Part 4 : The Keepers An Alien Message for the Human Race ...The Watchers in the Lincoln ... Graduation ... My Daughter ... Beach Puzzles

The Keepers 

An Alien Message 

for the Human Race 

Jim Sparks

Chapter 12

The Watchers in the Lincoln

Getting pulled into a lesson again was no easy thing for me, and as soon as I woke up back in my North Carolina hotel room and thought, “I’m not safe anywhere,” I crawled right back into the bottle. I stayed in North Carolina two more weeks — drinking. When I got back to Texas I continued drinking about three more months, but then one morning I woke up after an abduction, and I thought, “That’s it.” Drinking alcohol is no solution. I knew I wasn’t an alcoholic. I didn’t need the booze physically, I was just trying to escape. So there and then, I made a decision: I have to face all this cold sober — stare it down — live with it. It was an important step. Drinking was probably hindering my ability to cope. I don’t feel guilty about resorting to alcohol, I just feel smarter now. My advice to my fellow abductees is — alcohol does not help you, drugs do not help you, running does not help you — only other human beings can help you. Getting understanding and compassionate people around you is what helps. I guess that’s true with everything, and I guess that’s what I was looking for then, but I sure wasn’t finding it. 

When I got back from North Carolina in June, 1989, I was a wreck. Teresa was gone. She’d taken a leave of absence from work and simply wasn’t around. I thought this was probably a good idea. I thought it may also have been a leave of absence from our marriage, which was good. I needed to work all this mess through, figure out what was happening and learn to deal with it. You may be thinking at this point that all this was deadly serious and without a shred of humor, but it wasn’t.  

As soon as I got home, I shocked the local security guard and mailman, and I don’t blame them. I’d weighed 160 pounds the last time they’d seen me, and I was probably down to 130 or 125 pounds. I was haggard, unshaven, and scruffy as hell. I probably looked a little like Howard Hughes in his last horrible years in Las Vegas. As I was getting my mail, my neighbor, a gregarious guy named Larry, came out and took one look at me and just stared, with his mouth open. I looked back at him. 

“Aliens,” I said. The ludicrousness of the whole situation was juxtaposed against my suburban home and the everyday arrival of my mail, so I just told him the reason, pure and simple. 

“What?” 

I shook my head, astonished at myself. “Never mind.” 

Larry was the accountant type who enjoyed conversation with me because I was more of a chance taker or rebel than he was, and he was curious. Our first conversation had been short, but it didn’t take me long before he craved conversation with me to learn my skills of marketing and selling. 

“Really,” Larry said, “Tell me what’s going on!” 

“If I tell you, you’re just going to think I’ve gone crazy.” 

“No I won’t. I promise.” 

I shrugged, too tired to object. “Well you asked for it! Come on in and I’ll make us some iced tea.” I figured after about ten minutes of my story he would probably leave. I filled his ears with 40 minutes’ worth of summarized alien abductions. I even walked him into the guest room and presented one of the featured props, the guest room window that the aliens walked me through. I went into some detail as to how the acceleration worked, and how it felt. Larry honestly seemed to pay attention and accept what I was saying. Most people either got frightened or got a “Yeah, sure, goofball” look in their eyes. Not Larry. 

When I finished I asked the golden question, not knowing what to expect: “Well? What do you think?” 

“I believe you. The same thing happened to my cousin.” 

You could have knocked me over with a feather. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Not only am I serious,” Larry said, “but I can help you.” 

“What do you mean by, ‘Help me?’” 

“I know how to make all this stop,” he announced. 

“How?” 

Larry smiled. “Don’t you worry about it. I’ll take care of it. I’m off duty at work just before dark. When my shift is over I’ll be back, and I’ll take care of your problem.” 

I think he patted my back comfortingly. I was open to anything but still it sounded too simple. 

“Just like that?” 

“Yes, don’t worry. I know what to do.” 

I just sat there, stunned, thinking, “Could it be this simple? Have I actually found someone who could put an end to this?” 

As the day wore on, I made listless stabs at trying to get my business back into order, periodically wondering if maybe Larry was humoring me. Maybe he was off to get a paddy wagon and professional mental experts. On the other hand, he was a pretty reliable, steady guy. He’d always been a good subdivision security guard and had helped me out before. Larry was a police officer and a good one, the kind you could trust. So maybe he really meant what he said. And if he came back with a good shrink — well, I was open to just about anything.

Thirty minutes before dark, Larry the cop was knocking at the door. I opened it, and he was there, smiling sympathetically, alone. In his arms he held a carton of eggs, a cloth doll with a crucifix around its neck, and a bottle of water. 

“It’s always best to do these things just before dark on a Sunday,” Larry announced as he brushed past me. 

“What things?” It didn’t look like things I’d like much, but you know, how can you say no to a burly, cocksure cop?  

“First of all, Jim, take me to your guest room window,” Larry said confidently. 

“What for?” 

“You’ll see.” So, I led him to the guest room. He set the doll on the windowsill, facing it and its crucifix toward the outside. 

“What did you do that for?” I asked. 

“To ward off the evil spirits coming through the window,” he said with a determined “Of course!” emphasis. 

I’d pretty much figured that Larry was up to some kind of voodoo hoodoo, and the thought of what my drones and supervisor would make of all this kind of struck me as damned funny. I wanted to burst out laughing, but I managed to contain myself. Larry was so sincere about this, that I was sure either I would hurt his feelings if I laughed, or maybe even get him angry. 

“What’s the little bottle of water for?” I asked. 

“It’s holy water,” he explained. 

Larry started sprinkling that water all through the house. As this ceremony proceeded, I just stood there thinking that I was witnessing an example of precisely why extraterrestrials just don’t land on the White House lawn and say, “Hi! We’re here!” 

