Part 2 The Keepers An Alien Message for the Human Race ... Falling Fast ... Life Falls Apart ...The Devil or Drugs ... Nowhere to Hide

The Keepers 

An Alien Message 

for the Human Race 

Jim Sparks

Chapter 4

Falling Fast

The next morning I was to leave for North Carolina, and I was furious when I awoke. I managed to get through a hot shower and sausage and eggs, but not even a cup of strong Colombian coffee made me feel better. 

In the past months, the concept of being abused by aliens had entered my mind, but I was in denial about it. After my previous night’s experience, I was not only convinced of their otherworldly identity — I was also totally unnerved and offended at a core level about their methods, intentions and their lack of compassion for humans, including their treatment of me. 

The morning of my Carolina trip, I managed to get off with a kiss for Teresa and not much else. I mean, what was I supposed to say? “See you next week, dear — oh, and by the way, I was hustled off again by ‘Star People’ who are teaching me an Alien Primer.” 

North Carolina is a lovely place, quite a contrast to Houston. The gorgeous foliage of the trees greeted me, and the sweet smell of the cold, bracing air seemed to snap some of the fear out of me as I arrived. This was Central East North Carolina, hilly with winding roads through lots of woods, which caused me to get lost more than once. I stayed at my friend Jim Johnson’s house that trip, and it was good to be around him. My nights were untroubled, and my boiling mind calmed somewhat as I immersed it in work. 

A couple of days later, sitting around with Jim and listening to some music after a hard day’s work, I felt comfortable enough to broach the subject with him. I gave him a brief overview of what I’d been through. 

Needless to say, he was very concerned. “Sounds like some sort of Devil Cult. That, or you’re losing your mind!” He took a drink from his tinkling glass of iced tea as though he wished it were something stronger. 

I assured him there was nothing devilish about it. It just didn’t feel that way. It was scary, sure, but not in a spiritual or demonic kind of way. “You’ve known me for years,” I said. “I’m a pretty level-headed guy, right? I haven’t been in and out of a shrink’s office, and I don’t make things up!” 

Jim’s the salt of the Earth — a big, burly guy, middle-aged with that North Carolina drawl distinguished with an occasional stutter. He moves gracefully, and boy, does he love his music! He’s a great jitterbug dancer, too. He grew up with a slew of famous ‘50s rock and blues musicians amidst poverty and obscurity, but he never became a musician himself. 

“Yes, guy! But... aliens? I don’t know what to say,” Jim said. 

I could understand his reaction. On one hand it was great to talk about it, and let it out. Unfortunately, even as I spoke I realized how totally absurd it all sounded. I didn’t want Jim to think I was crazy. 

At first, I allowed that maybe I’d been working too hard and was having delusions, but even as I spoke, I knew I was lying. 

I got angry at the situation and myself. “Bullshit,” I said as I spilled my drink. “I’m not crazy! And these weren’t delusions. These things happened... Period!” 

Jim was taken aback, but he recognized the real me all right. “Whether it happened or not, you seem to believe it happened. That’s going to have to be good enough for me.” 

He kind of cocked an eyebrow and said, “I hope whatever the hell is going on with you doesn’t happen here!” 

I chuckled and felt a little better. “Believe me, if it does, you’ll be the first to know!” 

I could tell he simply couldn’t accept the reality of it all, but I will say he tried to understand, and he did listen. He just really couldn’t wrap his mind around the concept. I really can’t blame him, or anyone else. There’s not a whole lot of proof around for visits from extraterrestrial life. There is, however, plenty of evidence for lapses in human sanity. 

Still, of all people, I was really hoping against hope that Jim would be the one who would believe me, no matter what, but of all my friends, Jim Johnson tried the hardest. 

That trip to North Carolina lasted ten days, and I didn’t get dragged off to Star People School, which was fortunate indeed. I didn’t get near the subject again with Jim, as I could tell it made him feel uncomfortable. I just savored my sanity, wrapped myself in work and North Carolina, and got some vital rest. I tried to eat right and exercise. The house was a large and comfortable ranch home with a big kitchen, where Jim loves to cook. 

By the time I left, Jim wasn’t giving me strange glances. Hell, I wasn’t giving myself strange glances. I felt better — ready to face Texas again. 

I wish I could say that it worked out okay. The smell, the taste, the presence of my own bedroom back at home got to me. I simply couldn’t sleep there. The first night back I tossed and turned, and this time Teresa was not in a stupor. I ended up on the living room sofa again. 

During the third sofa night, after days and nights of apprehension, the Visitors came again — whirling, acceleration.... 

My butt thumped on that bench. I saw the screens. I tasted the peculiar, ancient taste in my mouth, and I felt the warm mustiness of that room around me.... 

And then the “A.” 

By now, I knew what I was going to do. 

Letting my anger override my fear, I concentrated. Carefully, with my finger I sketched out that alien symbol for A, just as they seemed to want me to do. 

“GOOD.” 

The word appeared on the alien screen. 

Simultaneously, that’s just the way I felt — good. The fear left, the pain left, and a blessed relief poured through my veins — refreshing and pure. I think, there in that Somewhere Else place I actually smiled grimly to myself. 

“I’ve got you figured out! You bastards are trying to brainwash me!” 

I was feeling pretty smug, and I didn’t really think they’d respond. But they did respond and quickly. 

“NO.” 

The word appeared on the screen. Simultaneously, it reverberated in my head, and wiped the smile off my face. 

