I am the priest and all is true; the experiences were dreamlike in nature because there is no other way to describe the astral-surreal limited awareness at the time; unfurling these vague and vivid snip-pits of memory revealed my knowing more than I knew, consciously ,or what it all meant; here’s an excerpt from my developing book; Relaxation techniques, slowly bought him to an altered state; under hypnosis, a series of subconscious motor reflexes, a twitch of a different finger cemented a conversation with the body, not the mind; the thumb, indicated “Yes”, the middle finger, “No”, the pinky, “I (can’t) won’t answer”. This technique would confront repressed fear, avoidance, or directives to forget, and allow direct conversation with the unconscious. By hypnotic suggestion, the body would answer, meaningfully, even if one fell asleep.

Doctor: “Let’s begin; can we talk about his bad dreams?”

Priest: (film shows quick flash of thumb;) “Yes”

Doctor: “Go back to the day the two puppets floated outside the window, and, below consciousness, recall what happened, that afternoon. Show me that you begin by moving the “yes” finger, and the end of that recall by moving the “no” finger.”

Priest: (film shows “yes” and “no” twitches)

Doctor: “Good; started and ended. Is there any unconscious, additional information, the father has not remembered concerning that afternoon?”

Priest: (finger twitches quickly with the “yes” thumb movement)

Doctor: “What happened? See it remotely, as if you’re in a projector booth, watching yourself, on a screen; what happened?”

Priest: (increasing stress) “I don’t want to answer digit”, pinky, signal.

Doctor: “No? You don’t want to tell me? Fine, can you talk to me orally, tell me what you’re feeling?”

Priest: (more negative finger) Movements with agonized breath.

Doctor: “You refer to this as October,1999. Whatever happened was long ago. You’re safe and in control; are you reluctant to talk about it because it’s too upsetting?”

Priest: Film records positive finger movement

Doctor: “Freeze the scene and see part in full frame; like a snapshot? Is it okay?”

Priest: Film shows a “yes” twitch.

Doctor: “A still slide projected on a faraway screen; you’re up in the projection booth watching the father in the theatre.”

Priest: “As I was looking through the window, the eyes looked back. Staring back. The eyes are not normal.”

Doctor: “Look closer; what else do you notice?”

Priest: “The face doesn’t have any teeth, it’s not a normal face. It’s gone, now.” Doctor: “Feel the relief that the face is gone. Now I have a question for your unconscious to answer by finger movement. Has any harm been done to the father during the faces’ presence?”

Priest: (records a quick “no” answer)

Doctor: “Now what happened, later, that night, when you felt, sensed something by your bed? Was there anything done to the father, physically during that time?”

Priest: Head is shaking “no” and the finger movement is saying “yes”, softly; “They took my clothes”, sadly “They took my priestly vestments”.

Doctor: “Who did?”

Priest: Very agitated, legs twitching, shoulders twitching. His head shook on a negative reaction.

Doctor: “Is the “no” for then, or now? You keep shaking your head “no”.”

Priest: “For now”.

Doctor: “You don’t want to talk about it?”

Priest: “No”.

Doctor: “Do you want to remember it when you come out of trance?”

Priest: “No”.

Doctor: “Do you want to remember it some other day?”

Priest: “No”.

Doctor: “Below consciousness, I want to ask your hand some questions. Hand in the course of that encounter, did the father leave the house?”

Priest: Thumb, positive finger response, “yes”.

Doctor: “Was he removed from the house?”

Priest: (another “yes” response)

Doctor: “Would it be all right for him to remember the things that happened?”

Priest: (an animated “no” response)

Doctor: “Without him reliving the experiences, would it be all right for him to remember
what he saw?”

Priest: The little finger jumps repeatedly with “I don’t want to answer” response. (Slowly) I want to see what happened.

Doctor: “Repeat that, please, say it again”.

Priest: “I want to see what happened”.

Doctor: “To avoid reliving; you do not have to relive the experience, speak of the priest as “He”, it is not you, but a picture”.

Priest: “He was on line, on a “tour”, waiting on line, inside something large, humid, slowly entering a large carrier ship.”

He is flying high over lush green tree landscape, over rolling tree lined hills.

He knows that it is night but the fields and countryside below are lit up as though it were day but he knows it’s night because he is dreaming. For a few brief seconds he sees the green granular nature of the trees below and a visual exhilaration of flying combined with a sense of peace and happiness. He marvels at the texture and color and his movement above it.

He is dreaming but he is awake.

He is told by a tour guide, who is always just out of sight, that he is to wait on line for a tour of the insides of a country estate. He is numb and is dreaming. But he feels that he is awake.

He is moving forward, people in front and in back of him, all adults on a narrow path surrounded by flat, English gardens. It is hot and humid with the rank smell of soil. People clutch what looks like brochures and move slowly in a single line, towards the country estate. He feels bored, but he is mildly interested. A ticket taker sits at the entrance way, on a stool behind a lectern; He is a slim teenager but as he looks, he turns into a kindly old man.