So Larry drenched the house with water and grabbed that carton of eggs. “Let’s go outside,” he said. I followed him, not saying a word. On the lawn, he walked around the perimeter of the house placing eggs one at a time right up against the walls. Can you picture this? We’re talking about a guy who looks like “The Night of the Living Dead” warmed over, following a cop placing eggs — eggs — around a house! 

Then Larry said in a serious, confident tone, “The eggs should deter evil spirits from walking through the walls. The doll with the cross should stop them from coming through the window. Now if they are still determined enough to somehow get in, they should leave right away because they can’t stand the holy water.”  

I didn’t want to offend Larry, so I acted interested. I asked him where he got the idea to do something like this. He told me that his family heritage was Mexican Indian. These sorts of remedies, he claimed, had been in his family for generations. Well, I’d said “aliens.” Obviously, he interpreted “aliens” as manifestations of evil spirits. If I said that they were “extraterrestrials” now, he probably would have just nodded his head sagely and said “Of course they’re extraterrestrials! They’re from Hell!” 

Now mind you, I have no intention here, or there with Larry — or anywhere for that matter — of demeaning anyone’s beliefs, because I realize how important a person’s spiritual philosophy is. On the other hand, I don’t have a problem with distinguishing religious entities — including superstitious critters — and ETs. I’ll tell you, humans would far prefer to believe in anything other than the fact that there is advanced non-human intelligence secretly interacting with us! Still, just because I knew my tormentors were extraterrestrial didn’t mean I was dealing with it particularly well. I must say, I got a chuckle out of Larry’s performance, and more than that, I appreciated his help. 

Maybe those eggs did keep the evil spirits away, at least for two days. Then a disturbing thing happened that did not feature extraterrestrials, but had everything to do with them. If you’ve read other writings about UFOs or aliens, or even if you only see movies or have watched “X-Files,” you’ll know about the Men in Black. Well, let’s just say here that I’ve met some guys that are awfully similar! Two days after Larry put his strange barrier blessing on my house, I was looking out of my window. It was morning, and for some reason I had a strange sense that there was something out there. 

Parked across the street from my house was a late-model Lincoln sedan. Two men sat inside. I had the unsettling feeling that the two men were watching my house and watching me. 

I immediately caught myself. “Whoa, guy!” I thought. “You’re getting kind of paranoid here, aren’t you?” 

Still, I felt uneasy. I went back to trying to get my business back together, but I looked out every hour or so to see if that car was still there. It was. Eight hours after the first sighting, the car was still there, complete with its men, and I still felt weird about the whole thing. I mean, just because I was paranoid didn’t mean these guys weren’t after me, to paraphrase a joke. I figured that if these guys were really here for me, the most logical thing to do next would be to go to the store to see if they would follow. 

Sure enough, when I headed for the store in my car, they followed, hanging behind about a half-block. I went to a store that I figured would be a safe place. I went in and bought some groceries. Back outside, I saw the car again. The men were definitely watching me. Being on edge didn’t help me, and I shouldn’t have let my temper get the best of me, but I guess I just snapped. I walked right up to the guys. “What the hell are you watching me for?” 

They didn’t answer. They just looked at me, as though they were studying me, and taking mental notes. Exasperated, I cursed, spun on my heel and went back to my car. The men followed me back home. I thought about calling the police, but were these guys doing anything illegal? Besides, calling the cops wasn’t how I’d find out who they really were. They’d probably planned for that and would either split at the first sign of a bubble top or, worse, already have the police in collusion. 

“No,” I thought, “They have me where I want them.” 

I would watch them, too. What with the outrageous things happening to me in the past year, this was just another oddity that I could add to the list. They’d make some sort of move soon enough. Calmed down, I took careful notice of the car. It was a white four-door sedan. It had Texas plates, but the car was unmarked in any other way. They didn’t look like what I thought your prototypical government men should look like. They were crew-cut middle-aged men in dark suits, and they didn’t even wear sunglasses! Both of the guys seemed thirtyish. One of the odd things, though, was that they didn’t seem to take breaks. I didn’t catch them eating once any of the times I checked. 

Toward evening, I heard a car starting. I peered out the window. Their Lincoln was just pulling away and heading down the street. In its place, though, was a white sedan, with two more different men. A change of shifts! I got little sleep that night, because I was determined to keep watch on the new car. I checked every hour or so, but all it did was sit there! (I always wondered why the neighbors didn’t notice and call the police.) 

In the morning, I was tense, worn out, and agitated again. Maybe if they thought I was about to run for it, they’d do something and I’d be able to understand what was going on. I found the automatic garage opener. I opened the garage door, but I didn’t go out. Sure enough, that got a response. There was a knock on the door. I guess I panicked, because instead of answering the door, I went out the garage. I didn’t get in my car, I just looked around to see who was out there. The two guys from the day before stood on my front porch. As though he knew I was watching him, one of the men turned and stared straight at me. 

“Jim!” 

“Yes,” I found myself saying. 

“Look. We know what you’re going through,” he said in a reasonable tone. “But you have to stop talking about it.” 

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” 

They just whispered to each other, which got my goat. 

“If you’re not going to identify yourself, I’m going to call the police,” I threatened. 

The other one spoke in a low voice. “Jim. You have to stop talking about these experiences of yours, or we’ll have to make it so you can’t talk at all.” 

“Who the hell are you?” I demanded. “And how do you know what I’ve been through? You want to explain what I’ve been through? Hmm. That would be great, because I sure would like to know myself!” 

My anger bolstered my courage, because I walked right up to them. They just stared at me. “If you don’t stop talking about it, we will hurt your wife and family.” That did it. 

