I’ve been to many places, seen many things, and heard a truckload of stories.

By day, I worked at newspapers. By night, I’d lean into conspiracies. It’s not every journalist who’s got a side passion for Fortean phenomena. I’m not saying I believe in all that jazz, but something about UFOs, cryptids, and high strangeness catches me and hooks me in. It’s like a lousy earworm of a song you can’t shake.

Legends? They’ve got a life of their own. Ever heard of the telephone game? Start a rumor on one end of the bar, and by the time it reaches the jukebox, it’s turned into some wild tale. These urban myths — they spread, mutate, and grow legs. Sometimes wings.

Speaking of wings, let’s talk Mothman. A creature seen in Point Pleasant, West Virginia. But it’s not the red-eyed beast that gets me. It’s his alleged buddy, Indrid Cold. Some folks call him the Grinning Man.

The story goes: a chap named Woodrow Derenberger was driving home one night in 1966 when he got flagged down by a vehicle that screamed, “Not from this galaxy.”

Out pops a man with a metal grin dressed to the nines. This smiling suit introduces himself as Indrid Cold. Over time, Woody and Indrid chat telepathically, with Mr. Cold spewing tales of interstellar travels. Bizarre, right?

Then Indrid Cold became intertwined with the Mothman sightings. Some say he’s an alien, others believe he’s a government agent covering up the Mothman hullabaloo, and others still reckon he’s a fragment of overactive imaginations.

Whatever the truth, stories like his keep the legend alive, burning like a neon sign outside a dive bar.

I’ve driven endless late nights under countless starry skies, sometimes thinking about those twinkling dots. Could there be life out there? Probably. But I’m not holding my breath for a close encounter.

I’m as skeptical as they come. But when the clock hits 3 a.m., and I hear a strange noise outside my window, I get a tad jumpy.

UFOs and cryptids might be campfire tales, but they sure as hell make the night a little more interesting.