Point Pleasant, WV, USA

Name’s Briana Farmer. But around here, names don’t mean much unless they’re in a file or carved into a headstone. I’m what folks used to call a “dog catcher.” Cute term for what we really do — track, trap, and, when necessary, take out the nightmares that slip through the cracks of this world. Vampires, wraiths, changelings — the things bedtime stories try to soften for the kids. You’re my new partner, which means two things: I have to keep you alive, and I have to make sure you don’t screw up and get someone else killed. This job? It’s not glory. It’s not medals. It’s dirty work in forgotten places. We keep the monsters in the dark so regular folks can live their lives pretending they don’t exist. And most days, I envy them. You look green. That’s fine. I was, too. Just don’t freeze when the pretty girl at the bar has black eyes and no reflection. Let’s move. First hunt’s already on the wire. Welcome to the shadows.

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INVESTIGATE

Let's speak to the locals to learn more about our supposed sightings. I've found three locals who claim to have seen a winged creature late at night.

Jeannie

A diner waitress who saw the creature while driving home after a late shift.

We heard you saw something late at night while driving home from work. What exactly did you see?

You ever see something you just can’t explain? Like... your brain tries to file it away, but there’s nowhere to put it. I was drivin' home after a double shift at the diner—just past two in the morning. The highway was dead quiet, just me and the hum of the tires. I was barely keeping my eyes open, still smellin' like fry grease and coffee, when I saw it. Out past the tree line—just off Route 17 near that old mill road—I saw something standing by the guardrail. At first I thought it was a man. A real big one. But then it turned its head—no, not even a head, more like a shape—and I saw two red eyes. Glowing. Like the taillights of a car, but higher up. Way higher. It had wings. Real big wings. They were kinda hunched behind it, like it wasn’t sure whether to take off or not. The way it moved... it wasn’t right. Too still. Like it didn’t care I was there, but it knew I was. And I swear to God, just as I passed it, those wings unfurled and it lifted up—silent, smooth, like a shadow peeling off the road. Took off into the trees without a sound. Not even the leaves rustled. I didn’t stop. Hell no. I just kept driving and didn’t look in the rearview once. I thought maybe I was just too tired, you know? Maybe a trick of the light, a big bird or somethin’. But I been drivin’ that road for years and I ain’t never seen anything like that. I didn’t tell nobody for a while. Who’d believe me? But sometimes, when I get off late, I take the long way home. Just in case it’s still out there. Whatever it was... it wasn't from here.

Rick

A tow truck driver who saw the creature after leaving work for the night.

I don’t go in for ghost stories or none of that crap. I pull cars outta ditches, not chase shadows. So this was last fall, sometime after midnight, comin’ back from a call out near Cold Hollow. Real quiet stretch of road. No streetlights. I had the radio off, windows down a crack, just tryin’ to wind down. Long day. My back was killin’ me. I’m maybe five miles from home when I see somethin’ up ahead. Thought it was a deer at first, just standin’ in the road. So I slowed up. But when I got closer, it... it wasn’t no deer. Wasn’t a bear either. This thing was tall—man-sized or bigger—but too skinny, all arms and legs and... wings? Yeah. Wings. Big ones. Looked like it had 'em folded up behind its back, like a cape made outta shadow. And these eyes—red, I swear to God—lit up like reflectors in the headlights. But they weren’t reflectin’. They were glowin. It just stood there in the road, dead still. Didn’t flinch when I rolled up. Then it snapped its head toward me—real fast—and that’s when I damn near hit the ditch. I swerved around it and hit the gas. Checked the side mirror and it was gone. Like, gone-gone. Didn’t hear no wings flappin’, didn’t see it take off. Just disappeared. I didn’t stop. Not to look, not to think. Drove straight home. Sat in the cab with the engine runnin’ for twenty minutes before I could even go inside. I ain’t told my wife—she already thinks I don’t sleep enough. I don’t know what I saw. Don’t care to see it again. But I’ll tell you this: I don’t take that road no more after dark. Not alone.

