Van Meter, Iowa, September 29, 1903
The little girl sat on the porch steps and strained her ears to hear what the grown-ups were talking about inside. She’d been putting together the bits and pieces all day. Last night, or rather, early this morning, when Mr. Griffith was finally coming home, he’d seen a thing. With wings. And a light. It hopped from one building to the next, right in front of his eyes. What sort of monster came with a light, as if it had its own built-in lantern?
Doctor Alcott had settled himself into bed in his room behind the office where he saw his patients. Lulled by the soft rain, he drifted into a deep sleep. But he was startled awake. A bright light flashed through the window and shone in his eyes. He leapt out of bed, and his hand reached for his gun. He ran outside to see what was going on. All the while, he tried to think of something that would account for the light. There was nothing.
And then he saw it. It was some sort of a creature, not entirely human but not like any animal he had ever known. In the center of the creature’s forehead was a single blunt horn. The light appeared to be coming from the horn.
Dr. Alcott grasped his weapon and fired. He hit the beast, yet nothing happened. He fired again and again and again, until he only had one shot left. Not wanting to waste it, he fled back to his office and locked himself inside. He was left to face the night alone, knowing that some indestructible creature was out there. Waiting.
September 30, 1903
The little girl walked slowly down the street. The grown-ups were whispering again today. Even more than yesterday. Something else must have happened.
She clutched the list in her hand and went into the grocery store. The grown-ups in there stopped talking. While the clerk measured out the flour, the little girl observed the silence. Maybe if she pretended that she were invisible, they’d start talking again, but they didn’t.
She counted out the coins and said her thank you.
“Do you really think it could be robbers?” asked one man to another as she walked out the door.
Just before the door shut all the way, she heard the other answer, “I don’t know. Whatever it is, it ain’t good.”
Peter Dunn said goodnight to his family and pulled the door shut, instructing his wife to lock it behind him. He shifted his shotgun so it rested on his shoulder. He was comforted by the weight of it as he walked. He let himself into the Van Meter Bank, where he was employed as a cashier, and settled in for a night’s watch. If there were robbers descending upon Van Meter, he was going to make sure they didn’t get into the bank.
At midnight, he counted out the 12 chimes of the town clock. He began to wonder if his night watch duties were necessary. An hour later, the clock clanged once. A strange noise followed. A gurgling of sorts.
His senses were at attention. His skin prickled, and the hair on his arms stood up in salute. Before he could investigate further, a bright light shone through the front window, trapping him in a spot of light. It wasn’t until the beam of light moved away that he was able to see a large beast. The light swept back again. Peter aimed and fired at the monster. The glass in the window crashed all around. The creature just disappeared.
When morning dawned, Peter searched outside, expecting—hoping—to find a dead or wounded beast. Instead, all that he saw were the giant tracks of a three-toed creature. He vowed to make a plaster cast of one of them, as proof.
October 1, 1903
The little girl skipped down the street. She stopped suddenly when she got to the bank. The front window was missing, and Mr. Dunn was sweeping up broken glass.
“What happened?” she asked.
He paused in his task and looked at the girl. “Nothing,” he said. “Just an accident. There’s nothing to worry about.”
The girl studied him as if she wasn’t sure whether she should believe him or not.
Peter went back to sweeping the glass.
Late that night, O.V. White was asleep in his room over the hardware store. He was startled awake by a strange sound, like a wood file rubbing against another.
Grabbing his gun, he darted to the window. He threw it open and peered out into the rainy darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a dark figure. It was perched on the cross arm of the telephone pole, about 15 feet away. But it didn’t have the light that the others had talked about.
He aimed carefully and fired. Instead of killing it, he only seemed to wake the monster. It turned on its light and studied him. A strange, awful odor overtook him, and he felt like he was being held in some sort of trance.
Sidney Gregg was asleep in his store when he was startled awake by a gunshot that came from across the street. He rushed to the door and stared at the creature descending from the telephone pole.
Using its large beak in the same way a caged bird climbs around, it made its way down the pole. When it got to the ground, it flapped its featherless wings. It was at least eight feet tall, and the light on its head was as bright as an electric bulb. The creature flapped its wings again and hopped up and down.
As it did at the same time every night, the mail train passed through town. The sudden noise seemed to surprise the monster, and it flew away, in the direction of the coal mine.
Late-night October 2, 1903
The little girl was startled awake in the middle of the night by a pounding on the door. She heard her father go to answer it and crept to the hallway to listen.
“Hurry, we’ve found it,” said the man’s voice. “Platt, from the brick plant, saw it come out of the old coal mine. There’s two of them. Bring your gun; we’re going to wait for them to come back. And tell your wife to leave the lights on. Everyone is leaving their electric lights on for the rest of the night.”
Without another word, the girl’s father turned on the lights in the living room and kitchen. He grabbed his coat and hat and shotgun and followed the man out the door.
The little girl’s mother took the girl’s hand and settled her back into her warm, safe bed. But the little girl couldn’t sleep. She could only think about creatures with wings and light-horns on their heads.
After tossing and turning, her nose smelled coffee and breakfast, the tell-tale signs of morning. She heard her father come in. Again, she crept to the hallway to listen.
“We waited all night,” he said to his wife. “At dawn, they finally came back. I’ve got to tell you, I’ve never heard so much shooting. The whole town seemed to be shooting at them. But they just looked at us and descended down into the mine.”
The little girl heard her mother gasp.
“Don’t worry,” her father hurried to continue. “I came back to get my shovel. We’re going to seal them in.”
Feeling brave enough to go into the kitchen, she stood in the doorway, her bare feet cold on the floor.
“Come,” said her mother, patting the spot at the table next to where her father sat. He swallowed the last of his coffee and stood. He patted his daughter on the head and kissed his wife on the cheek.
“Don’t worry,” he said again. “Those monsters aren’t welcome in Van Meter, and we’re going to make sure they don’t come back.”
The townspeople barricaded the entrance to the mine, and the two winged-creatures were never seen again.