“You bastard!” 

I grabbed the guy and pushed him against the door. The guy did nothing to defend himself. The other did nothing to help his partner out.  

Seeing red, I snarled at the guy I was holding, “If you even so much as touch my wife or family, I’LL KILL YOU!” 

Believe me, even though I have a good bit of Italian temper in me, I’d never behaved like this before. I was like a maniac. Shocked, I let the guy go. He just nodded to the other and they started walking back to their car. At the car, they stopped, and the guy I’d manhandled spoke. 

“You must stop talking to others about it!” he said.

Chapter 13

Graduation

Yes, I was upset. Again, though, my anger focused me. Was I foaming at the mouth? Maybe. Fuming and wanting to kick something? Perhaps. As the sight of those guys driving away lingered in my head, I tried to calm myself. Nonetheless I was thinking clearly enough to be aware of something — something important. I was crazy mad, yes, but I wasn’t crazy. 

The fact that these guys — government goons, alien pawns or whatever — spoke to me about what was happening to me, was an acknowledgment that something bizarre was happening to me, even when everyone I knew would not accept that what was happening to me was real. And the fact that they did this in broad daylight, in the consensus reality of cars, a suburban neighborhood and a food store, meant someone was confirming to me the reality of these abductions! 

In a strange way, even though these fellows fell far short of being friends, they were doing me a favor. Men in black, princes of paranoia, whatever the hell they were, they’d given me a gift. Even though I had no answer to my question, I was somehow less alone, to say the least. 

A couple of hours later, a couple more guys in a white sedan showed up. That was enough. I decided that I should do something. I almost liked this particular mystery. I looked up the closest address for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I couldn’t do much in the matter of my alien tormentors, but I sure could do something significant in broad daylight! I was going to go to the authorities, to the people sworn to protect common Joes like me. I wasn’t sure what would happen, but at  least I could see if they’d follow me! More than that, I’d be able to see how determined they were to keep tabs on me! 

So into his car goes Jim Sparks. Out goes Sparks into No Man’s Land, determined to see just how determined this new batch of guys were! Sure enough, it didn’t take long to find that white sedan in my rear-view mirror. First I sped down some farm roads at 80 m.p.h., and that white sedan just kept up with me. Back to the highway went I, back to the highway went they. Onto the freeway I led them, driving like a maniac, passing and twisting and turning through the traffic — and they paced me. 

Miracle of miracles, I wasn’t stopped by cops. Maybe I would have been eventually, but we hit a major traffic jam, the bumper-to-bumper variety. Everything indicated an accident up ahead, nothing uncommon on this freeway. As I sat there, smelling the exhaust and feeling the anger and uneasiness accumulate around me on that hot Texas highway, I thought, “Let’s see how serious they are!” Without giving any warning, I floored the gas pedal and turned onto the shoulder. With tires screeching, I kicked up lots of dirt and gravel back onto their car. I felt clammy with perspiration. The guys were still on my tail! I sped down the shoulder about half a mile and drove through a shallow ditch onto the service road that ran parallel to the freeway. 

I found my way out of that mess and navigated my way back toward the address I’d found for the FBI. That sedan followed me straight there. Sure enough, the place looked official enough: a government-style building, with a chain-link fence and parking lot. I pulled up in front of it, stopped and looked. They weren’t behind me. They’d stopped a bit back. 

“Okay, Jim.” I asked myself. “What now?” 

Well, I was here. Let’s see what would happen. I went inside that F.B.I. building into a standard issue Reader’s Digest and cheap furniture waiting area, smelling of floor wax. Behind a glass partition was a woman. I wasn’t sure what to do, so on the spur of the moment I devised a plan. I called myself Bob Jones. I told her I was being harassed by a religious cult. 

She seemed to take this in stride. I don’t know, maybe they get people every week who claim to be abducted by aliens and then followed by  guys dressed in black, but at least they wouldn’t think I was nuts if I told them this. I’d get to talk to someone. I wouldn’t get brushed off with a form and a “Please call this number if you see these aliens again.” 

Politely, she asked me to sit down. She’d get me an official. Sure enough, soon a man came out, conservatively dressed, with close-cropped hair. He was obviously an authority, but a relaxed and very kind authority. I explained that I thought my wife and I were being targeted or stalked by some sort of cult members. I tried to sound reasonable and logical — and above all, sane. His response was simple. 

“First of all,” he said, with a gentle but firm tone, keeping a sincere eye contact. “Religious cults are perfectly legal, unless of course they break the law, in which case you would have to take that up with the local authorities. Then upon the authorities’ request the F.B.I. could take action.” 

He was considerate, but didn’t spend much time with me. I didn’t get any kind of sense that he or the F.B.I. was involved in any kind of conspiracy with me as its subject. I felt a bit deflated. I’m not sure exactly why I didn’t tell him the truth and then run out and point at those guys in the car. Maybe I thought he’d just have me locked up. Or worse, if I dragged him out, the guys might be gone. I thanked him for his help, and he showed me to the door. 

What happened next I’ve shared with very few people, but I feel I should mention it here in my book. Those guys in the white sedan weren’t gone. They were still parked outside the fence. I was about to point them out to the FBI man, but the direction of his gaze indicated to me that he already knew who was there. Moreover, as he spotted them he lifted his hand — and waved to them. 

I almost fainted, I was so scared. Was this my imagination? It certainly opened a whole can of worms! Although the FBI cars in the outside lot were different from this one, it would seem that the agencies were working together. I tried to say something, but nothing came out. I’d lost all my fighting spirit. I just let them follow me home. I was bone tired, with this and the abductions, so I just decided to let them watch me sleep for a while. I managed to sleep for over ten hours. 