Joseph

A Shawnee construction worker who saw the creature while driving home late one night

I know what I saw. And I know what it means. I was drivin’ home from the job site, real late. We'd been workin' overtime, tryin’ to finish up a deck rebuild before the frost hit. It was past midnight. The road was empty—just me, the trees, and the sound of gravel under the tires. Out near the old logging turnoff, I saw something perched on a signpost. I slowed down, figured it was just a big bird. We get owls out here sometimes. But this... this wasn’t normal. It was a giant barred owl. Bigger than any I’ve ever seen. I’ve hunted, hiked, camped all my life—this thing was the size of a kid. Its feathers were all puffed out, and its eyes were locked on me. Not blinking. Just watching. That kind of stare that sees right through you, like it already knows what’s in your head. I stopped the truck. I don’t know why—I didn’t want to, I just did. Like it had pulled me in somehow. And then it opened its wings. Slow. Deliberate. Didn’t fly off—just rose straight up and vanished into the trees like smoke. No sound. Not a single beat of wings. The air got real cold after that. Now, in our traditions—my people say when you see a barred owl like that, especially at night, it’s not just an animal. It’s a spirit. A messenger. Sometimes a warning. Sometimes someone who’s passed on, trying to speak. They come from the other side. The world behind this one. I don’t know who it was. Could’ve been my uncle—he passed last spring. Or maybe it was about something I haven’t faced yet. Either way, it wasn’t just an owl. It was something else wearing an owl’s shape. I ain’t scared of it. I was raised to respect that kind of thing. But I lit some sage when I got home. Said a prayer. Just in case it was trying to tell me something I didn’t catch. And every so often, I still hear an owl call out near my place. Just one. Long and low. I listen now.

SCENE OF THE SIGHTING

Now that we've learned more about whatever this creature is from the locals, let's go check out the location where it was last seen. Take a look around and see if you notice any clues left behind.

Briana: I don't know what you see, but all I see is an owl and a whole lot of forest. The Shawnee man mentioned something about owls in Native American lore. Maybe there's more to this connection worth following up on. There's a local community college professor who knows all about the Shawnee. Let's see what she can tell us about what we might be dealing with. Professor Amber Baker is an expert on the Shawnee Nation. She'll be able to tell us more about owls in Shawnee folklore and what we might be dealing with.

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Professor Baker

Hi Professor, we want to learn more about owls in Shawnee folklore. What can you tell us?

In Shawnee tradition, the owl holds a sacred and complex meaning, especially within the framework of our clan system. The Shawnee people traditionally recognized a system of twelve clans, or seepu, which organized aspects of our social, spiritual, and cultural life. Each clan had its own animal totem or symbol that reflected characteristics and teachings important to the Shawnee worldview. These animals weren’t just symbols—they were considered kin, teachers, and guides.

Can you tell us more about the owl clan?

One of these clans is the Mekoche (pronounced meh-KOH-chee), and within that clan system, the owl is one of the key animal representations. The owl is often associated with wisdom, foresight, and—most notably—its connection to the spirit world. In Shawnee belief, owls are seen as messengers between worlds. Their call, especially at night, can signal that something is stirring in the unseen—a message, a warning, or a reminder. For many, it’s not necessarily a bad omen, but it is serious. When an owl appears in an unusual way—crossing your path, behaving strangely, or appearing in dreams—it’s believed that the spirit world may be trying to communicate. It’s important to note that not all Shawnee people interpret owl symbolism the same way. Like all Indigenous cultures, we’re not monolithic. But many still hold reverence for the owl—not just as a bird, but as a being with presence and meaning.

