Codex: Owlman vs. Mothman

[MoarCrossovers]

In the grassy meadows by the southern coast of Cornwall, there stood a house. Not a small and comfy cottage or a well kept country home, but an ugly stone building, weathered with cracks and mud, overgrowth with moss, and potted with holes in the walls and roof. It sat on a small hill facing the sea, watching over the coast like a silent guardian. It would be hard to believe this house once belonged to a rich and respected gentleman and his family, a man looking to get away from the busy bustle and noise of city life. As time went by the descendants of that man lived in this house for many years, repairing and remodelling their home as it started to fall apart apart. Then one day, when the house had but one occupant, something terrible happened. The details are unknown, the villagers of the nearby town of Botallack the only witnesses and will not speak of what happened. All that is known was that the man was killed, and with no next-of-kin or relatives who had interest in the house or could afford to keep it, the house fell into decay.
Alan Bulle sat comfortably at the kitchen table and placed the spoon of warm parsnip soup into his mouth. He swallowed the nutritious substance before returning to his regular everyday duty. Every day he would stare out of a window of the house and just sit there for hours, days, weeks even, until he could watch no longer and had to take a break. The reason he did this was simple, yet quite odd-he was bird watching. Alan had a particular interest in birds, and every day he would stare out of the window and count the various types of birds he saw. Swallows, blackbirds, birds of prey, all manners of birds. This meant nothing to Alan. He was on the look out for one bird above all. He had seen it once before decades ago, and had followed it for 2 weeks before his search came to an end. But he knew that one day, that very same bird would come back to its place of origin-Cornwall. He placed the metal spoon back into the bowl and scooped up some more soup.
The silence was interrupted by a loud and furious knocking on the door. Alan, in a panic, spun his head towards the front door, spilling the still hot soup over the table and onto his lap. Yelling in pain as the warm liquid seeped into his trousers, he rushed to his feet rather too quickly banging his knees on the underside of the table.
"Son of a-!"
He hissed in agony as the pain surged through his knees. He took a moment to compose himself and let the pain die down. He looked back towards the door. The knocking started again, just as loud as before. He tensed up. His breathing became heavy and erratic and his hands started to shake as fear overtook him. Was it here? Had the thing that he had been waitng for all these years finally returned?. Slowly and carefully he crept towards the front door, taking care to walk as lightly as possible and avoid stepping on some of the looser boards. Halfway to the door, his left foot accidentally stepped on one of the older floor planks which groaned in protest. He froze and glanced towards the door. The knocking had stopped. Erratic breathing could be heard on the other side of the door. Sweat dripped down his forehead as Alan started forwards once more, making sure to not step on anything else. As he reached the door, he picked up the freshly sharpened axe that he kept beside the front door. An odd place to put an axe, but if you had lived and seen the things Alan had, you would know why it was there. His hands shaking, he gripped the handle and hoisted the blade behind his shoulder. 'This was it', he thought, 'Time to end you once and for all'. He pulled the key for the door off of its hook and inserted in into the lock and twisted anti-clockwise. The door unlocked with a 'CLICK'. Alan rushed forward and pulled the door forward quickly, raising his sake to strike-
-pausing at the sight of the boy cowering at the sight of him. Surprised and slightly annoyed, he placed the axe back beside the door.
"Why are you here?"
"I'm meant to ask you that."
The kid must have been no younger than fourteen. He had curly blonde hair that rushed slightly in the breeze and he wore wore a dark green jacket and a pair of cream jeans, which were covered in mud and grass stains from the climb up. Alan hadn't had a visitor from the village for quite some time, at least two months. Living in some old shoddy house does give people the impression of a hermit, which the local youth took as a excuse to throw things at his house and play pranks on him. On some occasions though, there were those who came up for a different reason. And this boy had obviously come all this way for it. So he told him the same thing he told everyone else.
"Waiting."
The boy's face scrunched up in confusion.
"Waiting?"
"Yes", replied Alan, "It's as simple as that."
He grabbed the door handle and pushed the door closed.
"Waiting for what?"
He stopped halfway. That was the first time someone had asked him THAT question. When he usually gave those that asked the regular question and he gave his answer, they would just leave without a second thought, either because they fought he was a looney or they fought their trip had been wasted. But this kid was still here, still enquiring about him. About his past, something that he had wanted to get off his chest for some time but couldn't. No one would believe what he had been a part of. Or what he had seen all those years ago. He had considered turning the events into a book, but hadn't found the courage to do so. Maybe now he had his chance. It didn't matter anymore if no one believed him, and the boy would probably enjoy the story anyway. Or be terrified of it. He opened the door again and stepped out. The boy backed away, fearful of what he might do. Alan motioned to a bench sitting by the door.
"Have a seat."
The boy, his curiosity pipped, complied. Once he was comfortable on the bench, Alan joined him.
"Is it true?" The boy asked. "That you saw a monster?"
Alan nodded.
"Let me tell you a story, er…" It hadn't occurred to him that he didn't know the boy's name.
"Adam."
"Let me tell you a story Adam. It starts here, in this very house, many years ago, and continues all the way over to West Virginia, in America, and it stops at Point Pleasant, at the Silver Bridge. Let me tell you the story, of the Owlman versus the Mothman…"