Geek Report: Mystery in Weyers Cave

Ah, but what of those strange, anomalous denizens that haunt the forgotten margins of our world? The shadowed corridors of ancient forests, the serpentine trails of dry creek beds, the desolate hush of country roads where headlights flicker and vanish into mist? What of the whispers in the wind, the fetid stench that precedes the unknown, the gleam of eyes that do not blink, the thunderous flap of wings in the night, or the fleeting silhouette that races just beyond the reach of reason?

These are not merely tales spun by idle minds. No, these are accounts—raw, unfiltered, and often dismissed by the sterile gaze of mainstream science. But belief, dear reader, belief is a tenacious thing. It carves out its own sanctum in the soul, where logic dares not tread. Not all discovery is born of ivory towers and framed diplomas. Sometimes, it rises from the mud, the moss, and the mystery.

This past week, I emerged from my ink-stained sanctum in Staunton, Virginia—yes, I dared to leave the Worlds of Pulp™ behind—and ventured into the heart of the unknown: the ECBRO Bigfoot Conference in Weyers Cave. Did I go to unearth irrefutable proof of the Sasquatch? To bask in the testimonies of believers, researchers, and seekers of the strange? Or perhaps I was lured by the siren call of smoked meats, local pastries, and the ever-elusive perfect beef jerky.

Whatever the reason, what I found was a carnival of curiosity. A bazaar of the bizarre. Vendors hawked wares both whimsical and wondrous—books, shirts, statuary, and relics of cryptid lore. Comics and documentaries mingled with ghost hunters and paranormal guides. Special guests took the stage, their voices trembling with conviction as they recounted encounters that defied explanation.

Now, I am a skeptic by nature—but not by necessity. As a game designer and a lover of the arcane, I revel in the creative enterprise. I cherish the notion that the world is not yet fully mapped, that there remain corners where the veil is thin and the impossible peers through.

We need mystery. We need the thrill of the unknown. We need places where imagination is not only allowed—but required. And so, I had a marvelous time. So marvelous, in fact, that next year I shall return as a vendor, bearing my own creations: art, books, shirts, and perhaps a few secrets of my own.

Am I a believer? Let us say this: I have never been a disbeliever. A skeptic, yes—but one who listens. One who wonders. One who knows that the world is far more interesting when it still holds secrets. For in the end, it is not the certainty of “is” that thrills us—but the tantalizing whisper of “what if.”

Appreciating the Marvelous,

T. Glenn Bane

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