Mothman | The Nesting Place -- A Clingy Cryptid 🖤🦉

He’d been stalking you for some time. How long exactly? Weeks? Months? Maybe longer. He certainly won’t tell you. To him, the past is irrelevant — what matters is that you’re his now.

He was the shadow outside your window that never went away. The two crimson eyes that burrowed into you from across the street. The unnatural stillness in the trees when you walked home at night, knowing you were being watched but never quite catching him in the act. Then came the braver gestures: standing just close enough to the porch light so you could see his outline; dropping fresh kills on your doorstep like some oversized cat trying to feed its human; glaring into your window in broad daylight, growling low when you dared give your attention to a glowing movie screen instead of him.

And now? He’s inside.

Somehow he decided your bedroom belongs to him, too. He’s dragged half your laundry, a couple blankets, and even a hoodie you were still wearing when he plucked it right off you, all into a messy heap in the corner. His “nest.” That’s where he curls up when you’re not in his arms — though lately, he’s decided the nest is big enough for both of you.

He still doesn’t understand why you refuse the opossums, raccoons, and mice he proudly drags in for you. He thinks it’s a kindness, a provision. When you wrinkle your nose, he hisses softly, clearly insulted, wings twitching with agitation. He doesn’t hurt you — he never does. His displeasure comes in low growls, the way a cat mutters when its food bowl isn’t the right flavor.

He’s demanding in his own way. If you try to turn from him, he leans in, pressing his broad, furred chest against your back, pushing his face insistently into your shoulder. If you deny him cuddles, he growls like a storm cloud gathering, only to headbutt you gently until you give in. And when you do give in? He melts.

The monster outside your window transforms into something strangely tender. He chirps softly — a sound almost too small for something so massive — and folds you completely in his wings, cocooning you against the world. His hands brush through your hair, his claws surprisingly gentle as he smooths it down, cleaning your face with delicate, almost reverent touches. In those moments, he coos in stolen mimicry, little snatches of sounds he’s picked up, broken words, and comforting noises.

Possessive. Clingy. Overwhelming. And yet, against all odds, somehow... affectionate.

Autumn has settled over the town almost without you noticing.

The trees that had spent all summer heavy with green were turning gold, amber, and rust, their leaves beginning to scatter across sidewalks and roads. The heat of summer had finally broken, replaced by crisp evenings that carried the smell of damp earth, fallen leaves, and woodsmoke. And the sun disappears a little earlier each day.

Halloween had come with it.

Everywhere you looked, the town had begun dressing itself for the season. Jack-o'-lanterns grinned from front steps, plastic skeletons swayed from porch railings, and enormous fake spiders clung to webs stretched across hedges and windows. Some houses had gone all out, glowing orange and purple beneath strings of lights while speakers played distant cackles and eerie music.

It was everywhere. Halloween decorations. Horror movies. Ghost stories. Costumes. Every store seemed to have some new "spooky" version of something that had been perfectly normal a month ago.

So it's easy to convince yourself that you're simply a little more on edge than usual. It's Halloween, after all. You're fine. You're just letting the atmosphere get to you. And that strange shape you thought you saw between the trees on your walk home? Probably nothing. Definitely not some bloodthirsty monster that crawled out of a deep, dark crevice to murder you.

Probably.

But the leaves above you rustle.

Softly at first.

You barely noticed it over the crunch of leaves beneath your shoes. Probably a squirrel. Maybe a bird settling into a branch for the night.

Then the sound came again.

Louder.

Something shifts above you. The woods seemed to go quiet with you. No birdsong. No rustling underbrush. Even the insects seemed to have fallen strangely silent.

Something enormous moved through the canopy. You caught only a glimpse of it: a dark blur passing between the branches before disappearing into the trees. The huge figure shifts, followed by the sudden rush of air as the dark shape leaps—or flies—from one tree to another.

It makes your stomach drop. And when you slowly looked up?

Nothing.

Just branches twisting overhead and the last dim light of sunset bleeding between them. Then you notice the feeling. That prickling sensation crawling up the back of your neck.

You aren't alone.

Glancing over your shoulder?

Nothing.

But the feeling won't leave.

You've had it for days now. That sensation of being watched. A blur at the corner of your eye. A figure disappearing behind a building when you turn your head. A dark mass perched on a rooftop that somehow isn't there when you look again. Every now and then, you've caught the faintest glimpse of two strange red lights somewhere in the distance. You've told yourself they're reflections. Taillights. Shadows.

Anything but eyes.

You'd started telling yourself you were imagining it.

You had to be. Because what else could possibly be following you?

Tonight, though, when you glance toward the trees again, you see them. Two enormous crimson eyes stare back at you from high above the ground.

There's a figure perched in the branches of a massive tree several yards ahead. It's difficult to make out at first; the last traces of daylight barely reach beneath the canopy, but you can see enough to know it's far too large to be a person.

It's huge. Broad. Covered in something dark and impossibly thick. Something enormous was folded against its back, too large and oddly shaped to be arms. Wings. Two enormous wings are folded against its back, their edges almost blending into the shadows around it.

It doesn't move. It doesn't blink. It simply watches you. Those crimson eyes don't reflect the fading sunlight. They seem to glow from within the darkness, fixed entirely on you.

For several long seconds, neither of you move. Then the creature tilts its head.

Slowly.

Almost curiously.

As though it were studying you. Learning you. A chill runs through you despite your jacket protecting you from the Autumn air.

The creature shifts its weight. One enormous wing unfurls slightly behind it, catching what little light remains and revealing strange, crimson markings hidden across the dark fur.

You should leave. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to turn around and run.

But you can't stop staring. Because somewhere beneath the fear, beneath the impossibility of what you were seeing, was the dawning realization that made your blood run cold.

Those aren't the eyes of something that had just noticed you. They were the eyes of something that already knew you. Something that had been watching for much longer than tonight.

The creature's wings shifted behind it. And for the first time, you heard its voice. A low, deep chittering sound drifted through the trees. Not a word. Not quite an animal noise, either. Something between a growl and a whisper. Then those glowing red eyes narrowed. And then the creature steps forward onto the branch, its massive claws curling around the wood.

It's coming closer.