Everyone is awake but dreaming.

Inside is a waiting room; a dull, white room with no adornments and a black floor. Inside, a dozen or so middle aged men pace nervously. Some speak in brief low voiced non-sequitors and look worried. Some of the men move towards a buffet table, strangely empty of food or drink. An unhappy, slight, balding man peeks up at him from the paper cup he is holding in hand and makes furtive eye contact.

The tour guide, who always remains out of view, now tells him that it is a cocktail party. He senses an uncomfortable corporate uneasiness in each face that repels him from the room. He thinks to himself: I’d like to find the hosts of this party and give them a piece of my mind; no food no drink! What kind of party is this?

As he starts off to look for the host with that thought in mind, he is slapped with an emotional wave of terror and remorse. It is the tour guide again who tells him it would not be a good idea to insult the host. In the dream, he asks himself , why would it scare me to insult the host if I have no idea who the host is? But he has the feeling of having averted jeopardy, he quickly dismissed the idea.

He went back into the party. Everyone stared at his nakedness.

He blinks and looks again; many hold and drink from invisible cups and are half dressed. Each man is in an unhappy jittery dream. He is quickly overwhelmed with the feeling of not belonging in that room.

Although the tour guide is watching, he sneaks out into another less crowded smaller room. Free-ego-child-wild and mischievous glee overcomes him. He drops and darts under a table whose tablecloth drops to a few inches above the floor. He is underneath. He is hiding. No one knows. Again he is suddenly gripped with a joyful childishness that forces his eyes and mouth into contorted joy.

He can hear voices of the people talking in the room but he feels safe, hidden, draped on all sides by white cloth. Someone is about to pull the tablecloth up and find him; the tips of black shoes intrude under the cloth’s edge. He reverts, atavistically; growling electrified, animal like and launches himself, snarling, forward. It is a dream within a dream.

A bright light and he is dreaming, but he knows he is awake; He is not awake but moving, climbing up a steep stairway ladder path-bridge in a very large room , still in line with people in a guided tour, dreaming awake.

The tour guide, always just out of view, tells him to keep climbing up a ladder towards a small room at the top of the stairs.

Someone in front of him dreams, wakes up dreaming. He looks to his right as he climbs by an enormous domed -curved window which makes up the whole upper wall.

He is slowly climbing, feeling very numb. He pauses, stopping the line of climbing people and places his arms on a curved railing where the staircase meets the bottom of the window. Cupping his chin on his hands, he tried to understand what he was seeing but he was so numbed that what he saw didn’t affect him, emotionally.

Outside is blackness. The Earth and the Moon are far to the right portion of the glass, the Earth swimming in blue-white haze, except for a large red area which he saw as the desert of North Africa, or the Arabian peninsula. Far away, violet splashes of nebulae and points of red pinpoint starlight intersperse with millions of white stars.

Chin in hands, he leaned over and said in a sad, wistful, admiring tone, “These people who live at this estate have some view; “wow what a view!”

The tour guide, always just out of view, was startled and quickly changed the scene to that of a uni-dimentional English garden landscape.

Chin in hands, still looking out of the window, he said again, but this time looking at the garden landscape, They do have a nice view.”

The tour guide was startled to hear him repeat, and not realizing that the scene of the garden had already worked to distract him, over reacted.

He was thrown into a vivid emotional ecstasy.

The ladder path transformed into a delicately patterned, dazzlingly ornate inlaid wood design cryptic and deep in beauty and complexity. He was forced to kneel and examine it, and turned away from the window.

Powerful awe, love, admiration and godlike reverence flashed through his mind and body, at the wood-inlay staircase, suspended in air, lushly constructed in multi-colored wood. An awe, tingling through his skin, thrilled him.

He felt a powerful, spiritual deep love for the construction, the unknown artist, the wood pattern, and became so absorbed, that he forgot what he had seen outside the window.

The sleeping line of climbing people was stopped by his fawning and repeated examination of the simple metal staircase. He repeatedly retraced his steps to further examine it.

The tour guide, always just out of sight, had had enough. A paternal, parental impatient voice said in his head, “just keep going; it will be there for you to see when you get back.” But things change in dreams he tells himself and does not trust that it will be there again for him when he returns.

The guide had made the staircase the unrightfully recipient of the awe, rather then the scene outside the window, so that he would not remember; but when he woke he did remember.

He awoke exhausted, with a dull headache and a nose bleed; more tired getting up than he had been going to bed.

He opened the door, slowly and peeked down the hall; there was no one in evidence. He threw on his red-striped, tattered bathrobe, full of holes, and barefoot, stole out into the hallway, leaving his door barely ajar. He went to the stairwell; chose the second floor, and peeked up and down the hallway from his vantage point behind a hinge of the stairway door. It was five fifteen a.m. He bolted quickly down the hall and turning quickly in reverse, in three swift movements, picked up, first, from one doormat, a bottle
of fresh milk, from a second, a small bag of bakery delivered fresh rolls, and finally scooped up a morning; paper, under his arm, from a third. His heart pounding, lest he be detected, he ran up, breathless, to the fourth floor his stolen breakfast in hand. He locked the door.