It didn’t keep my mouth closed though. “Sure, that’s why you’re doing this. Admit it! When you make me feel good, it’s just like some scientist rewarding a laboratory mouse.” 

Now, I was still almost completely paralyzed, but my hand was free enough to do the drills they wanted. I rapidly tapped my right forefinger on the table screen, hard as I could. “No!” I shouted. “No! No! No! No!” For the first time I felt I had some sense of control. Suddenly my mouth became paralyzed. That didn’t stop my brain though. If I could hear them telepathically, maybe they could hear me as well. “No! No! No! No!” 

I continued to tap my finger emphatically on the table screen. 

Suddenly, in my field of vision two of the creatures I’d seen before scurried in. I got a fuzzy, blurry impression of them at first, and I knew they didn’t like what I was doing. They were about to use screen imaging, which is something like shape shifting, but I just kept at it. Then those blurry images changed and sharpened, and abruptly started looking like two policemen.... 

Then another blurry change and they became two military soldiers. I could see what was up, and it didn’t get to me. 

“Sorry!” I yelled inside my head. “You’re not frightening me. That’s not going to stop me!” I was just whistling in the dark. I was dead frightened. Still I knew instinctively that I would hang onto this consciously by putting up a great big stink with my will. 

They changed back into their previous big-head, skinny elfish bodies again. 

“Hey,” I thought to myself, “these guys can be distracted.” 

I continued my finger banging. I almost felt triumphant — for about a second or two. 

Then a wrenching sensation passed through my whole body. It particularly throbbed through the right side of my gut with deeply reverberating pain and anxiety. 

I felt a distinct tingling in the right side of my head, and I felt a presence just out of sight — a powerful, significant presence. It was very strong. I’m not sure why, but I had the feeling that it was a male presence. For some reason, I think of most of the Visitors as being male. 

I stopped my ruckus. 

The energy radiating from this being was so strong that I can’t really find the words to describe it. Overpowering? Overbearing? All this and more. I guess the nearest comparison I could make would be if I were strapped in a chair while some Tyrannosaurus Rex was sniffing me, thinking about whether it was hungry or not. 

I could sense this being leaning down. I could feel its head no more than three inches from mine. I couldn’t quite make him out directly, but I got the suggestion of an outline of a face and a taller body. 

In retrospect, I realized that this thing was some sort of manager or supervisor, while the others were underlings. This was organized like a beehive, with drones and workers. As I think back on my experiences now, I realize that I noticed something about those first two aliens I encountered. They seemed a little robotic, with rather unnatural movements. Their mannerisms were more programmed and methodical, whereas the larger supervisors had a fluid, more definitively biological movement. 

Even then I thought, the “workers” were the creation of the other, taller Visitors! The workers are shorter, with large eyes and featureless, blank faces — leather-like in appearance. Some have wrinkled foreheads. 

The supervisors, as I was beginning to make out now, were tall, with that same leathery texture to their faces. Their eyes and heads are a little bigger than ours, but not nearly as large as the workers, and their eyes are much more focused. Both the supervisor beings and workers have bodies that are very skinny, almost atrophied. 

These observations came to me in the middle of what seemed like some sort of three-dimensional monster movie! Even though I was still frightened, I knew that my plan was working. I was keeping my mind going, I was taking all this in, I would remember it! 

The Voice inside my head said, “LOOK,” and the letter “B” appeared on the screen. 

I cried. I couldn’t deal with the idea of having to go through this process 26 times, or God knows how many times. Maybe there were more letters in the alien alphabet that I had to learn to trace. I was already emotionally drained, and now this. 

“The whole damned alphabet?” I sobbed. 

“YES,” appeared on the screen, followed again by “B,” and then what must have been the alien equivalent. And, as though they anticipated me giving them more trouble, along with the “B” I got a zap of increased air pressure against my ears and head, along with stepped-up anxiety. 

I put up no fight. As well as I could, I learned to trace out that next alien symbol. The sooner I got it to their satisfaction, I figured, the sooner I could go home. 

Something was becoming apparent to me that may have already occurred to the reader, who is not under so much stress. The screens I was working with were part of a larger machine that could read my thoughts, anticipate my reactions, punish and reward. It had the ability to record my emotions, invading every private thought mercilessly. I felt I was being used just as callously. 

When this “learning machine” perceived that I was proficient at tracing the symbols for the letters “A” and “B,” the word GOOD appeared on the wall screen. Just like a lab rat, I knew it was time for my reward. 

Then, on the wall screen the word LUST appeared, with the alien symbol for the letter “A” beside it. Just to the right of LUST appeared POWER and the symbol for the letter “B.” 

Okay, I thought. 

If I write down the letter “A,” I get some kind of reward that has to do with lust? I write down the “B” I get a reward associated with power? 

Again, I just wanted to get all this over with, but the notion of pleasurable rewards was a sight better than the pain part. 

I sketched out the alien symbol for “A.” Instantly, floating before me, appeared a full-sized hologram of a beautiful, dark-haired woman. “Bizarre,” I thought. On the wall screen the word FASTER appeared. I drew the symbol again, faster. The hologram moved and the woman began to teasingly disrobe. This was the reward session, and I sensed that I could fulfill any fantasy. The woman was beautiful, and my manhood wanted more. I couldn’t give in to this. I couldn’t let them have anything on me. 

“No,” I said. “I don’t want anything to do with this anymore.” 

The hologram disappeared. I thought it odd that they should honor my demand on the pleasure part. 

Then, I heard that low-pitched whirling sound again, spinning faster and faster. The pitch slowly got higher, and the whirling sound began spinning. My heart began to race. 

