Adam Reger | Freelance Writer

I’ve been meaning to post these photos for some time. Beginning with some travels last summer, I’ve been encountering these messages concerning someone called “Goatman.” A surname? A half-man, half-goat creature? I don’t know.

First came this one, in a hotel in Leesburg, Virginia (where I was stranded after missing my flight from Washington, DC to Munich.)

I thought I must have shaken him after making the next evening’s flight, but alas, nein. Below is his defiant message to me in a hotel room in Landshut, Germany. (The message reads “Goatman war hier.” Clever, Goatman, very clever. But if you were truly fluent in German you would have spelled it “Goatmann.”)

I evaded Goatman on the next leg of my trip—Rome—but upon my return to the states, there he was, presenting me with this chilling reminder of his presence in a hotel room in Las Vegas.

After getting back to my normal routine, and following many months of silence from the mysterious Goatman, there appeared one day in the freshly laid cement of my driveway a familiar, chilling message. Its subtext? This. Ain’t. Over.

I’ve got a creeping suspicion I haven’t yet heard the last of Goatman, friends.