Aaron Mahnke

His eyes were just little holes in the bandages with nothing inside, and his mouth was punctuated by red lips dripping with something, saliva or rain or blood.

Startled though he was, the driver figured that he would be safe enough.

After all, the mummy was outside the cab and he was inside, with a hearty piece of safety glass between them.

Which, of course, is when Bandage Man began to punch through the back windshield.

With horror, the driver realized that the attacker was going to make his way inside.

The man drove faster, hoping to shake the interloper loose, and eventually, as he neared town, Bandage Man dropped off, vanishing into the dark.

In yet another account, also from Mike Helm's book, Bandage Man snatches up a hitchhiker, folding him under his arm like, and I quote, "...a loaf of bread," and then vanishes into the woods.

In another, he starts snacking on neighborhood dogs.

And yet another, he shatters the windows of a local pub and preys on the patrons inside.

And okay, a lot of these reports are just fanciful enough that they do sound like someone made them up.

In fact, my researchers weren't able to find any written accounts of Bandage Man at all that dated prior to 1983.

What I can say is that my team is thorough.

But even if they were all made up, those stories have fully taken their place in the pantheon of Oregon lore.

Now, no good serial killer slash mummy slash zombie slash ghost is complete without a proper calling card.

Hook Hand has his hook, left dangling from teenagers' cars.

Bigfoot leaves those classic giant footprints.

And Bandage Man?

Well, he has his bandages, of course.

In almost all of the stories, Bandage Man leaves a little something of himself behind when he flees.

That is, a filthy, bloodied piece of bandage.