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Credibility: ★★★☆☆ 3/5
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Threat Level: UNKNOWN (Unknown — but he hasn’t complained about the coffee yet.)
Two days, two appearances, one coffee on a ledge — the regulars at Crossroads Family Diner are adjusting their expectations accordingly
At 7:08 a.m. Thursday, the large dark figure returned to the east-facing window of Crossroads Family Diner on Route 61 outside Sikeston, Missouri — two minutes earlier than Wednesday’s appearance, which staff have noted with the kind of resigned precision that comes from updating a mental schedule you never asked to keep. Seven witnesses across both mornings confirm the sightings. The figure stood at the exterior glass for an estimated forty seconds, then was gone.
Waitress Donna Krebs, who has worked the early shift at Crossroads for eleven years, says she recognized the outline Wednesday from descriptions she’d heard her whole life growing up near the river bottoms. She didn’t call anyone. She finished pouring a table’s coffee, watched the window for another few seconds, and went back to work. Thursday morning she left a full cup on the exterior window ledge before her first table came in. "It’s just easier," she told us by phone. "I don’t know what else to tell you. It’s just easier."
It’s just easier. I don’t know what else to tell you. It’s just easier.
— Donna Krebs, Crossroads Family Diner
The Missouri Monster — known regionally as Momo, documented by WTC in multiple prior filings going back to the Ellis Farm incident — has historically been associated with the wooded lowlands north of Sikeston, with sighting clusters peaking in the early morning hours. A diner window at 7 a.m. on consecutive days is a new behavioral wrinkle. Whether this reflects habituation, curiosity, or something as mundane as routine is a question we are not currently equipped to answer, and we are being honest about that.
Krebs said the cup was empty by the time she checked it at 7:45 Thursday. She has not confirmed who or what emptied it. She has, however, already put a second cup in her apron pocket for Friday morning. "I’m not making a thing of it," she said. Neither are we, Donna. Neither are we.
Eight feet tall. Smells like something. Still out there.