When I woke up, I peered out the front window. The men and their sedan were gone. It would be several months before I would see any other sign of them. To this day I have never solved this piece of the puzzle. Had my visit to the F.B.I. discouraged them? Had higher authorities pulled them off my case? Or was it all arbitrary? And, who were those men? 

All this happened in mid-1989. For a while things were quieter, save for strange noises and thumps and odd lights. Teresa would check on me from time to time, but I encouraged her to stay away. I tried to keep my business going, and make some money, but even so, I still was not in the best mental shape. 

In the last four months of 1989, I was abducted four to six times a month. Always I found myself in the same room, always being taught — but now I could communicate with the creatures better, clearer, and much faster. The reward sessions became more complex and interesting, and the semen extractions much more pleasurable. The Visitors seemed extremely interested in sex — my sexual drive and my libido. Oddly, I started to build a sense of trust with the creatures. I saw that they didn’t want to kill me, and some of my instinctual fear was dying down. Still, on a regular basis I would request to be allowed the freedom to move around and explore. This request was always denied or ignored. I knew in my heart that it was really my fault. I still felt a lot of animosity towards them. They felt this, and they didn’t trust me. During this time, I also noticed other aspects of the phenomena, and I experienced it directly. I began to understand the whole nature of the interdimensionality of these things. 

The following experience explains exactly why it’s so hard to pin these creatures down with the rules and laws of everyday reality. You’d think with the UFO reports coming down to us for fifty years, the general populace would have enough evidence by now to know if this was really happening or not. Well, the truth is that much of what happens simply doesn’t fit the day-to-day, nine-to-five, car in every garage reality that we live by. There’s so much interaction that’s reported about the Visitors that’s so dream-state-like and confusing, but I experienced all this in a waking state, and I remember it exactly. 

It’s late 1989. I’m lying on my sofa at night, sometime between 3:00 and 4:00 A.M. and I’m feeling a little jittery — anticipating something. The air just has that metallic taste... the atmosphere… that creepy feel.... I’d just been awakened from a deep sleep. Usually I have the overwhelming urge to go back to sleep. Then, acceleration... whoosh... disorientation... Lesson Time with my alien buddies. 

This time, though, it was different. I fought that return to sleep. I wanted to be consciously aware of exactly what happened. Difficult stuff. However, as you may have concluded by now I’m a willful bastard at times, and I clung to consciousness. The sitting position helped. I concentrated hard, and the first thing I noticed was a crackling sense of static electricity all around my body. Fear jabbed me hard. My heart started thumping, and my breathing got labored, then paralysis took over. My head started to pulsate so hard it felt as though my brain were going to burst out of my eyes. Then the sights and sounds of acceleration hit me. “If you don’t have a heart attack,” I thought, “you might be able to tell someone about this — so don’t have one!” 

The living room furniture started turning transparent. My television, chairs, sofa, then the walls themselves started to fade away. I discovered that I could turn my head to the right, left, up and down. The whirling sound became so loud I almost blacked out. I could feel the soft fibers of my carpet against my bare feet. I could also feel my rear end sinking into the foam rubber sofa cushion. Slowly my feet began to feel cold as though they were dangling in the air. At the same time I could feel cold hard metal under my butt. I looked down. My feet were dangling in the air as if propped on a hospital table. Yet at the same time I could see my feet firmly planted on my living room carpet. How could this be? Then I glanced down at my lower torso. I could see and feel myself sitting on a metal table, and I could see and feel myself still propped on my sofa. Somehow, I could also feel the cushion of the sofa at the same time that I could feel cold hard steel under my rear end. 

“Damn!” I said. “I’m half here — and half there....” 

But where was there? I certainly didn’t seem to be on the alien craft. All about me were my furniture, my walls, my television, lamps, and pictures of my living room, yet they were almost invisible. As I continued to stare I could see that I was in a large facility. The walls were painted white. The ceiling was much higher than normal, perhaps 30 feet high or so, and there were no windows. I recognized fluorescent light fixtures. On the Visitors’ craft, the lighting seemed to spill from everywhere. 

Around me now were human military guards with their backs against the wall, spaced about 20 feet apart. I couldn’t tell their service branch, but they looked like military police. Now, this could have been some sort of trick or screen imaging, or the interpretation my brain made of what was going on. However, the fear had left me. I could tell their magnetic field or whatever was still buzzing me — my heart thumped, electricity fuzzed all over me. My living room was completely gone now. Jim Sparks was 100% elsewhere... but where? 

It looked as though I’d been allowed to transfer consciously... but instead of putting me in front of their teaching tools, I was in some sort of underground facility. I say “underground” because it had that bunker feel, that subterranean texture. The walls looked like something humans would construct, only higher than usual, and, as I said, the lighting seemed fluorescent. From my perch on that metal table I could see that I was in one of many rooms separated by dividers. The divider to my right was clear glass or plastic. I could see activity… humans, not aliens. These humans wore white lab coats with ID tags. They were too far away for me to read their ID tags, but perhaps they were some sort of radiation detectors, because as they got closer I could see there was no writing on them at all. I also noted that they were of different colors. I tried to shout, but nothing came out — paralysis. 

A military officer approached the entrance to one of the lab rooms. Somehow, I felt I knew him. As he stood by the entrance, the men and women in the lab coats filed out one at a time — maybe 30 of them. My head cleared of acceleration effects. A man from the group stepped forward and stood about three feet from me. He was of medium build, about five feet eight with dark hair and glasses. He was definitely Asian. 

He held up what looked like a high-school graduation cap, with a tassel and all. “Congratulations.”  

I could suddenly talk again. “For what?” 

“You graduated.” 