He heard, in his head a voice and a buzz. It was a slight ring in his left ear. that odd inner ear ringing tone, one hears sometimes for no apparent reason. Concentrate on it, it gets louder; pay no attention, it dissipates. The ringing in his ear got louder and he shook his head to stop it. It was, he thought, clanging loud enough for the neighbors to hear it coming from his head. He wildly moved his head to stop it. It grew louder. The sound moved deeper into his head and melted into a humming vibration. The whole left side of his head was humming.

He heard a voice which began quietly, but he couldn’t understand anything, not a single word. He began to pray silently to St. Jude, as he stood there alone with a voice grinding out sounds in his head. His heart pounded and his jaw fell slightly open as the stolen groceries fell from his grasp to the floor. He held his hands to his ears, supporting his head, and tried not to scream and run.

He thought people in insane asylums who heard voices could be like him or him like them.

He was climbing to the small room at the top of the ladder. He was dreaming awake.

The high school basketball game was in the last quarter; the crowd’s howl and the tattoo of the drums from the drill team seemed miles away. He and she had left the game and now sat on the sweet smelling lawn of the school, in the night listening to the sounds of the game behind them.

He was cloaked in blackness; dreaming a memory: she was in his arms; soft, dark., long brown hair brushed his face; coquettish liquid dark eyes looked deeply into his. He returned her gaze with a passionate, loving sensuality. She held his hand; it was cool and slender. A mysterious and provocative incense coursed through his blood and made him dizzy with desire for her. He moaned and leaned closer.

She pressed her slim body close to his and he lowered his eyes closing his lids, flushed with lust.

She suddenly stiffened and withdrew, and he sensed a wave of disgust and disdain from her wash over him; he was crushed; why had the sweetness of the dream soured?

She withdrew, backwards into the blackness. The girl in his dream stared at him; in her hands was a funnel-shaped cup, attached to a tube receptacle. He was hurt and puzzled and said “Is that all, Is that all you want?”

Before the darkness came and swallowed him he realized that her coldness was the coldness of one running an experiment; caring more about the outcome then the methods used.

Even though he was dreaming he knew he was awake and he struggled with a feeling if hopelessness in the dawning realization of his experience.

Cold, dispassionate, unblinking eyes recorded both psychic and anatomical responses; they registered his emotional responses, categorizing, summarizing, analyzing and judging him. The alien administered a progressive personality assessment, a standard psychological measurement exam which had more subtle discernment and calibration of the soul than any earthbound measurement.

The creature stared directly into the priest’s eyes and induced a delusional thought system; a gauntlet of nightmares, a funhouse of terrors. A series of three-dimensional scenarios in crystal clear virtual reality were projected into the priest’s mind. His reactions, nuances of feelings to the projected visions, were carefully registered and recorded. The aliens had already found a genetic site for dysocial psychopaths and for people of moral goodness.

First he was pushed into a small room with white walls and a red. bloody, gory floor. In the center of the room, back to the viewer were two butchers, white coats splashed with blood, busily chopping infants into butcher cuts. He was urged to enter the room but his mind rebelled in horror and fear and he refused. The horror of the chopped infants saddened him, tightened his stomach and filled him deeply with fear. He trembled in terror. “Who in God’s name could bring himself to do such an evil thing?”

He was thrust into another scene; a rubble-strewn street with burnt shells of vehicles, some upside down surrounded by shells of fragmented buildings which were precariously perched. In the background smoke and flame issued all around. At his feet, injured, partly buried in the rubble was a frail old woman with a kerchief covering her head. She weakly jestered for help. He knelt beside her, but his eyes were on the building above him which began to weaken and shift. Fear of death overcomes him and in agony he runs
from the scene, leaving her behind. He is stricken with grief and guilt over the decision, but he feels grateful for having escaped unscathed.

All of this is carefully registered and recorded. Again he is thrust into another scene, the small, dark creature staring fixedly into his eyes. He hears the repeated cracking sound of a whip on flesh overlaid with screaming pleas of mercy. It is just around the corner.

Shrieks and howls in loud, deep agony accompany satanic laughter. Fear crawls down his arms and legs. He is psychically prodded to look within. A tall, muscular, athletic young man with black hair is writhing in pain, chained by arms and legs to a wall-mounted wood cross. A black-hooded inquisitor, demonically laughing delivers loud, whip-snapping cracks onto the screaming man’ s back who pleads for mercy in fervent agony. Blood and tissue, noisily splatter the walls at each stroke.

The priest’s mind shrank back in mortal terror, disgust and raw horror.

