The Mothman Prophecies: A True Story
John A. Keel
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West Virginia, 1966. For thirteen months the town of Point Pleasant is gripped by a real-life nightmare culminating in a tragedy that makes headlines around the world. Strange occurrences and sightings, including a bizarre winged apparition that becomes known as the Mothman, trouble this ordinary American community. Mysterious lights are seen moving across the sky. Domestic animals are found slaughtered and mutilated. And journalist John Keel, arriving to investigate the freakish events, soon finds himself an integral part of an eerie and unfathomable mystery.
Translated into over thirteen languages, John Keel's The Mothman Prophecy is an unsettling true story of the paranormal that has long been regarded as a classic in the literature of the unexplained.
was seeking and, in order to verify it, he would like to ask some questions. He removed his coat. There was a badge on his shirt pocket which he quickly covered with his hand and removed, placing it in his coat pocket. “It looked like a gold or brass badge,” Connie told me later. “But it wasn’t an ordinary police badge or anything like that. We just got a glimpse of it … but it seemed to have a big K on it with a small x alongside and there were some letters or numbers around the edge. It was
Manitoba, Canada, when he saw a large circular object land. It seemed to be made of glittering metal “like stainless steel.” He approached it and thought he could hear voices mumbling inside. He called out but received no answer. Instead, the object spewed out some kind of gas or flame which caught him full in the chest and sent him reeling backward as it took off. Both his shirt and the skin underneath were burned with an odd checkerboard pattern. Mr. Michalak became extremely ill, suffering a
she was out walking at 8 P.M. and a well-dressed man in the back seat ordered her into the car. He named a friend of hers and she foolishly obeyed him. The car headed for Mount Misery. “There was a funny smell inside,” she reported. “Antiseptic … like a hospital. And there were flashing lights on the dashboard. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. I felt like they were hypnotizing me.” The car traveled isolated back roads until it reached a crossroads where another vehicle was waiting. A man
they slammed the receiver down. Obviously I was getting four zero’s phone bills. I asked my friendly telephone representative to track down the owner of that other phone. But, of course, she could not “give out that information.” So I went to the FBI to lodge a formal complaint. When you visit the New York FBI office you are ushered into one of several small cubicles where a polite young man hears you out sympathetically. You can imagine the loonies and weirdos who must pester the FBI day after
young people stand on the hilltops, expectantly scanning the skies. Their elders, jaded by nearly thirty years of signs and wonders, no longer scoff. Believers in extraterrestrial visitants and saviors from outer space are now welcomed on the most respectable television shows to broadcast their propaganda for that imaginary world with its superior technology and its marvelously stupid representatives who adopt the names of ancient gods and moan they are prisoners of time. People ask me still if