right at me as it took mah chicken."
"Alright," said the sheriff, raising his hands, "I'll come out to have a look around. If there's something to find, I’ll find it."
"Well good. I'll be waiting," said Maggie as she left, before sticking her head back in the door and making the 'I am watching you' gesture. The sheriff gave a thumbs up in return before letting out a sigh and running his hand through his gray thinning hair.
"That's the second one this week, Harlan," said Cole, the baby-faced deputy. "Do you think it could be true?"
"Like I told Maggie, there's no evidence Mothmen exist. No one ever caught one, killed one, or found anything that couldn’t be explained better by something else. I’ll still go check it out though, cause we gotta keep Maggie onside. I might be a couple of days so while I’m gone I need you to keep an eye out; I had a run-in with some potential trouble last night out the back of the saloon. The fella has said he’ll clear out, but I’m still wary."
"Aye aye, captain."
"I told you to cut that out. It’s sheriff now," said Harlan, donning his hat and coat and making his way to the door.
"Aye aye, sheriff," said Cole, giving his best salute.
"That ain’t even close to being a proper salute."
Sheriff Harlan checked and tightened the saddle and reins of Pudding, his trusty old Morgan horse, before mounting and setting out for Maggie's farm. Although the morning was still young, Blackwater was already bustling with activity, or at least it was bustling for a small town in the middle of nowhere.
The sound of the blacksmith hammering rang out while several hungover patrons of the Soggy Boot Saloon shot him daggers as they nursed some hair of the dog that bit them. The smell of the soap from the laundry mingled with the odors of mud and horse manure, creating a smell somehow less pleasant than either.
Harlan slowly rode down the main street, taking in anything that might need attention and greeting the people of his town. A prospector was arguing with the Assayer about the quality of some crystal, a group looking to make their fortune had just come into town and didn't seem to have a place to stay, and the Burton boys were eyeing up the general store like they were planning on robbing it. These things all got filed in the back of the sheriff's mind as more things to check on later. For now, he had to deal with the problem at hand.
A slight adjustment of the reins and Pudding started trotting; at this pace, it would take about half an hour to make it out to Maggie's farm. She produced a significant amount of the food that the town relied on. Across her sprawling ranch she ran cows, sheep, some goats, and the chickens at the center of the most recent issue. Despite her eccentricities, everyone in town was grateful for Maggie's ability to farm in an area many people considered damn near inhospitable.
The Mayor of Blackwater made sure that the road out to Maggie's was well maintained and even magic beasts tended to avoid it. But that may have also been due to Maggie's habit of shooting and skinning anything on the road that she considered a threat. The vast quantity and variety of skulls on Maggie's fencing was a not-so-subtle reminder of that habit.
Harlan dismounted and approached the front door of the farmhouse with his hands in full view and away from his guns as he had a sneaking suspicion that he had a rifle pointed at him from somewhere.
"Maggie, it's Sheriff Harlan. I've come to have a look around, so don't shoot me. Again."
"That last time was your fault."
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"I was returning one of your sheep!"
"Looked to me like you were stealing it."
"I was coming toward… never mind." said Harlan, trying to keep the situation calm. "I'll be by the chickens. So please keep your finger off your trigger if you hear anything out that way"
After he had tied Pudding up he began to walk over to the chickens, taking time and scanning the area for anything unusual. Nothing stood out until he got to the far side of the chicken coop. He saw evidence of damage to the side of the enclosure where something had gotten in and then made some hasty repairs. He additionally saw numerous bullet holes in the siding where Maggie had let off a few rounds, which most likely scared off whatever was here.
As he was about to leave he noticed the end of a footprint poking out from under a bush. As he pushed the low branches aside and stepped through, he saw that there were two enormous impressions in the ground where something extremely heavy had stood. The unusual shape of the footprints, with two toes at the front and a single toe at the back, gave the Sheriff a sinking feeling in his gut. Taking a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, Harlan scuffed the footprints out with his boot before replacing the bush. Finally, he did a better job of repairing the damaged enclosure, then made some scratches in the wood with the spurs of his boots before heading back up to the house.
