Mothman's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Mothman stepped back from the message board and read his warning one more time. The charcoal letters looked shaky but clear enough. His antennae twitched as doubt crept in. What if they ignored it? What if they thought a monster had vandalized their board? He wiped black dust from his furry fingers and waited behind a tree. An hour passed before someone approached. A woman stopped, squinted at his riddle, then hurried away without changing her path toward the bridge. His wings drooped. The vision fragments still cut through his mind—screaming, splintering wood, cold water. One warning wouldn't be enough. He needed to do more, be braver. Tomorrow he would go to the bridge itself before the fog rolled in. If they wouldn't trust his words, maybe they would trust his presence blocking their way. But darkness would come first. People crossed the bridge at night sometimes. He needed light to show them the danger, something bright that couldn't be missed. His clawed hands gathered dry reeds and thick branches. He wrapped vines around a sturdy stick, then dipped the top in tree sap. The torch took shape slowly. When he struck two stones together, sparks caught and flames flickered to life. Orange light pushed back the shadows. Mothman planted the torch near the bridge's entrance, its glow steady and warm. He stepped back and watched it burn. The light didn't speak in riddles or hide behind trees. It simply showed the way. People would see it and slow down, maybe look closer at the worn planks and cracked supports. His red eyes reflected the dancing flames. This was how trust started—not with warnings that confused them, but with simple acts that kept them safe. Tomorrow the fog would come, but tonight the light would guide them away from danger.