“Graduated what?” I had déjà vu. Big time. I somehow recognized the guy, but I didn’t know how the heck I could have known him. It wasn’t like any memories came along with the recognition. Nonetheless my emotions were swinging from fear to comfort. I say comfort because somehow I felt safe with my own kind — and people I knew who wouldn’t hurt me. Nonetheless, I felt anger at being kept in the dark. 

“I know you!” I blurted. “I don’t know why, but I know you!” I was excited, and when I’m excited it’s hard for me to keep things close to my chest. I looked over to the others and got the same associated feelings. “I know you. I don’t know why I know this, but I know.” 

They all smiled. Then, one by one, they came up to my table and congratulated me. Not a one looked at all alien. This was bizarre, yes, but although it had a dream’s bizarre logic, it sure didn’t feel like a dream. 

When the last one was finished congratulating me, I asked again, “Congratulations for what?” 

No answer. They all left, save for two or three. They stood there whispering to each other, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. These people seemed as amazed as I was at the fact that I was there — as if I were some successfully conducted experiment, the results of which they were very happy with. Oddly enough I felt a strange pride, as though I’d somehow helped them. All sorts of thoughts passed through my mind, most as usual leading to more questions than answers. 

Then as one of them waved good-bye, that familiar low-pitched whirling sound sprang up again, and my heart began to race. Acceleration! Heart pounding, breathing difficult, I nonetheless kept my focus. I stared at the Asian man, who had the friendliest feel. Again, no blacking out — and the walls, rooms and lab equipment slowly faded, and my living room started fading back into place around me. Everything was the reverse of the previous experience, but holding in that half-there, halfhere moment. This time, I had no fear, just fascination as I experienced the blending shift of dimensions. There was something wondrous and amazing about the experience, I guess I could compare it to a caveman’s first flight on a 747 jumbo jet. 

They kept me in between for several minutes. I liked it. It was peaceful. Yes, this was strikingly different than the accelerations I experienced before. I was in slow motion. It felt good, euphoric, as though someone had a hand on a rheostat controlling pleasant feelings inside me. Then, after about a minute of holding this freeze in transit, the underground facility faded out and my living room came in stronger, bolder — filling out into reality. The rooms and hard hospital gurney where I’d been sitting faded totally. Slowly, the whirling sound subsided and my heartbeat slowed. I sat back on the sofa, totally exhausted. At first my muscles were wound tighter than a rubber band; then suddenly they relaxed. 

I looked around. Home sweet home. Funny thing, though. Usually, after this sort of trip I feel disoriented and traumatized. This time I just felt exhausted. I took a few deep breaths, and got off the sofa. I paced and I thought. What did all this business mean, then? This just made it stranger. Who would believe me? I almost wished those guys in the sedan were around. I’d ask them. “Look, tell you what. I won’t tell this to anyone, but you have to explain to me what the hell is going on!” 

Was that last incident an indication that I was part of some human experiment? Had some previous Jim Sparks volunteered, agreeing to have his memory taken? Or, and I was leaning toward this more heavily, was all that just an odd fabrication set up for me by my alien abductors to confuse me or to see how I would respond? 

But I seemed to know those people! 

Questions, questions, and damned few answers.

Chapter 14

My Daughter

In late 1989, I took stock of myself: One thirty-something Homo sapiens of Italian descent, caught up in something he didn’t understand. Feisty, but overpowered. My mirror did not lie to me, I looked rough. However, this latest experience gave me a better sense of control. And the fact that I’d stopped drinking, made me feel like there was still hope. 

I wasn’t going to let this thing get the best of me. I started to eat regularly, exercise, and take every opportunity to sleep. Yes, the abductions continued, and yes, I was not a smiling Jim Sparks — but my physical health improved and my weight shot back up. Plus I probably smelled a heck of a lot better, too. Still, I didn’t socialize. Teresa checked in on me and even stayed for periods of time, but I didn’t want her at the house long. My father would call me from Florida. “Hey Jim,” he’d say. “Come and visit me and your Mom.” He didn’t exactly buy my aliens story, but he thought that getting out of Texas for a while might do me some good. Dad was convinced I was sick. I’d refuse, but something deep inside told me it might be a good idea and one of these times I might just do that. 

The abductions continued. I won’t bore you. They got to be routine, but around this time something else happened of note. I was there in alien zone, sitting with the teaching thing. The workers were working, and the lesson was spinning along — then everything halted. The machine went black, and the workers froze. 

In came the Supervisor, and he froze too! A queer feeling came to my gut as the light in the room began to dim. My head and eyes seemed  pulled to the left. Five feet away was a hologram: a tall, quite steep, jagged cliff, rising up to a sharp peak. The light that projected from this hologram was intense, its clarity astounding. An intimidating figure appeared, perched on the peak of the cliff, a magnificent sight! It radiated power and shone with glory. It was a birdlike figure, but not just any bird. I recognized it from pictures, though it outstripped those pictures. 

It was the mythical phoenix, glorious in gold and silver plumage, with flashing blue, blue eyes. I was awed and overwhelmed. There was something terrifically spiritual about the thing that just pierced me. My pulse pounded, and I stood transfixed as this phoenix spread its large wings, almost as though ready for flight. Just at the point that the blinding light was too much to bear, and the bird-thing seemed poised to fly straight at me, with a sharp implosion, the thing was gone. Normality returned. The teaching continued, the workers moved, and the Supervisor left. I couldn’t continue interacting with that machine. I was just emotionally drained. 

“What the hell was that?” I asked them. When they didn’t reply, I got some of my angry emotions back. I yelled at them and called them mindless drones. “You have no souls!” I screeched. The magnificence of the thing I had seen fed the rebellion in me. The workers turned. In those almond eyes shimmered what seemed awareness. It was as though the phoenix plus my outburst had knocked them toward an attempt at examining their own existence. This made me wonder again if these workers weren’t artificially constructed. Then I felt the presence of the Supervisor. I turned and, sure enough, the boss was there. 