Next, a thick-bodied, squat, gangster-type sat at a table playing solitaire. With a growl rich and deep with menace he picked up a hand gun and told the priest that he was going to kill him. The priest nodded in silent placation and tacit agreement. The gangster, never taking his eyes from his cards placed the gun at the far end of the table close to the priest. The killer assured the priest that no matter what the priest did, he would definitely murder him. He was urged to go for the gun. The priest’s mind eye measured the distance between the gangster’s hand and the gun and his own relative distance from the gun; he decided it was probably a trap and did not go for the gun.

The next scenario - a beautiful woman, a Hollywood femme fatale with short skirt, long white gloves, very long legs and dark hair told him that she was in danger and needed him to go with her to help her. He patently refused, smelling danger, seeing through the disguise. She promised him her body if he would help her. He abjectly refused. The alien introduced a promissory image of her long limbs lasciviously intertwined with his. He still refused.

The next psychic measurement was for honesty and guilt; he was left in a room with money piled high on a table. He was urged to fill his cassock pockets and he did. He as made to feel the slow burn of shame.

At the end of the exam, bereft of strength, disheartened, deeply depressed, he sat in the spacecraft drained and exhausted. At this point the alien applied an artistic touch to the delusion. It gave closure and diverted the priest’s mind, but it also mercifully alleviated his soul’s suffering. Each main character from each scenario filed in one by one with knowing smiles and sat at a table in front of him. He was at the center of a “Mission Impossible” scenario.

With the dawning realization that these people were simply players, conspiring to fool him, two things happened; surprise at the complexity of the dream, and awe, at the enormity of the staging, by seeming strangers. This revelation replaced the angst this series of visions had provoked. It also underlined the alien’s total duplicity; when the alien saw the priest’s slow smile and lightening of spirit he brought him out of the delusion and back into blackness. When his alarm rang, he swung his feet onto the floor.

“Dreadful dream,” he thought “My god, what a dreadful dream; someone was butchering babies; horrible dream.”

I glanced up, coming down my driveway into my backyard pantry door and almost dropped my groceries .UFOs were assembling,overhead,their engines,below, glowing dark red against the blackness. I stared,puzzled ,arms akimbo, stared up at a strange, but not yet disturbing or revealing sight. Overhead, a clean, crisp hole was cut into the overcast, revealing bright stars amidst the reddish circular craft bottoms; It was as though a cookie- cutter had sliced a clean mile- circular hole, into the cloud - cover above.

Everywhere else was thickly overcast, but almost at zenith, was a perfect circle of clearing.My mind could not accept sudden realization; What looked like a red child’s balloon floated into view, a bright red against the stars and outlined blackness. The first red balloon stopped, joined by two more, which floated in and hovered equidistant from the first.

All three,now four and five,now,six and seven,now eight and nine balloons hung red, overhead, stopped, in the center of the cloud ‘hole’. As I stared upwards, at neck breaking zenith, puzzled at their no longer drifting motion, three more floated into view, at the rear of the growing formation, a flotilla of closely assembled red balloons!

All hung motionless, overhead ,as I slowly,now for the first time, felt a sense of awe grow; my mouth fell open with raw wonder. As one more joined, slowly, from the rear, assembling North to South, overhead, a group of nine or ten escaped red- children’s balloons, hovered in the center of a circular blackness with bright stars, cut into a heavy white cloud cover. What could they be? Balloons drift with the wind,I thought,not group,in place,together; they’re not migrating, hovering birds; what are they!?

I stared in wonder, awe tingling my forehead, stomach and arms.My mind reached out to them for a long minute, in intensity.

Their color changed from bright red to light lavender purple, all together, all at once. Quickly,flashing away, like minnows in a pond, they peeled off in pairs, from West to East, heading toward Montauk, and were gone in several seconds leaving the hole overhead,still twinkling with stars,but craft empty.

I am convinced that this “sighting” has everything to do with the onset of spiritual and mind experiences of high strangeness.

Did they climb down the ladder of my awe to find me? Or is it that my “sighting’ was no ‘accident’?

Which one came first, the chicken or the egg? Maybe, it was the farmer that came first. Was that ‘circle,in the clouds necessary for their needing visibility, or was it designed, for me needing visibility?

These meddling, harassing, unseen entities may be, in fact, the occupants of those ‘crafts’ I stared at. I cannot be truly alone; there must be many like me, aware, resistant, troubled, and amazed.

If nothing else, these ‘critters’,operating those craft, have renewed wonder, in my life,that long lost sense of AWE and also renewed much faith .I now trust that the unseen does exist for malevolent UFO entities. They’ve also destroyed the actuality and concept, itself, of getting a “good night’s sleep.” Sleep is now replete with danger and loss of control of consciousness. Now, my astral body wanders unknowing, while I sleep, among beasities and monsters.

A tapping, delicately, on my back. I am sitting up on a table, feeling gentle taps on my back, watching a series of images, myriad tables receding into infinity, like two mirrors facing each other.

Farmers milking cows; on each table, a person sits up and is examined by a small, slim, white, intent, fragile, large eyed creature. Their fingers probe lightly, gently, purposely, like playing a piano.