Thus, was I taken home. 

I had the desolate feeling that I would return to that dreadful place again soon. There were so many letters yet to learn.

Chapter 5

Life Falls Apart

The lesson continued there in that twilight world, in that screen room of strange beings. It could have been on some ship, some distant planet dimension... or in an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn, for all I knew. I learned, I suffered, and I was rewarded. Time after time in that strange and foreign place, my mind was mauled by pure alienness. It seemed a continuum, a permanent time/space platform. 

It seemed as though time stood still in that place. Perhaps it did. Generally it was warm and humid there, although at times weird, cool air would filter in from somewhere. 

The aliens experimented with emotions, and it seemed there were other things about humans that particularly interested them, things like individualism, war and uniforms. 

I always gave them their money’s worth in those early years when it came to emotions. 

In real life, though, things started falling apart. I was an emotional mess. All the things that keep a normal life functioning — friends, family, business, and personal life — began to disintegrate. People began to suggest to me that I seemed to be having some sort of psychological difficulty. I knew that already. They just didn’t know why. 

In mid-March 1989, the strain was too much. I was on the verge of losing my mind, and I felt like a pressure relief valve about to blow. Should I confess to Teresa? I was still concerned that it would frighten her and maybe wedge something between us. I knew nothing about people like Budd Hopkins, or alien abduction support groups at that time. 

You would think I’d go to a library and research. All I can say was that I just didn’t realize that other people could be like me. I just wasn’t media connected, and besides, I guess I just wasn’t thinking straight. 

Several years before 1988, I volunteered for a local church. Though I’m not much of church person, I had enjoyed helping the sick, poor and old people in my spare time. I respected the pastor of that church, whom I’ll call Reverend Ed. He seemed to be an intelligent, wise person, with advanced college degrees. I’d never asked him for anything before, except to have him marry us, but I called him. 

I told him I needed help with a strange problem.

“What do you mean by strange?” he asked. 

“I’m having experiences... with strange beings.... They’re forcing me to learn some kind of alien language.” I gave a few more details and he listened patiently. 

“Well, Jim,” Reverend Ed said, “judging from what you’re telling me, if it’s okay with you, I would like to bring someone else along who perhaps would be more qualified to consult with on this matter.” 

I’m not sure if I felt better after my call to the pastor, but I felt I was doing something positive. I almost wished I was crazy at the time, so I could get treatment from a doctor. Maybe that’s where the pastor and his friend would direct me. I probably should have headed straight to a shrink, but as I said, I wasn’t the most rational of individuals at that time. 

Besides, the core of me knew the truth. The core of me was quite sane, and it was that part that was clinging to the memories of my experiences. They were reality. They were happening. I wasn’t crazy. 

“Pulled” was the word I started to use with myself to describe the transition between here and there. The previous night I’d been “pulled” into the alien school experience. 

I’d just called Reverend Ed, and I was feeling slightly relieved, but I was still exhausted. Doing the real estate work I needed to do seemed impossible. 

I was just sitting in my easy chair in the living room just trying to grab a spot of safety amidst this whole mess. All at once I felt as if I were surrounded by a field of static electricity. I looked around, stunned. Dust balls and lint were sticking to my skin! I started to wipe them off, when I caught a whiff of a foul smell, sort of like rotting eggs or sulfur. 

Then, out of nowhere, three marble-sized balls of green phosphorus light materialized. They hovered five feet in front of me, right over my coffee table. They formed into a triangle, and in the midst of this triangle a projection flashed into existence —an owl, a perched owl, stared at me with hooded eyes. 

“Leave me alone!” I cried. I was never excited about the prospect of school, especially so soon after the last episode. But in the afternoon? 

The owl disappeared. From the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of two figures. When I turned my head to face them, nothing was there. Then I heard what sounded like footsteps coming from my attic. “Why can’t you leave me alone?” I cried. 

I still felt electrically charged. I jumped up with anger, and some knickknacks flew from the coffee table. I seemed to be charged with some kind of an electromagnetic force. 

“Okay,” I thought, amidst my alarm, “comic book times.” Yes, I was still thinking sarcastically from time to time. 

But truly, from the very earliest stages of my abductions, there were side effects involved. I now call the electromagnetic stuff and its ilk all part of “the residual effect.” There always seemed to be something clanking about in the house after one of my abductions, which I tried to ignore, and oddly enough so did Teresa. Now, though, my theory is that it’s all involved with the kind of technology they use. 

Previously, I had thought that what I had been experiencing — dancing knick-knacks, etc. — was odd poltergeist activity, but now before me — here in my own house, away from that twilight zone computer screen room — was physical evidence that something real was happening. 

I’m no rocket scientist, but I have enough education to deduce that all that was going on wasn’t supernatural. It was science-fiction writer Arthur C. Clarke who said, “Any sufficiently advanced technology will appear indistinguishable from magic.” So if what we had here was advanced technology that involved magnetism, electricity and light, then perhaps I was feeling the after-effects of whatever field they used. I’ve learned over time that they use this field for all sorts of purposes — invisibility for instance. They can render any form of matter invisible. They can transport themselves or others (including, alas, me) quickly and efficiently, just like the transporter on Star Trek, only without dematerialization. 

This was also about the time that, despite my ragged state, I was beginning to perceive other strangeness, and I began formulating a theory — namely that these things, or creatures, may not be from another planet so much as from another dimension. 

