James A. Willis wasn’t speaking directly to me when he said this. In fact, he said it to hundreds of people: amateur cryptozoologists, UFO heads, sleuths, folklorists and believers in the unexplained, all gathered in an air-conditioned gymnasium in Point Pleasant, W. Va.
But as interesting as his paranormal research was, we didn’t find ourselves in Point Pleasant for the sake of hearing the author of “Weird Ohio” speak; we were there for Mothman.
Mothman, the winged humanoid (insectoid?) cryptid of Appalachian origin, was described as a “man-sized bird” with “glowing eyes” in reported sightings in the late 1960s around the small West Virginia town. The creature was said to have made appearances at the local power plant, an abandoned World War II TNT factory and various backroads.
Mothman is purported to be a harbinger for disaster — though not an executor of — with clustered sightings apparently in connection with the 1967 Silver Bridge collapse that killed 46 people.
Since 2002, Point Pleasant has hosted an annual Mothman Festival to celebrate the cryptid that once terrorized the town.
Every year, thousands make the pilgrimage to Point Pleasant for the festival, a majority coming from out-of-state. Last year, an estimated 15,000 attended. The town has a population of roughly 4,000. The festival is said to be Point Pleasant’s single biggest money-making day of the year.
I’d been to Point Pleasant twice before — on slow days, if you will — making the two hour trip down US 35 to tour The World’s Only Mothman Museum. The cashier ominously told me to “be safe out there” as I left, both times. I bought Mothman “droppings” (i.e. chocolate-covered espresso beans) and procured merch that would publicly display my strange interests.
Several Mothman shirts hang in my closet, and I’m proud to say that for my third trip to Point Pleasant, and my first to the Mothman celebration proper, I left them at home; I would’ve otherwise been wearing the same shirt as tens of other people.
My friend John Dubuc, a fellow cryptid enthusiast, drove to the festival with me. I said that we might have a better chance of finding Mothman than a parking spot, but, to that joke’s chagrin, we found one as soon as we crossed the state line.
We walked the length of the Bartow Jones Bridge in 90-degree heat, passing spent attendees adorned in antennas, wings and other insect-centric regalia. Some cosplayed as Men in Black, Sasquatch and, of course, the talk of the cryptid town. Many left with souvenirs.
Following the sounds of an apparent Rage Against the Machine cover band, playing a sparsely-attended Mothjam 2024 in an American Legion parking lot, Dubuc and I echolocated the downtown area, the hub of the festivities.
On the main thoroughfare and on the walking path parallel to the Ohio River, merchants sold their wares. Stickers, T-shirts, hats, knit blankets, woodwork, coffee mugs and more were all branded with monsters and creatures of lore, not exclusive to the Mothman. Sasquatch (and Ohio’s cellulose-laden Grassman), the Flatwoods Monster (WV’s other famed cryptid), the Loveland Frog, Hodag and extraterrestrial beings were all represented with tchotchkes and whimsical apparel, making them appear friendlier than they probably are.
Stars of TV’s “Mountain Monsters” and “Expedition Bigfoot” had booth setups. Even food vendors capitalized on the terror, taking the opportunity to rebrand everyday street eats into Moth Floss (cotton candy), Mothman pizza (with cherry tomatoes representing the red eyes) and various Mothman-themed meats.
Attendees, many in varying states of heatstroke, made the rounds around the few blocks of the festival. The museum and gift shop had a line like a wingspan, as did the 12-foot chrome Mothman statue with an anatomically questionable rear-end that people wanted pictures with.
We eventually sat near the Point Pleasant Riverfront Park stage, on the edge of the Ohio River. A hair metal band was playing in solidarity with the Mothman.
It should be noted that a few acoustic acts were playing folk in solidarity with the Mothman, too.
If we’d shown up at 7 a.m., approximately eight hours before we actually arrived, we could’ve ran in the Mothman 5K. Other attractions included the Mothman Blacklight Mini-Golf, the Mothman ‘66 Escape Room and a hayride, none of which we felt compelled to participate in as human adults.
We went to the community center to get out of the sun, and to catch the aforementioned guest speaker give a presentation under a basketball hoop.
Willis, aka “Weird Willis,” an Ohio resident, spoke of tales of ghosts, monsters, UFOs and “just plain weird stuff” lurking near the WV border. Additional guest speakers on Saturday included Sherri Brake, author of several “Haunting of...” books, and Matthew Tannam-Elgie, who presented “The Lost Mothman Film.” Later, while we were eating a non-Mothman-themed pizza on our trek back to the car, the documentary “Mothman: The Film That Never Was” premiered.
After his presentation, “Weird Willis” suggested we “stay weird.” I took that to heart as we paid $25 to take the 5:30 p.m. TNT area bus tour.
Locals Darla and Elmer were our tour guides.
Darla said that “coming to Point Pleasant is like entering the twilight zone: there’s only one way in and one way out.”
I found that statement odd since there are a few roads out of town.
The two guides told us meandering tales and hazy facts about Mothman and UFO sightings. My attention drifted to the attractions out the window: the Mothman Car Wash and a gas station marquee that read “Mothman loves our BOGO wings.”
We passed by staples of Mothman lore, like the power plant and the house of Mary Hyre: “Where the Waters Mingle” columnist and reporter on the first Mothman sightings in Point Pleasant.
When we arrived at the TNT area a few miles out of town, the crux of the tour, we got off and walked down a grassy path to enter into what Elmer referred to as an “igloo”: a retired WWII-era ammunition storage bunker. The domed bunkers were supposedly where Mothman rested his tired, prophetic wings.
The empty igloos were decorated with graffiti from far-traveling Mothman fans. Elmer also suggested that occult rituals are sometimes held in the bunkers, as evidenced by the fading pentagram on the floor.
With that, we took our pictures and got back on the bus.
The tour concluded near the Silver Bridge Disaster Memorial, a mural at the location of the previous on-ramp.
Darla said when the bridge collapsed in ‘67, everyone in Point Pleasant knew someone who was on that bridge.
While sightings usually occur before tragedies, with sightings still rumored to happen today, maybe Mothman also acts as a hindsight symbol: a way to salve the grief that this small town experienced.
So, by dedicating a tour, a statue, a museum and a festival that hosts an amalgam of vendors and visitors to celebrate this mysterious cryptid — as ridiculous a concept it may seem to a non-believer — it can perhaps help explain the unexplainable.
On the way back to Dayton, the glow of taillights reminded me of something, if only because I spent the day thinking about that very thing.
The truth is out there, but probably not. Stay weird.
Contact this contributing writer at branberry100@gmail.com.
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