“DON’T SAY THAT TO THEM.” 

Somehow, I felt guilty for a moment, but then my outrage returned. I wrote out my question on the screen, as they’d requested. “What was that bird?” 

No direct answer. Nonetheless, an image formed in my mind. It was an outline memory of my classroom in elementary school. I saw myself as a child standing among my classmates, gazing at the American flag and reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. I got it. That bird symbolized whatever their society or government or alien equivalent was. They were paying some sort of respect. Why it had shown up then is hard to say. Maybe it was part of my education. All of this the aliens neither confirmed or denied, but I was satisfied that this was the case. 

I felt a twinge of remorse. Maybe I shouldn’t have shouted such abuse at my captors. I had every right, and these angry spoutings were helping me to keep sane, but still, I had a twinge of guilt. They were showing me something of themselves. In a sense, the experience with that phoenix bridged a small gap. Recognizing and respecting the symbol of one’s nation — for us, the flag, for them, the phoenix — was something we had in common. They seemed somehow a little less... alien. 

After the phoenix experience, things were quiet and I recovered physically, if not totally emotionally. Larry the cop dropped by a few times to see if his anti-hoodoo was working. I told him it must be helping some. The rest of the neighbors, and my other friends ignored me. 

As for my business, all I can say is thank God for Jim in North Carolina who took up the slack. I paid him a fair commission, but he went above the call of duty. I’m sure Jimmy thought I was on a major drug trip, or that I had just lost my mind. But if it weren’t for him and his wife Peggy, both excellent real estate brokers, I would have gone completely bankrupt. 

At this point in my life, the only thing that seemed to matter to me was to survive this abduction phenomenon. Christmas of 1989 was around the corner, and Teresa was coming home to spend it with me. My relationship with her was distant at best, mostly because although there was a three-week lull in abduction activity, the paranormal stuff continued: strange lights, noises, and things flying around the house. If not for my alien experience I would have thought the place was haunted by a poltergeist. Worker aliens appeared in transparent state to observe my daily activity. At other times they would make their appearance more obvious, in which case I would yell a few obscenities at them. Mostly I was tired of fighting and just allowed them their odd communications. 

The aliens seemed to be extremely interested in spontaneous human reactions and emotions. I got the impression that they were somehow recording or storing the information. Sometimes I would even hear them when they got into solid mode, bumping into things or knocking things down. In 3-D reality, they were clumsy guys! They were masters of their spacecrafts, but clods in Jim Sparks’s house! 

They had me happily sequestered in isolation. No one believed my stories... and they knew it. However, I was thinking clearly enough by now (thanks in large part to the return of my health) that there were others  besides Teresa and myself who had encountered them. Did they have the same residual effects as me? Did they feel as though their dormant telepathic muscle was being worked? I now longed to meet these people, but when? 

Teresa and I had a relatively nice holiday and fell into the easier going aspects of a relationship. Our bodies and minds were, after all, ultimately used to each other’s company. The traditions of the season helped lull us into the illusion of normality. Then, just a couple of days before New Year’s Eve, I was “pulled” the hard way. There, before that teaching machine, I felt I’d hardly left, as though my real life were the abnormality. 

On this particular trip, I was taught a lesson on some rather complex symbols that were difficult to learn because as I duplicated each stroke, I could feel motion from the stroke throughout my whole body. For example, if I moved my stroke to the left, I could feel that same flow move through my body to the left. The same sensation applied for up, down, angles, circles and so forth. I got the sense that I was learning the basic principles of telepathic communication. 

I began to understand. Could this be a tool in communicating messages between extraterrestrials and humans? This could even be an experiment to see how much we could actually communicate. One thing was certain — the only way I had any hope of getting answers to questions was to address them with writing in their symbols. This understanding gave me incentive to learn because it was easier to interact with them. It helped make my abduction experiences go a lot faster and more smoothly. 

In the midst of this lesson the word “LOOK” appeared on the table screen. Beside the table screen was a girl, a human girl, I thought at first. Then I had to look closer, because I wasn’t so sure. She was young, maybe twelve or so. She just stood there, staring at me, and not one time did she blink. A real cute girl — frail, with a slightly pointed chin, thin short, dirty-blond hair. However, by human standards her nose was too small, her lips were too thin. What stood out the most were her eyes. They almost looked like human eyes, but rounder and larger. I wasn’t frightened. I couldn’t stop looking into those eyes. I sensed love and at the same time a mental strength. My impression was that she was half human and half alien, but there was something else. Something hauntingly familiar. Then it hit me. She was my daughter. 

“She’s mine!” I found myself saying. Of course, I had no daughter I knew of, but I couldn’t deny that some of her features were similar to mine, though definitely blended with the alien characteristics. Before I could think too much about this, one of the new symbols flashed. Next to it “TUG OF WAR” appeared. I thought to myself, “TUG OF WAR? You mean, like the camp game?” Then the girl’s eyes started to move. The symbol was duplicated, and I could tell that the girl was doing this with her mind. I could sense her telepathic activity with my own newly acquired ability. Only she was doing it wrong. I tried to tell her this, with my mind — and she seemed to understand, but she ignored me. Once again on the wall screen the words “TUG OF WAR” appeared. I formed the symbol properly for her, with my finger, repeating it to her with my mind. 

She didn’t like that. Struggle showed on her face as we went forth in a kind of tug of war indeed, altering the symbol. Oddly at the same time during this game, I felt I was communing with my newfound hybrid daughter. The experience was almost like hugging a child, yet without touching. I caught the meaning pretty quickly. It was a game. I could feel the radiation of strange energy from her. 

