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Feschino, at the "TREE" taking tree samples
for analysis with a MUFON STAR team.
Analysis was inconclusive...
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In 2004 I was fresh from a substantive and emotionally messy donnybrook of the ufological kind. This regrettable kerfuffle involving the man called Mortellaro was the result of a knowing betrayal of my trust—neatly and before the fact—a betrayal as regards some kind of corporeal thread or inroad into this thing we're all interested in involving UFOs.
I'd bet on the wrong horse, frankly, and been humiliatingly hoaxed. Husband, father, grandfather, Air combat Veteran, Retired Army officer, Master Army Aviator, Summa college graduate, and aspiring writer on non-fiction, I was once burned, now, and maybe three times shy.
Decidedly, I was not ripe for any subsequent story the likes of the "Flatwoods Monster": ostensibly, a claw-handed forest nixie sporting a sweet-sixteen skirt and Darth Vader cape—a cape tricked out with a collar high in the back like a big ace of spades. It was like something from of a bad Flash Gordon knock-off, sincerely—that, in 1952, and shooting red beams from its moribund eyes while oozing evil smelling gas, had "spooked a bunch of hillbillies in the hills of West Virginia." I was a fool, eh? Yes, yes I was. Such are the uninformed, always judging a book by its cover or first authoritative seeming explanation.
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