Opinion & Comment

Appalachia's Famous Monster Celebrated In Festival

APPALACHIAN NOTEBOOK, BY STEVE ODEN

Strange things happen in the Appalachians. Unexplained phenomena, weird happenings, and supernatural goings-on are part of our culture and heritage. The legend and lore of the region is famous for paranormal events. Or, if you want to look at it another way, the folks who reside in the hills, hollers, mountains and valleys of rural Appalachia are sensitive to the outre' (a fancy word for bizarre).

In my own family, Cherokee blood traces itself to great-grandmothers on both sides. My generation of cousins grew up listening to scary tales passed down from full- and half-blooded antecedents who somehow escaped relocation during the Trail of Tears. Ghost stories, cautionary accounts of things that go bump in the night, and alleged reports of catamount sighting and witch riders are still repeated at reunions and clan gatherings.

So, it came as no surprise to me that, in parts of the Appalachian Region, festivals are staged to celebrate local weirdness. Take, for example, the Mothman Festival in Point Pleasant, West Virginia.

The seat of government in Mason County, Point Pleasant is a quaint town nestled in the hills on the south bank of the Ohio River. It is connected to a sister city, Gallipolis, on the Buckeye State side.

This community's claim to fame is the Mothman, a winged creature said by witnesses to be a giant bat-insect hybrid that swoops through the night sky.

Some true believers connect Mothman to frequent UFO sightings along this stretch of the Appalachian foothills. Others maintain that Mothman is part of an ancient Indian shamanÕs curse on white settlers who murdered him. There is also the government conspiracy crowd, whose members argue that Mothman spawned from top-secret experiments at a nearby arsenal. Finally, there are those whose conviction is that Mothman represents a prehistoric species.

Millions of film fans were exposed to Point PleasantÕs unique critter several years ago when a movie, "The Mothman Prophecies" (now a DVD), was made. Mothman's followers became a legion. Apparently, the civic leaders of Point Pleasant thought it was a good idea to support the organization of a festival. Held in September, the festival has become an annual event and attracts people from across the United States, Canada and even Australia.

When these lovers of the outre roll into town, Point Pleasant becomes the nexus of strangeness: a gathering place for science fiction fans, flying saucer fanatics, monster hunters, comic book collectors (yes, there's even a comic book entitled "Point Pleasant"), assorted vendors . . . and the inevitable media.

Mothman and Point Pleasant appeared this year as a feature on CBS's "Sunday Morning." The Discovery Channel sent a film crew to the festival to obtain footage for a segment to air on "Animal X," and a Sci-Fi Channel documentary is in the works.

For residents and shopkeepers of Point Pleasant, this attention is heady stuff. Mothman is fast becoming AppalachiaÕs version of the Loch Ness Monster. No wonder that they erected a life-sized statue of Mothman in a downtown park.

Other parts of Appalachia have their own legends, but so far none Ñ not even the Skunk Ape or Appalachian Bigfoot Ñ have come close to rivaling the fame of Mothman.

My familyÕs roots are in the southern foothills of Appalachia, hundreds of miles from Point Pleasant. Since childhood, I've heard the tale of a winged creature, man-shaped but with bat wings, that terrorized pioneer families and Native American villages two hundred years ago.

Called the "White Thing," the monster supposedly winged over treetops, uttering a womanÕs screams. I have aunts and uncles, now in their late 80's, who swear theyÕve seen and heard the White Thing. . . and theyÕve never heard of the Mothman.

Is there a connection? For there to be a relationship, you first have to believe Mothman and White Thing actually exist. Faith in the fantastic isn't such a stretch for a true Appalachian. It requires at least a partial suspension of disbelief, a delight in the possibilities of light and darkness, and the acceptance of some measure of truth in all legends.

If you've ever walked in a strange woods at midnight, heard a scuffling and thrashing in the leafy branches above, and felt the hairs on your neck rise. . . You might want to visit the fourth annual Mothman Festival next year, just to relieve your Appalachian apprehensions.