Had this been the destination of my sperm? Was she a reproductive hybrid of me and some extraterrestrial biology? Anyway, the tug of war was oddly enjoyable, once I realized it was a mental game, and I got involved with it. I drew a new symbol, one that I’d just learned, and we went back and forth with that. It was an interesting interplay, and I felt a kinship, a bond. Then I could sense it was time to go. Acceleration. Living room... sofa, paralyzed, of course. I sat there, thinking about the implications of the little girl I’d just been with — my little girl? Yes, I was sure of it. It was unsettling, yes, but I also wasn’t as upset as I usually am after an abduction. 

I got some sleep. In the morning, I decided to make breakfast for Teresa, who was sleeping in. I needed eggs, so I headed off to the store. I had a good feeling inside of me, as though I’d reached a turning point and  maybe the rest of the way on this strange journey would be up. Outside though, who should be waiting for me but the guys in the white Ford sedan, just sitting there watching. I recognized them, all right, and my benevolent mood vanished. I lost my temper and screamed toward them and immediately canned the expedition. They’d follow for sure and I’d be so pissed off, I’d do something like run into them. I headed back into the house. Cereal and toast would have to do for breakfast. I also came to a decision. 

As we ate, I told Teresa about my father’s invitation. I told her that I wanted to accept it and sincerely asked her, in the interest of our relationship, to go along with me. We didn’t have to stay long, I promised, just long enough for me to get myself back into order. She didn’t have to think long. She could see I was really struggling, but succeeding. She knew that maybe this would be the best course for me. She agreed. In fact, when I told her that, as she was still on an indefinite leave of absence, I thought maybe she should leave a few days ahead of me, to get my parents ready for me and to get our living arrangements set up. I checked with Mom and Dad. “Yes, certainly,” they said. “The sooner the better.” 

When Teresa was ready, I drove her to the airport, but I didn’t point out to her the guys following us in the white sedan. I didn’t tell her anything about what was going on, just that I was working hard on getting better. I kissed her good-bye and for a moment, as I held her, there seemed to be a moment of a brighter future. I might not be able to shake the Visitors, but maybe I could shake my flesh-and-blood trackers. I didn’t particularly want to encourage those guys in the Ford sedan to find out where I was going. Yes, they probably could, but it was worth a try to avoid them. Instead of sleeping at home that night, I checked into a downtown hotel. In the room, I thought about the past two years. I was through running away trying to seek denial and oblivion. I was onto something new. I didn’t really consider going to Florida as an escape. The Visitors surely had me tagged in some way; they’d proven that. No. In Florida, fortified by family, a relaxing by-the-sea climate, and a resolve to understand, I was going to face what was happening to me. 

When I woke up the following morning in the hotel room, I was pleased to find that I hadn’t been abducted the night before. After washing up, I packed my belongings and headed for the airport. Sure enough, waiting for me outside were my two “friends.” I stopped at my house long enough to grab a few more things. My buddies followed me. At home I just hoped that going to Florida would shake these bozos for a while. As I packed, I felt in a way I never could have before that I could see a future, and it was a future in which I would never live in this house again. Alien gifted precognition or simple gut feeling? Who can say? 

As the two sedan boys followed me to the airport, I had another feeling. Anger. Paranoia. Tears stung my eyes. But almost as though I was calming myself, I had the feeling, the strong precognition that even though they probably had the wherewithal to follow me, going to Florida was the best way to ditch these goons. I was sad, too, because I loved Texas. I loved the home I’d built and the sense of place. But I had to move on. I just had to. It was the right feeling. 

Since that day, I’ve never again seen any of the guys who watched me from those white Ford sedans. Although I never knew exactly who they were, I didn’t really care. That was a mystery I didn’t want to work on. I had other mysteries to concentrate on.

Chapter 15

Beach Puzzles

I was born in the Miami area and lived there until I was eighteen, when we moved to the west coast of Florida where I spent a good deal of time. The humid air, sunshine and palm trees, and fetid smells was home, but now Florida seemed far, far from Texas or anywhere else in the United States. 

This was a good thing, I thought, as I got a smack of tarmac smell in my face, and an urge to put on some shorts as soon as I got off the plane. Certainly the first thing I should do was to buy some sunglasses. A Florida winter was a lot brighter than a Houston winter! 

My father and mother had turned out to greet me along with my younger brother. It was good to see them. The kiss from my mother, the hearty handshakes from my father and brother felt good. Their presence made me immediately realize I’d done exactly the right thing. 

Teresa was at the house when we got there. We didn’t say much to each other. There wasn’t much to be said. I was glad to be there, though, and looking around the comfortable house all I could wonder was: How long before the Visitors come for me again? And how would they go about it, what with a house full of people? I had almost made up my mind at that point not to talk about the abductions. This was not the time or place for traumas, but it seemed reasonable now to venture out a bit. I mean, they were my family, right? If I was here long enough, they’d be able to see I wasn’t drinking and didn’t show any effects of drug abuse. 

So after I got settled in and the small talk got a bit strained, I asked Dad to go with me on a long walk. As the wind blew off the Atlantic and fluttered the palm leaves, we walked along the beach and I tried to tell him what was happening to me. He just kind of shut me out, as if he simply didn’t want to hear it. 

When I approached my mom, she was sympathetic but she couldn’t grasp any of the concepts I was dealing with. My brother simply figured I’d flipped my lid. These people had always considered me to be stable, logical and down to earth, but this out-of-this world Jim just didn’t fit them. 

However, my sister-in-law, Janet, did believe part of what I was saying. She told me about a friend of hers who had gone through almost the same thing, with a few slight differences. My ears perked up, and I asked her for specifics. 