They are milking Chakras or Kundalini nerve centers, seven along each person’s spine. Their touches stimulate hidden DNA sequences as well as retrieve and store data and information along the length of the spinal chord, along a library of nerves.

Like ants milking aphids they spend careful time and effort, gently, delicately, fingering each spine in a long sequence of tables, like marionettes playing human harpsichords.

These manipulations of spinal nerves initiate secret, as yet unbidden DNA sequences, which dangerously age and disease and trouble the somatic body and mind of an abductee. (After an incident my finger and toe nails had to be trimmed twice every day; early sequences causes acceleration of aging and growth of certain cells.) There are horrible psychic and emotional results from activation of these spinal sequences too quickly as well. Inter dimensional leaking occurs; one senses other unworldly creatures and flirts with the beast of madness, itself.

What is subtly being programmed, stored and retrieved In our spinal chords? We are Manchurian candidates of stellar proportions.

Inter dimensional bleeding through into our dimension? Pranks predominate. Objects disappear to return days later in strange places,and there’s always a powerful sense of being watched by large eyes. On a Tuesday,afternoon in late June, I entered the back of the house, passed by enormous four foot wide, four foot tall flower pots, each weighing as much as a man, containing ten foot tall Canna plants,looking tropical in nature and in full bloom.

I opened the back door and entered the vestibule into the kitchen; I could not take another step. Glancing backwards, over my shoulder, I saw that both enormous pots had been turned over. The wide elephant- ear-like leaves and tall orange- red flower -tops now bloomed sideways, sprawled to the ground, in a fraction of a second. I became suddenly aware of a very untoward realization .I would likely need entity removal and aura cleaning and protection, as in addition to this poltergeist nonsense, I was besieged with elements of telepathic attack: nightly evil nightmares,a sense of pervading anxiety and a confluence of accidents and surgeries .And all these experiences AFTER my sightings of UFOs and recalling some abductions.

Presence of mind is our greatest weapon, the ridicule factor, is their best defense.. Who, in one’s ‘right mind’ can one even discuss these things with? Paper, is indeed, much more patient, than people. Why did things get worse? In deep despair and confusion ,(the plants overturned ,overwhelmed me with poltergeist shock that was so sudden and so profound),I stopped and prayed aloud for a spiritual sign.
“God, if there is a spirit world and it is real, and I can ask for protection, send me a sign: God, send me a white bird, up close and personal, in my face, on my window, as a sign”

I put my whole heart and soul and angst into this prayer and minutes later, busy else where, I forgot it, as it promptly receded into the recesses of my mind.

The next day, on route to work, following the same path I always drive, I made a right turn, and high over the street of cars, I saw a cloud of some one hundred gulls, hovering, wheeling, circling overhead, as if attracted by garbage or a dumpster, although none was in evidence. As I glanced up at the raucous flock, one white gull swerved to within an inch of my windshield, glossed passed and made eye contact with me. It lasted maybe two seconds.

Preoccupied with driving and having totally forgotten my fervent spiritual request from the night before, I drove on, momentarily startled, but dully unaware of it’s significance.

After a strenuous day at work I returned home, lit a prayer candle and began to voice again my special request for a sign when I remembered the morning gull. I HAD asked for a white bird on my window, up close and personal. Had I been given that sign the very next morning? I decided to be skeptical but not cynical.What would be a critical test?I decided that If I saw any gulls in the area anywhere while in transit on the way to work for the next two weeks, I would know that it was a coincidence or a quirk of fate not a sign that I asked for. Repeatedly,In my minds-eye,I was haunted with an odd afterimage,a close up of the birds black beadlike eye.Why was the black eye of that bird, which whizzed passed so fast, so fixed in my mind?

For two weeks, each day, I scanned the horizon and landscape for a sign of gulls hovering, as I believed a flock so large would certainly reappear somewhere. I never saw one bird. I decided that I had been given a wonderful sign and it has given me the courage and the confidence to feel protected in this fight against the unseen harassing entities.

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I do now believe that the invisible negative - thought entities (the “Jinns” who give me nightmares with horrible scenarios,) are the same entities who “separated” my astral body from my physical body; I awoke to see that the ceiling fan I’d left on had been shut off, and I awoke drenched with sweat. They had gotten me.

There were odd deeply bright yellow stains on my pillow; endocrine milking? A foiled injection? I know that I hadn’t shut the ceiling fan off; I had drifted off to sleep with it on full tilt. And the wall switch put it into work, again. So maybe the fan is a partial defense…but against WHAT??! I had a peculiar nighttime experience of high strangeness. I ‘awoke’, (out of my body) in darkness by the hall steps just outside my bedroom. I thought I was, perhaps, in transit back from the bathroom.

As I stood there, drowsy and off balance, wrapped in darkness, something was placed on my neck or something jumped from the top of the stair railing onto the back of my neck; some palm sized hand-puppet-like creature jumped on the back of my neck, gripped it tightly, like a tiny koala and snugly climbed, moving up and positioned itself into the hollow of the nape of my neck where it clung tightly. When it reached the top of the back of my neck it snuggled more deeply. It held on with a clamp like grip, warm, small and unseen.