I’d noticed that when I saw them in this world, they only seemed to be partly here. Also, I would see these Visitors walking through walls. My dimension theory would explain this, since it would afford them the ability to work in our dimension, and yet be in theirs at the same time — a kind of phasing effect, if you will. 

Anyway, that’s what I was starting to think, and future experience bore me out. This business with the dancing knickknacks in the house was the result of my interaction with the field. The more I got abducted, the stronger this residual effect got. The paranormal activity, I discovered later when I got involved with researchers and groups, happens to most abductees, as do precognitive activities, which I’ll discuss later. 

So, on a Monday, I got a trip to School again, this time in midday. Another session with my schoolmasters certainly didn’t help my mental state much, and I had to wait until Friday until I could meet with the pastor and the qualified guy he wanted me to meet. The emotional trauma affected my eating and my sleeping. I was losing weight and maybe getting one or two hours of sleep a night. I avoided my wife as much as possible. Teresa could tell I wasn’t myself, and she asked me what was wrong. I told her I was just worried about business. We were both independent sorts, single-minded people. She had her projects, and I had mine. We required our own spaces, so it was natural for us to avoid each other from time to time. Therefore, Teresa seemed to accept my excuse. 

Thursday night before my meeting with my pastor, I fell into a deep sleep. At 3:30 A.M., that phosphorous ball showed up again. I was so exhausted. I looked at it, knew it was “Time for School,” and then I fell back to sleep. 

Acceleration. 

I guess they had to pry open my eyes this time. 

“Hello, assholes,” I said. 

The Voice said, “THIS IS NOT PLEASING TO GOD.” 

“To God?” I was incensed. “To God, you say? How dare you say that? Do you think for one minute you’re going to trick me into thinking you have anything to do with God? I’ll tell you what, turn me loose and I’ll squeeze your big heads off your skinny little necks. So do it! Turn me loose! Because I can’t hurt God, can I?” 

From the corner of my eye, I could see two of the workers. They were staring at each other. They had no expression, of course, but I could tell they were stumped. 

That was the last time the Voice presented itself as God, and I wondered if other prophets had heard the same thing. 

It seemed as though they’d try almost anything to weaken my will, in order to get my cooperation. What happened next didn’t get my full cooperation, but it sure got my attention. 

We were moving along in that alien alphabet by now. I’d passed “D” with flying colors, so I figured that “E” was next. So we spent the first part of the session with me proving my skill with those first letters. I was tired and I needed that positive feeling of euphoria, and they gave it to me, whatever it was. I performed admirably. Instead of “E,” though, the number 1 appeared, then 2 and so on upward to the number 6. I cooperated, and traced out the symbols for each. Slowly I was becoming acquainted with their writing style, which made it faster and easier to learn. They stopped at the number 6, and then I said, “Okay. What about 7?” 

“NO,” said the Voice. 

“What do you mean, no?” 

“OUR NUMBER SYSTEM IS BASED ON THE SIX.” 

That upset me for some reason. Maybe it was the resentment I’d stored, going through those numbers for them like a good little slave. “The hell with your base six number system! I like mine better.” 

I drew out the number 7, my style. It disappeared from the screen. I traced it out again. It disappeared again, like a shaken Etch-a-Sketch. This happened over and over again, and I got a perverse sense of enjoyment. This was probably aggravating them! After a while I stopped writing the number 7, I shrugged and went back over the alien symbols for 1 through 6. I did well. 

“GOOD,” came on the screen, and the Voice sounded it in my head as well. I got that pleasant rush of euphoric reward. 

“TIME TO COMPETE.” 

Mild euphoria turned to anxiety. “Compete with whom?”  

“LOOK!” 

I was able to turn my head, so I looked around. To my right was a corridor, through which I could look into another room. I was so shocked by what I saw that I almost fainted. 

The room was a duplicate of mine — tool, screens, everything, but, instead of me sitting on the stool, it was my wife! 

“Teresa!” 

She turned her head slowly and then stared straight through me, as though I weren’t even there. 

“TIME TO COMPETE. GO!” 

Quickly, Teresa turned her attention back to the screen. She started writing the complete alphabet on the screen — symbols I hadn’t seen yet. She was fluid and fast, as though she’d been doing this for years. 

“COMPETE! COMPETE!” 

“I can’t keep up with this!” It was such a heart-rending sight, seeing Teresa there. “Stop! Stop! Please stop!” 

“SHE’S GOOD, ISN’T SHE?” 

“That’s my wife! You bastards have my wife!” 

“SHE’S NOT YOURS. SHE’S OURS. ALWAYS HAS BEEN, ALWAYS WILL BE.” 

“She doesn’t belong to you or anyone. Teresa is my wife.” 

“NO. SHE HAS ALWAYS BEEN OURS.” 

I cried out, “She’s mine! That’s my wife!” 

“LOOK.” 

Straight ahead of me, three or four feet in the air, a scene appeared like a projected holographic movie. It was a hospital room. A child was being born. The scene faded into another scene, this one showing a four or five-year-old child sleeping in a bed. To my disbelief, I realized it was Teresa as a child. Then the next scene was Teresa as a teenager, making out with her first boyfriend. This was some sort of chronological representation of different periods of Teresa’s life, right up to our marriage. 

“Enough. That’s enough. Now I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand. You’ve been keeping track of her all her life. Me as well?” 

“YES.” 

“Why?” I asked. No response. When I asked again and still got no response, I said, “I hate you more than anything I’ve ever hated in my life. You have invaded me to my core being. From all I can tell, nothing is sacred to you. What a pathetic existence you endure! Sure you have the technology, but you’re like robots — empty and hollow. I’d like to kill you all.” 

