A pair of glowing red eyes. A winged figure rising from the ruins of an abandoned munitions plant. A collapsed bridge that sent forty-six people into the Ohio River. From Point Pleasant, West Virginia in 1966 to global echoes decades later, the legend of Mothman has become one of the most enduring mysteries in American folklore. Mothman: Prophecy, Panic, and the Politics of Fear is a sweeping cultural history that traces how a local panic became a myth of national-and ultimately international-resonance. Johns refuses to sensationalize and instead asks harder questions: why do communities invent harbingers before catastrophe? Why does tragedy demand omens, and why did this particular legend endure when others faded? With the narrative depth of a cultural historian and the clarity of a storyteller, Johns shows how the Mothman legend has transformed from terror to prophecy, from grief to festival mascot, from Appalachian omen to global archetype of disaster. The story begins in the wooded backroads of West Virginia, where frightened eyewitnesses reported a creature with vast wings and unblinking red eyes. Johns sets these accounts against the haunting geography of the TNT area-an abandoned World War II munitions site turned into decaying wildlife preserve. The creature that rose from those ruins embodied not only fear of the unknown but dread of the Cold War, secrecy of government sites, and fragility of modern infrastructure. When the Silver Bridge collapsed a year later, killing dozens, the legend fused irrevocably with disaster, ensuring Mothman's place in memory. In the 1970s, John Keel's The Mothman Prophecies reframed the sightings within a cosmic web of UFOs, Men in Black, and interdimensional messengers. In 2002, Hollywood turned the tale into psychological thriller, cementing its hold on popular culture. In Point Pleasant itself, Mothman became statue, museum centerpiece, and festival attraction, reimagined as both community pride and economic engine. Online, he spread as digital folklore, embraced in memes, artwork, and ironic reverence. Today, he soars not only over Appalachia but over Chernobyl, Mexico City, New York, and beyond-wherever catastrophe demands an omen. Johns situates Mothman in a global lineage of harbingers: the Irish banshee whose cry foretells death, the English Black Shuck haunting moors before storms, the phantom birds of plague chronicles. Yet he argues that Mothman is distinctly American-a creature born from industrial ruin and cultural secrecy, embodying the nation's anxieties about technology, collapse, and catastrophe. He thrives in ambiguity, refusing final definition, precisely because America itself has lived in perpetual uncertainty. Mothman is less about what was seen than about what needed to be seen. His glowing eyes illuminate the ways people interpret tragedy, construct memory, and demand meaning in the face of chaos. The book insists that folklore is not a diversion from reality but one of the most powerful ways communities narrate grief and resilience. Mothman: Prophecy, Panic, and the Politics of Fear is not a cryptid chase, nor is it a skeptic's debunking. It is a meditation on why omens matter, why catastrophe always seems preceded by signs, and why human beings everywhere refuse to live without harbingers. This is folklore as ethics: a reminder that when warnings come-whether in stories of winged figures or in the data of scientists-our responsibility is to listen. Enter this history and you will not find closure. You will find flight that never lands, wings that refuse to fold, and a legend that continues to shadow every age of collapse. This book invites you not only to learn Mothman's story but to reflect on why we need him-on what he reveals about memory, responsibility, and the stories that carry us through catastrophe.