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Briana: It sounds to me like there's more to this creature than just some shadow on the road late at night. It's trying to communicate with people, but why? I think it's time we try to track it down ourselves and find out. Let's get our gear and head out after sunset to see if we can find this creature and learn more about what it's trying to say from beyond the grave. Choose what to bring with you from what I brought up from my office in New Orleans and let's see if anything works in capturing this creature.

• Crossbow, wooden stake, & holy water

• Iron crowbar, silver chain, & salt

• Sage & a flashlight

After you choose your gear, let's leave the road and see if we can spot when our mysterious creature arrives.

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Briana: There it is! Quick, do something before it gets away!

Crossbow, wooden stake, & holy water

You use the crossbow

The crossbow bolt goes through the creature and it flies away- never to be seen again. Briana: Well that's it, we may never know what this creature was or who it was trying to communicate with. Let's head back to town. There's nothing left for us to do here. Coffee's on me.

Iron crowbar, silver chain, & salt

You swing the silver chain at it

The creature writhes in pain, one wing broken. Its voice is layered: part wind, part whisper, part thunder. Even as one wing drags, its gaze is calm and burning with ancient knowing. The Creature: Child of dust and fleeting years... you know not what you have done. You strike at what you do not understand—wounding the veil between your world and mine. This form is not my body, but my warning. My wing is broken, yet I remain. Spirit does not bleed. Spirit does not fall. You see a monster, but I am your mirror. I came to warn, not to harm. Now, the silence between us deepens. Remember this pain—not mine, but yours. For when the trees stop whispering and the waters hold no reflection, you will seek what you struck down. The creature disappears into the night air, never to be seen from again. Briana: Well I don't think we'll ever see that creature again. We can't always respond to surprises with violence- even if they are creepy cryptids. There's nothing left we can do here. Let's head back to town and get dinner before our long drive home.

Sage & a flashlight

You shine the flashlight on it

Its wings shimmer like dusk and stormclouds. The beam of light catches its eyes—deep, glowing, ancient. It does not flinch. Instead, it speaks with a voice that echoes like wind through cedar trees. The Creature: You bring light, but not fire. Fear, but not harm. That is rare. Few walk softly in the dark anymore. Fewer still see with more than eyes. I wear this form so your mind may tremble—but your spirit knows me. I am Kokumthena, watcher in shadow, mother of change. I come not to haunt, but to warn. The land stirs uneasily. The balance thins. You who walk with open hands—listen. The old paths call. The forgotten ones remember. And you, child of earth and breath, have been seen. Do not chase what you do not honor. But if you listen… truly listen… the spirits may speak again.

What were you doing late at night along these roads?

She steps from the treeline, wings rustling like dry leaves. Her form is vast, half-seen, half-felt—eyes glowing faintly, not with menace, but with memory. She tilts her head as if listening to something far away. Then, she speaks—softly, but her voice seems to echo inside your chest. Kokumthena: You call it haunting. I call it watching. You race through the night wrapped in metal and glass, eyes half-closed, heads full of worry and wear. You do not see how close you are to crossing into silence. I walk the roads not to frighten, but to stir. To wake. To jolt the heart so the hands grip tighter. So the eyes open wider. I flap these wings not to curse, but to call—before the trees wrap around your car like mourning blankets... before your family wakes to an empty bed. Many have seen me and called me a monster. Some have cursed. Some have prayed. But all of them made it home. She takes one step back, eyes dimming like stars before dawn. I do not need thanks. I need you to stay awake. And just like that, the creature disappears into the night air.

Briana

Sounds like this case is closed. This isn't a monster at all- just an ancient spirit protecting drivers late at night from falling asleep at the wheel on their long drives home from work. She might use unorthodox methods, but this creature is protecting people, not harming them. I say we call it a night and head to that diner. The waitress said the pie of the week is strawberry rhubarb and I am not missing that.

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When you finish your coffee, I've got a hit on a new case in Arizona- something about bank robberies involving suspects seen in two places at once. Follow the link below to follow me to Arizona to investigate this strange series of bank robberies.

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