No response. 

“You don’t have emotions. Do you? Answer me! Do you!” 

Nothing. Suddenly I just felt empty. I almost felt sorry for them, and I almost apologized for my desire to kill them. In any case, they certainly were getting full value from this particular abductee! 

“Teresa!” I said. “Teresa... is she okay?” 

They said nothing. They were as silent as the spaces between the stars. 

The terrible whirling of acceleration drew me back to an Earth life that was growing stranger than my alien school room.

Chapter 6

The Devil or Drugs

Home. I can see it now, the pretty Italian tile in the entry way, the oak railings, the high ceilings in the living room with sun windows, the fireplace, the large color TV and Teresa’s excellent housekeeping. Even at the worst of times, she always made sure that our house was clean. 

I could tell by the softness of the couch below me, the aroma of last night’s dinner in the air, and the familiar smell of the heating system that I was back on my couch. 

Nonetheless, I couldn’t move. More than that, I was in some kind of haze. A timelessness hung over me, and I felt a drowsiness that I couldn’t shake. All I could think of was seeing Teresa in that alien school. Was she all right? What did this mean? I was tortured by worry and doubt, all wrapped up in one great big ball of helplessness. 

I had awakened in the dark, and it seemed to take a very long time for light to come. In between I fell into some kind of glazed half-consciousness, filled with sluggish nightmares. 

When I finally was able to move, it was fully light. The clock claimed it was ten in the morning. I couldn’t believe that so much time had passed. I didn’t waste my ability to move. I rolled off that couch and rushed through the hall to our bedroom, half expecting to find Teresa gone — either gone to work or still controlled by those beings somewhere in the Twilight Zone, maybe reading alien Dick and Jane books already. 

But there she was, my wife, still sleeping snugly in our bed, looking pretty and untroubled. 

And safe! Thank God she was safe! 

However, as soon as I got past my relief, I realized that what was before me was something rather odd. Usually Teresa is up every morning by 6:30 A.M. 

Calling her name didn’t wake her. I shook her. 

“What time is it?” she mumbled. 

“Past ten, dear. Are you okay?” 

She nodded and blinked. “I feel weak. I must be getting a cold or something.” 

“I’ll call your work for you and tell them you’re sick.” 

I made us some coffee. It was time to talk. 

When I gave her the coffee the way she liked it, she seemed a little more awake. I told her I’d make her breakfast as well, if she wanted it, but we needed to talk first. 

“Teresa. Who are those strange creatures that have been taking us away?” 

Her brow furrowed as she sipped at her hot drink. 

“What creatures, Jim?” 

I looked away and thought for a moment. How should I deal with this? She had an evasiveness about her. I decided that I needed to be stern. 

“You know what I’m talking about. Who are they, Teresa? You seem to have been around them awhile.” 

She still seemed a little addled, a little confused, and she said, “What, you mean my Helpers from Heaven?” 

Helpers from Heaven? 

A whirlwind of thoughts flashed through my head. The creatures had tried to convince me they were from God, but it didn’t work. However, they’d conned Teresa into thinking they were Helpers from Heaven. Then I thought back to days of old, to ancient man, thousands of years ago. The minds of that day, seeing everything religiously, would think the Visitors were either from heaven or hell. 

Helpers from Heaven was an odd name for them, but that phrase still rings in my ears, and I was so grateful. It meant that I wasn’t alone. Moreover, I wasn’t losing my sanity. 

“I don’t think they were Helpers from Heaven, Teresa. I’d say they were aliens! Don’t you remember seeing me last night?” 

“No.” She was suddenly alarmed, as though fully realizing who was talking to her. Her eyes flashed darkly as she stared up at me. “We’re not supposed to talk about it.” 

Yet more relief. 

Here was someone that was acknowledging that yes, Jim — this hasn’t been a warped dream. Everything that has been tearing your mind apart has really and truly been happening. 

On the other hand, this was a vital matter. We were not only husband and wife, we also shared this experience. Why shouldn’t we talk about it? I desperately needed to discuss it! 

“What do you mean?” I urged. 

“We’re not allowed to discuss it.” 

I shook my head. “Even between us?” 

“Yes.” 

Well, they sure never told me that, but then maybe they figured pretty quickly that it would be worthless. Maybe they even instructed me to discuss it with anyone and everyone. 

“Come on. You just admitted we were both there in that... that… place. You’ve seen them,” I said, straining to get the words out. “Please. I need to know what the hell is going on!” 

She turned away from me. Her words turned cold. 

“Don’t ask me any more, because I won’t talk about it!” 

I implored her, to no avail. Finally, I just threw up my hands and went off and tried to take care of myself. That one time was the only time that Teresa ever acknowledged our mutual experiences, but the fact that she refused to discuss it was almost a confirmation.  

The aliens had her intimidated, and I really can’t blame her that much. We’ve all felt fear, some more than most, but can you imagine yourself experiencing these “things” with their slender unearthly fingers on your deepest instinctual triggers? 

No, I didn’t blame Teresa, but I guess I wish we’d been a bit less independent and had the kind of bond that not even unfeeling creatures from beyond understanding could break. 

Despite Teresa’s declared intention to follow party lines, I was determined not to. 

I was going to get to the bottom of this, no matter what the cost. Oh yes, and there was a cost — a cost most dear. 

After getting some breakfast for us, I sighed. 