I reached up and back, in disgust and in horror, a quick reflex, to find that I had no power to lift my arms; they hung like dead wood at both sides of me. My hair stood straight up and again I found I could not raise my arms to remove it and I began to jump, dance and twist, terrified to full awareness from sleep, now, scared, aware of its presence. It clung fast despite quick wrenching spasms of my head, neck and shoulders to dislodge it’s grip from the back of my neck.

I was paralyzed with panic, aware of this evil strange tiny creature holding fast to my neck, and again realized that my gyrations and twitches and spins were useless; it clung on the more tightly.

Again I panicked. Now, beyond the confusing, frightening realization that my arms weren’t working, was the fresh horrifying disturbing fact that my feet were rooted like tree roots to the ground; I tried to flee with this creature on my neck into our bedroom and awaken my wife who would surely be in horror at its materialization and reality and who would peel it from my neck and at the same time answer my shouted queries; what IS it!? what the hell IS it!? I was stuck in a real nightmare.

My mind reeled in raw fear that threatened to stop my breathing. My arms were not working, legs oddly paralyzed and the creature had dreamily nestled near my scalp warmly stuck fast, well up on the back of my neck, as though safe snug; It held on, strange and silent.

I realized that I was just outside the bedroom door and thought, frustrated; I WANT TO GO TO SUSAN and then floated into the room as though on an unseen conveyor belt, into the bedroom yelling, “Susan! Susan! What’s on my neck?! What is it?! Can you see it?! What’s on my NECK!!?” I writhed and danced.

I awoke, in bed, (in my body), with my wife, Susan, shaking me. Leaning over me, looking at me with concern in her eyes.

“You were having a bad dream,” she said “I had to wake you.”

I realized that the tampering entities could also retrieve a whole host of unseen inter dimensional critters to plaque me and that my astral body as well as my physical body was subject to their creative harassment. They seemed more insidious; tampering - could occur when I was asleep and “wandering”…

Very strange and creepy indigestible spiritual questions loom and dissipate. Only God can protect me.

Out of body? These entities, these greys, specialize in astral tampering. Six months ago, at about five o’clock, Mid -August, early in the morning, I awoke and looked up and down at my body in bed.

My feet were floating above my feet; two sets of me were visible, one above, one below. I was leaning up, now, agog, waist bent, staring, feeling my whole body tingling, vibrating and I thought, more in fear than in awe; “my god, isn’t that what happens at death?!” My next FEARFUL unformed thought was that I had to stop this; I didn’t want to die. But I fell into a deep sleep and awakened later, exhausted, not remembering.

That night, before dinner, Susan told me that my whole body had “shook without my seeing any appendage twitching” enough to wake her, a sound sleeper, the night before. I told her my early morning remembrance and I realized that these inter dimensional thieves were fooling around with my astral body or with my soul, itself and I suddenly longed for feeling of being deeply religious, frightened and aware of my “essence”, not my body, that I had discovered valuable to these entities.

How could such a thing happen or be allowed to happen, in God’s universe?

How can I explain their invisible , intrusive and harassing motives behavior and tactics? How can I resist without invoking ‘revenge’ or anger from these unseen thieves of body and soul? Who can I possible talk to about these assaults, nightmares, nosebleeds, dreams, and poltergeist -like experiences?

Who could understand or advise me?

Only another “abductee” or “experiencer” who has successfully resisted the evil of psychic or spiritual attacks.

Wednesday - February

“And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us” In the middle of playing bass guitar, at four in the afternoon, the radio on in the background, a feeling of sudden anxiety, free and floating, smacked me, making my stomach tight and my fear lever climb.

I closed my eyes in sudden panic. Beyond my own belief, in my mind’s eye, three small blue - grey entities stood at the door, inside, watching me. The leader “intruding” into my psyche or mind, usurping, ‘taking control’, causing anxiety; (as an intuitive approach signal, I recognized). I ordered them out, putting the guitar down, shutting off the stereo and amp and mentally ordered them out!!

Out!! Out !! Out!!

I was swept with their raw surprise; two left, evaporated, one, amazed, reluctant, lingered.

I recited the Lord’s prayer and struggled, inwardly, to resist, ordering him out even as he hesitated repeatedly. It took five long minutes, minutes that seemed longer before the anxiety; i.e. the mental intrusion ebbed and I felt alone. But I wasn’t. I went into the kitchen to boil water for tea, leaving the room, turning my back, my mind away form the feelings in the living room when a word, in my mind, emblazoned, loomed in letters large and capital.

“BEREAVEMENT”. With my eyes open, the words hung in space, as though an afterimage.

Were they sad I had resisted? Tough s**t!! I thought. Would they again impose their negative scenarios and make me grieve in nightmares, cry heartbreaking tears? What did it mean? Bad dreams? In four days I was on a plane booked at a hotel to attend my father- in-law’s funeral in Florida. Both the airfare and hotel rates were listed as “BEREAVEMENT” rates on both receipts.