Standing at the bottom of the steps he called out "Looks like there might have been a coyote scratching at your coop, but I'd say you scared it off by shooting at it. I'll see if I can pick up a track to make sure it's gone."
Maggie's scowling face from the window was the only reply.
"OK, Maggie, I'll come back and let you know what I find," He could feel Maggie's eyes on his as he saddled up and began riding towards the surrounding hills.
After riding for another hour, Harlan found himself on a narrow path winding through the hillside. The surrounding boulders, trees, and bluffs gave the path an almost claustrophobic feel. Despite it being almost midday, very little sunlight made it down to the path. Eventually, he came to a small clearing that bordered a small copse of trees on one side with cliffs and boulders on the others. As he stopped he became aware of the stiffness all through his body. Getting saddle fatigue from this short of a ride was an unwelcome reminder of his age. His foot hitting the ground as he dismounted sent a shooting pain up through his back, causing him to collapse onto the ground with one foot still in a stirrup. The perpetually indifferent Pudding slowly turned his head to see what was happening before going back to chewing on a small tuft of grass.
Harlan lay there recovering for a few minutes before unhooking his foot, rolling onto his front, pushing himself up to his knees, and then finally getting to his feet. All the while making undignified grunts of effort. He brushed himself down as he walked into the middle of the clearing and did a slow turn to take in his surroundings while taking a deep breath in.
"FRANK, I KNOW YOU'RE OUT HERE YOU GIGANTIC CANDLE-CHASING NUSANCE!" yelled the Sheriff, the surroundings causing his voice to boom and echo.
Movement in the shadow of the tree caught the sheriff's eye.
"I can see you, Frank. You’re 11 bloomin' feet tall! I don’t know how you manage to be a 'myth' still."
A monstrous figure emerged from the shadows of the trees. It's black fur seemed to drink in the light, creating a humanoid silhouette standing 7 feet tall with wings that reached 11 feet high. It's eyes glowed an ominous red and gave off the impression of a deep, unsettling, intelligence. As it showed itself, it made a deep rhythmic clicking noise, "Grgrgrgrggrgrgr."
"Yeah, it’s good to see you too, Frank. Although, I’m guessing this ain’t a social call."
"Ggrgggrgrgrggrgrgrgggrr."
"Yeah, I know you just try to help. But like I’ve told you, you show up and then bad things happen; people will blame you. Especially when you can’t tell them what’s going to happen."
"GRGGRGRGGRGRG!"
"I know, I know," said Harlan, raising his hands to calm the monster. "You just know when bad things are gonna happen but not exactly what. So... guessing that means something bad is going to happen to Blackwater. But also guessing you can’t tell me what?"
"Grgggrgrrgrr," replied the Mothman, sorrow laden in his clicks. "GRGGRGGRGRG!" said the Mothman, excitedly as he gestured into the forest.
The sudden change in demeanor caught Harlan off guard "Follow you?" The sheriff looked up at the sky, trying to judge how much daylight he had left. "Alright, but don’t get me lost, I can’t fly like you."
Harlan mounted Pudding and followed after the Mothman as he turned and walked back into the copse of trees. The bulk and weight of the monster flattened plants and broke branches, making an easy path for the elderly horse to follow through the densely packed forest. It didn’t take long for the trees to start thinning out and eventually giving way to a sandy canyon with high, gently sloping sides. The Mothman led on for a little longer before coming to a stop before a narrow point in the path.
"Ggrgrggrgrgggrr," said the Mothman.
"Uhh sure, I’ll let you do the talking. I don’t even know what we’re doing," came the sheriff’s slightly confused reply.
As they walked through the narrow point, the canyon opened up into a large roughly circular dead-end. What drew Harlan's attention was the single, gigantic, tree growing in the middle of the clearing. The tree cast a broad, deep shadow making it difficult to see Frank as he walked towards the base which had a ring of dirt and debris built up around it.
In the shadow, Harlan could just make another shape about the size of Pudding. The dark prevented him from identifying what he was looking at, but the way it moved seemed wrong for a horse. As he stepped closer to try and figure out what he was looking at, his boot caught on something causing him to trip. Before Harlan could react, the shadow was suddenly forced away by an explosion of light and heat.