“Look,” I said. “I’m sorry you don’t want to talk about it, but I asked the pastor to come over to counsel me about this. He’s bringing someone he says might be qualified to help. I respect how you feel... but could you at least say something helpful... I mean, so that they won’t cart me off to some institution?” 

She nodded. “I’ll try.” She had the kind of stony expression I recognized in her from five years of marriage, a look I’d see many times again. 

It was almost 11:00 A.M., the time when the pastor said he’d arrive. I didn’t have time to shower or shave. So I just went into the bathroom to splash some water over my face and run a comb through my hair. 

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror after doing what I could to fix my appearance. Staring back at me were puffy, red eyes peering out of a tired, pale face. My pants kept sliding down because of the weight I’d lost. 

The doorbell rang. It was the pastor. 

Reverend Ed is a short, stocky, strong, middle-aged man of German descent with blond hair. He’s gentle but strong. Beside him was a short middle-aged man with glasses whom the pastor just introduced as “Tom.” They both gave me firm, concerned handshakes. 

I did my best to get them refreshments, and then I sat down with them, feeling a little relieved to be able to get help, but also suddenly wondering if I’d called the right people. Tom looked stiff and uncomfortable, and he had the attitude of a man who had already made up his mind about what was in this universe and how things were supposed to run. 

“Now, Tom, before we jump to any conclusions, let’s let Jim share some details,” said the pastor. 

I took a deep breath and jumped into my story. I gave them a 45- minute summary. I included the fact that I’d seen my wife on board the craft, or whatever it was. I mentioned my recent conclusion that she’d been influenced by these aliens for years, if not her entire life. 

Well, I held their interest. That was for sure. They seemed entranced, but when I finished my story, Tom said, “Without a doubt there is demonic activity taking place here.” 

“I completely agree,” said the pastor, nodding gravely. “The ways of the Devil are confusing.” 

“The Devil!” I shook my head. “I’m not talking pitchforks and barbed tails or horns! I’m not even talking evil... I’m discussing a possible starcraft. I’m talking about amazingly advanced technology. We are not in the middle ages! These are aliens!” 

The pastor sighed. “I’m sorry, Jim. If this isn’t satanic work... well, then I’m afraid you must be taking some kind of drugs.” 

Tom nodded smugly. “In my experience, drugs and evil spirits are always linked.” 

“I almost wish this were so, fellows! But please believe me... these aren’t devils. Look. I’ll get Teresa. She’s more religious than I am. Maybe she’ll convince you.” 

When Teresa came out, she looked at me in a funny way. She’d brushed her hair and put on her dressing gown. She gripped a Kleenex and still claimed she had a cold. 

“I was telling the pastor about what happened last night, about the creatures who kidnapped me, and about you being there too,” I said. 

She gave me a look of sorrow, then turned to the man who had married us. “I have no idea what Jim is talking about.” 

I felt devastated. I snatched at straws. “Okay, Teresa. What about the people you call your Helpers from Heaven?” 

She shook her head. “I’ve never said anything like that, and I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jim.” 

“Is Jim taking some kind of prescription drug or illegal substances?” the pastor asked. 

“Not here,” Teresa answered, “not that I know of, anyway. I’m not sure if that’s the case when he goes up to North Carolina on business.” 

I had to fight for control. Inside, I was raging with frustration. I was asking for help and understanding here, and getting patronizing preconceptions. They weren’t dealing with me as a person. They were doing just what I’ve seen so many people do — come at things with prejudiced world views. 

So I had a choice, according to them, this could be either the Devil or drugs! Quite peeved, my Italian anger lashed out. “Drugs! That’s it. You figured it out. Thank you for your expert opinion on the matter!” 

They told me I should go into rehab and get professional help. I promised to consider that, thanked them for coming and suggested that they leave. 

“I’ll get the phone numbers you can use,” promised the pastor. “I’ll call you back.” 

When Teresa and I were finally alone, I confronted her. “Why didn’t you tell them the truth?” 

Aloof and defensive, she said, “I couldn’t. I didn’t want them to think I was crazy.” Crazy, or in my satanic cult, or shooting drugs with her hubby. 

Well, whatever. From then on, I never pressed my wife for answers or even support. In fact, from then on she would get hostile if I were even to mention or hint about the subject. Her way of coping was denial. 

I can’t tell you how isolated I felt, how alone, how abandoned. I’d reached out, and I’d been handed presuppositions and platitudes. 

I had to regroup or I’d be totally lost. After that dreadful meeting with the pastor, I went for a walk. 

I sat down on a bench in a park. I knew they could probably “pull” me back from anywhere, but daytime abductions were rare so far. I didn’t feel safe necessarily, but I felt I had some space. Again, my indignation and anger was what kept me going. I would make a plan, I thought, managing to steel myself. 

I outlined the pattern of the abductions in my head. Okay. 3:30 A.M. Awaken. Strange lights. Holograms. Symbols. Terrible fear. Static electricity. Despite all this hoopla, though, immediately after the dramatic prologue, there was always an overwhelming urge to go back to sleep. 

Next time, Jim — 3:30 A.M. Lights... camera… action. No back to sleep, guy. Jump out, get in your car and drive as fast and as far away as possible. 

This was a pretty simple plan, but it kept me together over the next two weeks. True, I wasn’t totally myself. The nights were still hard, but I had a plan. I knew what I was going to do. 

In April, 1989, my tormentors came for me again.