As well as being invisible they can see into the future and tell, warn us as suits them… But it seemed as if it were a ’slap’, a rebuke, to have been told in such a cryptic stilted and intrusive off-handed way. The word BEREAVEMENT was as much a response to my rejection of them as it was information. And most importantly it, the “WORD” strongly confirmed that anxiety IS a symptom that intuitively alerts me that psychic intrusion, interference is happening. If the word hadn’t appeared, I would not be sure that a wave of free-floating anxiety means they’re already HERE and INSIDE… I was never really sure before. The word “BEREAVEMENT” confirms that I was right.

If I can fight “them” in the first initial stages I can resist more completely. But how can you fight something you can’t see? They change tactics, redouble their efforts and make one pay heavily for resistance. They’re addicted to abduction and also have access to inter dimensional creatures, who do their bidding.

Fight?

Resist?

My analogy is one of cows grazing in a world - wide pasture. They are simply cows who eat grass under God’s blue sky and don’t acknowledge or analyze because they’re only cows. But they love life and God and his skies and his grasses.

Occasionally, something odd, bizarre; an experience of high strangeness occurs; the farmer comes and milks the cows. Most pay no attention as they are just cows who eat grass and, the experience happens when they are asleep or dully unaware. The few (smart) cows who do resent the episodic intrusion who are aware of the subtle meddling, kick over the pail and spill the milk. They may even threaten the farmer himself.

For these cows, the farmer does not return; instead, he sends in the ‘butcher’ for these cows.

The ‘butcher’ is an evil, punishing entity, (inter dimensional) who “MEDVED”, “comes in the night” gives illnesses, infections, pains, organ disease, death, in bidding retribution for the abducting, but now thwarted entities, who resent resistance, in any form.

Tuesday - February

I often wonder, when at air terminals, awash in crowds, or at a ball game, how, seemingly unaware “bovines are being “milked”, or whether how many are truly troubled, aware of nighttime ‘visitors’.

How many people, thronged in diverse pursuits know? How many merely suspect? The accumulated, slow built ‘evidence’ suddenly looms as obvious as a trout in the milk. But would cows recognize a trout in the milk?; most would go on to chew grass under God’s blue skies and deny the subtle, spiritual interference as a ‘bad dream’, or their imagination.

There is electrical interference with the T.V., bands of static and white noise, every few seconds on all the channels, like someone is broadcasting, nearby, on all frequencies! Ticks and knocks are heard in the walls; laying in bed, in the darkness, I hear a soft but clear footfalls in the attic and on the roof, paddling.

The floorboards red and termite ridden, creak and pop as unseen entities walk by my foot board, as I toss anxiously; try hard to ignore the sounds, asking myself “How can they just walk unseen, through walls and doors yet have enough seeming weight of specific gravity to hear them make the floor creak?” begin to pray, trying to mentally resist, calmly now, over and over telling them to go: “Be gone, unclean, evil spirit. Leave me alone, the power of Christ, himself, the Blood of the Martyrs, God, himself, orders you to leave.”

-over and over -

I close my eyes, aware that anger, fear; all negative emotions are food to them. My repulse must be totally positive.

I try to think of them as marauding intrusive raccoons who stumble, motives unclear, into a trespass situation.

There are some who say that the entities forfeit their rights to not being attacked when they abduct, physically, when they intrude, but they never materialize; even when I know that they’re PRESENT, physically, I cannot see them. Sometimes a quick moving shadow or a flash of lights, (as though traffic could reverberate lights into a room with the blinds shut), is what I imagine I see.

(They either “cloak” the area of their presence, or being at a higher intelligence and vibration level (not higher morals) they are simply invisible.) But they’re THERE.The darkness of recall after some abductions may be that perhaps I just keep my eyes closed and that explains the general “blackness” that have replaced the past surrounding vivid abduction memories, dreamlike in quality.

“SLEEP!” “SLEEP!”

A hooded grey stands, tall, by the bed: “GO BACK TO SLEEP - DO NOT AWAKEN” forces my mind to resume dreaming. I am in blackness.

When I awake, bereft of memories, tired, I swing my legs over the bedside to reach the floor, and open my eyes.

A voice, in my head, not my own, but much like my own says:

“Time to activate”

That stops me cold as I rise. “Time to activate”?? That’s hardly my jargon, word-salad, choice of words to describe starting another day; “Time to activate” chills me as, (forgive me), EGO - ALIEN to my thought processes. Here again, I’m left to wonder, “What does it mean?” What? (I’m left to feel as though a “walk -in” has occurred into my mind psyche; an interloper -possessing - entity. I refuse the thought; I don’t feel any differently.) But that sentence is so strange it haunts me days, later.

“Time to activate”

Am I being monitored? Controlled? It sure feels like “Time to activate” could be their jargon relating to the stoppage of oversleep pattern into the consciousness.

Or is it replete with psychic or bodily conscious monitoring?