“I have no idea where she is now,” she said. “She moved several years ago and we didn’t keep in touch.” 

Janet considered this friend stable and intelligent, so she thought it was worth listening to me and remaining open. It felt so good to have someone who didn’t think I was three engines short of a jet airliner. 

I settled down some, and everybody seemed to approve. Jim was becoming his old self again. 

Hooray. 

The move to my family’s home in Miami slowed down the abduction scenario. In fact, month after month passed with no sign of the things. Were they leaving me alone because they were giving my mental faculties a rest? Probably they didn’t really care. They hadn’t shown any consideration before. Why now? Maybe my living with a bunch of people slowed them down. Still, I had my own private room. No one had spotted them in the hotels they whisked me from. Were they finished with me? Probably not. I wasn’t sure what the reason was, but one thing was for sure, the thought of going back to Texas scared the daylights out of me. More and more I felt that I might never return to live there again. As time went by, I got even more of my mental and physical strength back, and my confidence returned. 

I was stronger all around. What’s more, I was ready for the Visitors when they returned for me. I felt further abductions would not waste me like the previous ones had. 

Also, unsympathetic ears simply were not worth my words. I decided to wait until I could find the right person to tell everything to. Otherwise it was a waste of breath. 

Four months had gone by, and it was April 1990. 

I was still at my parents’ house and I was getting restless. Although I wasn’t ready to go back to Texas, I felt it was time to move on. When I was eighteen, my first apartment was on the island of Fort Myers Beach, off Florida’s west coast. Those were good days. I saw no reason why I shouldn’t move there again. So, I headed out there for the weekend and put a deposit on a rental apartment about a hundred yards from the beach. I was scheduled to move the first of May. I was excited about this move because I always did like the beach. When I got back to Miami, I informed my family about my plans. 

A few days after I got back from the Gulf Coast, I was sleeping alone in my parents’ guest room. I woke up. The clock said 3:30 A.M. 

The owl was hovering in the room, in phosphorescent shimmer. Time for School. 

I thought I was ready. I wasn’t. 

I jumped out of bed and scurried into the kitchen. I had made enough noise to wake the dead. The house was dark and I was banging into things. I disturbed no one. I even went into their rooms and shook them. They just simply couldn’t wake up. 

I felt that strange yet familiar static electric buzz around my body, and the overwhelming urge to go to sleep. I fought this urge and the willfulness tore through my automatic reactions. Wait a moment, I said to myself. Remember. You’ve been through this before. “Take it in stride,” I said out loud. “Why do you bastards come for me in the middle of the night? You know it scares me!” 

I got back in bed, still tasting fear. Sleep came, then the acceleration. Again, the familiar yet alien environment loomed before me. On the screen was the last symbol I’d been working on, as though I were there yesterday. I had plenty of questions, and I knew not only how to ask them but that the style of my asking would please them. But I thought it would be best to just go with the flow to see what was in store. 

Something new was in store this time. After a few new symbols, I got puzzles, which were a combination of alien symbols, numbers and memory. I had to place symbolic combinations together into a certain form. I got the feeling that if I functioned well on this, they’d be more than happy to answer any questions. Over time the puzzles became more difficult, but once I got a grasp of the basics, the more complicated symbols were easier for me to put together. This whole learning process seemed easier this time. I’d adopted a new attitude of acceptance, although sometimes I still felt animosity and had to check my anger. 

I was still curious, and I wondered if I stayed cooperative and docile, would they turn me loose to see the rest of the ship? You have to understand that when I was in that teaching position I was at the very least partially paralyzed and it would be quite nice to be able to get up and have a look around. 

Reward time. This time I got strange projections of a possible future — whether it was a forecasted future or a look into an actual future, I couldn’t say. In any case I don’t remember the scenes per se, but I do remember the pleasure and contentment. The lab rat gets its cheese. 

Then — wooosh! — back to the guest room. It was almost daylight and instead of being traumatized, this time I was calm. I awoke late, but refreshed, with a sense of moving forward with the whole experience. Sure, the abductions would disrupt me, but not as much. I can’t tell you what an important step that was for me. 

Teresa and I moved to the West Coast of Florida to the apartment I had rented. Staying with my parents had been extremely helpful, but we were ready to be on our own again. 

I liked my new place. Here was the beach life, a relaxed and, thanks to the income from the business, an almost carefree life. A complete turnaround from the hell in Texas. It wasn’t easy for Teresa. She missed Houston’s bustle, her old home, even her job. She frequently mentioned wanting to go back. Although our differing attitudes toward the abductions had put a wedge between us, I wasn’t upset by much since my mental faculties had returned. “Sure. Go back if you want,” I said. I guess the leisure, sun, and surf had its charms for her too, because she decided to stay for a while and make the decision later. 

Our income was low, since mine had lowered and hers had stopped, but things didn’t seem to cost so much here and the price was worth it to me. In Florida, for some reason, the abductions had reduced in number. And the laid-back relaxation of sun, shorts, and sunglasses certainly was a balm to my nerves. 

After living in the beach apartment for several months, we moved to a beach house. The place had gotten developed since my former days here, and I wanted to be in a little less congested area. Isolation didn’t seem so scary to me now. If the aliens wanted me, they could get me anywhere. In 1990, I got abducted far fewer times than in 1989. Why was this, I wondered idly? Some sort of base in Texas? Hard to say, but mostly I think what I had at first was “Alien Boot Camp” and the training helped me deal with my new life later on. 

Nothing happened out of the ordinary — if you can count regular programming in alien symbols ordinary — until early 1991. 

And when it did happen, it was pretty bad.

Next-154s

An Adventure on Board

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