 Chapter 7

Nowhere to Hide

Sleep is important. Some people resent it because they can’t go out and earn money or play or whatever, and scientists still don’t understand it totally. What they do know is that while you’re sleeping, things get fixed inside your head and body, and maybe most important of all, the chemicals that make life bearable — like dopamine — get manufactured and released.

I don’t have to be a scientist to know that getting too little sleep in that period of my life was doing me no favors. I felt wretched. I would try to sleep, yes, but it would be a fitful sleep. I had a plan, and I knew that even if I got abducted I’d come back. That didn’t help the incredible instinct-level fear and pain that the experiences caused in my head. You can tell your core self that everything is going to be okay — but you are still going to have terrible emotions if something terrifying is happening. 

And if someone knows those pain-and-fear circuits and where exactly to hit your buttons to get the responses they want... some people would call that torture. 

I’d call it my life in 1989. 

It was 3:20 A.M., two weeks after the last encounter, to the day. Somehow I’d managed to fall asleep after the requisite tossing and turning, and when I saw those numbers on the digital clock, I pretty much knew what was up. 

A glowing, green ball of light suddenly emerged from the living room wall. It shimmered and spun, like something from Industrial Light and Magic Cinema effects, only immensely creepier. The ball of light changed, wiggled and elongated. Slowly it described what looked at first like a figure 8, or maybe the sign for infinity. Wobbly. Phosphorescent. 

Unaccountably, I muttered to myself: “Time for an experiment.” 

Even as the words escaped my lips, I had no idea how I knew this. It felt like a fact, but I don’t remember ever being told this before. 

The familiar fear struck, and with it came adrenalin, which sparked memory. 

My plan! 

The urge to fall asleep again rolled over me, but this time I fought it off. “No way,” I snarled. 

I managed to force myself off the sofa and lumber back to the bedroom where I threw on some clothes. Teresa was in bed, sleeping. The way I felt about her betrayal had made me think I could just drive off without her. Now, though, I realized I simply couldn’t abandon her to these whatever-they-weres. 

I woke her up. I threw her robe on her. She was groggy but compliant. I led her out to the garage and our car. 

At the time we lived about 35 miles southwest of Houston in a subdivision called Pecan Grove Plantation. I sped the car away as quickly as I dared, just putting as much distance as possible between me and that glowing twist of light. I’m not sure why, but I took the first turn I could. 

Unfortunately, there were no lights about, no houses, and no other autos on this road. 

Smart, I thought. A dark and lonely road, but I pressed on, still trying to gain that distance. 

Teresa said, “You need to pull over.” 

She said it quietly. But her voice and what she said unnerved me. She didn’t ask me what we were doing or where we were going. She didn’t request that we go back. 

I ignored her and if anything sped up. 

Louder, she said it again. When I didn’t respond, she did something I never thought she might do; it was so out of character. Teresa’s generally a prudent and cautious person, the type that looks all ways before she crosses the street. 

“Pull over!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. She grabbed the steering wheel and tried to wrench it from my grasp. The car swerved wildly, the lights from our headlights bouncing all over the place. I was so alarmed, it seemed like I had no other choice. I veered to the shoulder, right by a large cow pasture. The odor of manure wafted through my open window. It was pitch black beyond our lights. There was no one about for miles. 

“Why did you do that?” I demanded. 

Instead of responding, she just fell back on the seat. Whether she passed out or fell asleep it was hard to say, but she was out and wouldn’t wake up even though I shook her. 

As though that sleep was contagious, a tremendous wave of weariness passed over me. I felt so drowsy, the prospect of driving along a back road seemed ludicrously dangerous. As my exhaustion increased, I realized I had no choice. I turned off the engine and lights, and leaned my head back. Just for a moment... I promised myself. I’m going to close my eyes for just a bit and then I’ll feel better. Then came…. 

The sensation of something near.... 

The crunch of gravel as though through cotton.... 

The feeling of being moved…. 

My eyes fluttered open. Just beside me was my car — the outside of my car. 

“How did I get here?” I thought and then I realized that something was holding on to my right arm. I was standing up, walking like some kind of zombie. I was guided through the field that stretched out beyond my parked car. I don’t know how long I walked, because everything was disjointed and wavering. But then I saw something like a dome rising up high from the ground outlined by trees. 

Some sort of craft? 

The fog just drifted over my brain, heavier, until it enveloped me. The next thing I knew I was exactly where I’d been trying to avoid — the alien schoolroom, with its hard bench, screens and grim schoolmaster included. 

I had the presence of mind to conclude that the dome I’d seen, the vessel-like thing, was where I had been taken. Even as I sat there, feeling the familiar feelings and getting ready to take my instruction, I realized that without the awful acceleration that seemed to tear my cell structure apart at its seams, I wasn’t quite as angry as usual, nor in exactly the same terrorized state I usually suffered. 

If the other way of getting to the room was the hard way, then this was the easy way. 

This was the way I started to view my arrivals here. 

Needless to say, over the years I experienced both ways many times. And although it might be concluded that I prefer the easy way of abduction, it’s no treat. It’s disorienting, and confusing. You get wrapped up in that interdimensional field and sometimes you think you’ve left vital parts of your soul behind. 

So here we were again, having come in via a different portal to what I came to think of as alien boot camp. 

And I had company now, other than your friendly neighborhood gumby workers and supervisor. There was this ant. It was a big red ant, and I recognized its type immediately. It was a bull ant, or perhaps a farm ant. It was crawling around in a circle maybe eighteen inches in circumference, right there on the table. And it was a perfect circle! I couldn’t see what was keeping the bull ant right on the border of the circle. 

The Voice inside my head said, “EXPERIMENT.” 

As soon as the word registered with me (and fitted into my interpretation of that twisted coil that looked like a figure 8) another word bloomed in my head. 

“KILL,” said the voice. 

Simultaneously, a symbol I knew must be the alien term for “Kill” flashed on the screen, noting that it would be easy to duplicate. I had an uneasy feeling about all this.... 

The Voice said, “DRAW THE SYMBOL TO KILL THE ANT.” 

“No!” I said loudly. “I won’t kill.” 

They didn’t like that. I got the increased air pressure treatment. 

“KILL!” 

“No!” Again, the air pressure upped again. My beating heart shifted into overdrive. It felt like there was some kind of heart attack coming on, but I managed to snarl out through gritted teeth: “You will never force me to kill.” 

All I had to do was to draw the symbol and my pain would cease. I tried to rationalize the fact that I wouldn’t actually physically kill the ant, but I realized that there was cause and effect here — so it would be the same damned thing. 

“Killing is wrong,” I said. 

This was the most tormenting moment so far. The agony just got way up there. Desperately, I tried one last tactic. “You bastards will have to kill me first because I won’t do it! Go ahead. I’m not afraid to die!” The last bit was a total lie. Somehow, despite all I’d been through, I still had the will to survive. 

I watched the supervisor approach. Well, were they sick of this? Were they just going to put me out of my misery? But then I could feel some kind of probing, mental fingers pushing through the fibers of my mind, searching for a weakness. 

Suddenly, a three-dimensional image sprang before me. I saw, in this video-like image, my brother in a hospital room, clutching his heart, his face red, clearly at death’s door. 

The implication was clear. I had to draw that symbol, or my brother would die. 

The pain I was experiencing was one thing, but the thought of harm coming to my brother was more than I could bear. I broke down and copied that symbol. 

Coincidentally, my brother did have heart trouble ten months later, but he recovered fully. Nonetheless, right there, right then, the big red ant curled into a ball and was still. It died. At the same time, the discomfort ceased. 

The supervisor alien backed off, turned and left. I just sat there. Tears came to my eyes. Weeping, I said, “Why did you do this to me?” 

“WE HAD TO BE SURE.” 

“Be sure of what...?” 

“THAT YOU’RE NOT A KILLER. YOU’RE NOT.” 

I completely blacked out. I was put back in my car — a door handle. A wheel and gear shift. A glove box. Pine fresh deodorizer. 

Slowly, things phased back in for me, resolving into a familiar scene. My car. I was sitting in the driver’s seat of my car. There was a kink in my neck. My head was twisted back onto the seat in an uncomfortable position. I gasped but couldn’t move. I was able to make out a dim form next to me — Teresa, slumped on the seat beside me. 

Slowly the power of movement flowed back into me. I just wanted to get out of that place, so I turned on the ignition. The sound of the engine rolling over woke Teresa. “Why did you turn off the road?” she asked. 

She didn’t know? “I was tired. I pulled over.” It seemed pointless to explain. 

“Emergency?” 

“Teresa, how long do you think it’s been since we left the house?” 

She blinked. “Just a few minutes.” 

Well, just a glance at the clock told me that we’d been gone a couple of hours. 

“What did we leave for in the first place, Jim?” 

I was far too gummed up in my head, too upset and confused to try to explain everything. “I needed to take a ride, and I wanted you with me,” I answered, lamely. 

“Jim, I think you need help.” 

Yes, I needed help. 

But I knew that I wouldn’t be getting help from my wife. 

The whole of the next day I was numb inside both mind and body. “Damn!” I was thinking. “Those things can get you anywhere!” 

However, over the next few weeks they left me alone. 

I tried to open up, talk to friends, but they just looked at me oddly and patronized me. 

No help there! I tried to get my life and my business back together. In May of 1989, I devised a strategy. All my problems were centered around the whole abduction experience. If I could get somewhere where I couldn’t be whisked away, surely then I could concentrate on getting the rest of my life — and my work — back together. 

I found a hotel — the tallest building in downtown Houston. Surely here I would be safe! 

I asked Teresa to come along with me, and she agreed to give it a try. 

Even as I checked in, I felt better. It was a nice room, and although home is always nicer, home lately had been a place of terror. I managed to eat a decent dinner, and I took a long bath. I promised myself that tomorrow would be a full work day. 

I woke up in the middle of the night. The room seemed cold and strange. The clock read 3:00 A.M. exactly. 

Something fluttered on the other side of the bed. 

My heart in my mouth, I turned and looked over Teresa’s form, asleep beside me. 

Hovering overhead, like some ghost, was a translucent owl. 

Time for School. This time, I didn’t bother to wake Teresa. I hopped out of bed and grabbed the suitcase I’d left packed for just this possibility. I rode the elevator down to the garage, got my car and headed for another part of downtown Houston. 

As I pulled into the parking lot of another hotel, I thought, sardonically, “At least they can’t get me while I’m driving.” 

Rousing the clerk, I requested a room smack in the middle of the hotel. No windows, please. How long would I be staying? 

“The whole night,” I said. “I hope.” 

When I got to the room, I threw down my suitcase and flopped into bed. 

Surely I was safe here! Surely they can’t get me here! 

I fell asleep immediately.

I don’t know how long I slept, but it seemed like no time at all. The next thing I knew, I was being swept away again with that low-pitched whirling sound to the place where I did not want to go. 

Acceleration. 

“Oh, God!” I whispered. “Is there nowhere to hide?”

next-87s

Abandoned Home

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