“Time to activate”

Activate what?!

What does it mean?!

I feel as though my inviolate rights; rights over my body and spirit, have been repeatedly violated.

March - Just before going to bed I heard footfalls creaking the floorboards by the closet door. I close my eyes and mentally recite the Lord’s prayer. A vision of a naked woman is flashed into my mind; heavy -set, voluptuous. As I examine it, eyes closed, I realize that the image is imposed on me for mental intrusion. I reject the image and try to see Jesus’ face, or the ‘Sacred Heart’ of love that God has for mankind.

A white macabre mask of “Scream”; the phantom mask, mouth agape, eyes grimacing looms into my mind. I recognize that, it too, has been imposed, forced on me, to possibly scare me or answer my thoughts. I turn over in bed, eyes closed and reject, pityingly and with contempt, the attempt to startle me, holding a scornful, condescending, judgmental, disapproval of the entities efforts, I hold the thought of how ridiculous, paltry and ineffective the attempt at intrusion is.

I drift into sleep, confidently holding those thoughts against the entities and trust to God and my spirit guides to protect me while I sleep.

“St. Michael, Archangel of all angels, who defended God in Heaven, against the Devil, I call upon you now to defend us in battle against the Devil, whom I rebuke, and with God’s help, send him to Hell, along with dark spirits who walk the Earth seeking to destroy men’s souls. Amen.”

“God, although I am not worthy, send me a guardian angel to protect me from evil; I ask God to surround me, wrap me, in a bubble of divine grace and light to protect my soul and body from being tampered with.

I ask that this white light of God’s Grace and protection come into my soul to cleanse and purify it. I send out all my negativity, through this white light, like so much dark smoke, hurting no one. And I ask that God protects me in this white light, all day and especially, when I sleep, at night. Please God, protect me this day and every night. Amen.”

“St. Lucy, patron saint of blindness, give me vision to sense the invisible, to see into the darkness, to raise both my arms, in defense, against the darkness and to have the light, divine light, protect me against inter dimensional, invisible beings, who mean me ill.” I drift off, into an uneasy sleep. …If you BELIEVE strongly, that you are protected, somehow, they’ll leave you alone. Why? Presence of mind is our greatest weapon; the ridicule factor, is their best ‘defense’… Who, in one’s ‘right mind’ can one even discuss these things with? Paper, is indeed, much more patient, than people. When did thing get worse?

It started at 8:00 P.M., Saturday night, December 2nd, after a series of 22 ice storms, we, in New York sustained, that winter. The ground crunched under my feet; icy -snow- covered sidewalks, underfoot, total, thick overcast overhead.(Old temperature about 30o, and very little wind)

I glanced up, overhead, came into my backyard pantry door, gently dropped my groceries and stood, arms akimbo, stared up at a strange, but not yet disturbing or revealing sight. Overhead, a clean, crisp hole was cut into the overcast, revealing bright stars. It was as though a cookie- cutter had sliced a clean mile- circular hole, into the cloud - cover above.

Everywhere else was thickly overcast, but almost at zenith was a perfect circle of clearing. What looked like a red child’s balloon floated into view, a bright red against the stars and outlined blackness. The red balloon stopped, joined by two more, which joined the first.

All three balloons hung red, overhead, stopped, in the center of the ‘hole’. As I stared at neck breaking zenith, puzzled at their not drifting, three more floated into view, at the rear of the growing formation, a flotilla, of red balloons.

All hung motionless overhead as I felt a sense of awe grow; my mouth fell open with raw wonder. As one more joined, slowly from the rear, assembling North to South, overhead, a group of Seven escaped red- children’s balloons, hovered in the center of a blackness with bright stars, cut into a heavy cloud cover. What were they? Balloons drift with the wind; they’re not migrating, hovering birds; what are they!?

I stared in wonder, awe tingling my forehead, stomach and arms.

Their color changed from bright red to light lavender purple, all together, all at once. Quickly, like minnows in a pond, they peeled off in pairs, from West to East, heading toward Montauk, and were gone in several seconds leaving the hole overhead; twinkling with stars; empty.

I am convinced that this “sighting” has everything to do with my spiritual and mental experiences of high strangeness.

Did they climb down the ladder of my awe to find me? Or is it that my “sighting’ was no ‘accident’?

Which one came first, the chicken or the egg? Maybe, it was the farmer that came first. Was that ‘circle’ for their needing visibility, or for me, needing visibility?

These meddling, harassing, unseen entities may be, in fact, the occupants of those ‘crafts’ I stared at. I cannot be truly alone; they must be many; like me; aware, resistant, troubled, and amazed.

If nothing else, these ‘critters’ have renewed wonder, in my life; the sense of AWE and faith; faith that the spirit world does, indeed, exist, and not only for malevolent entities. They’ve also destroyed the actuality and concept, itself, of getting a “good night’s sleep.” Sleep is now replete with danger and loss of control; consciousness and my astral body wander, unknowing, while I sleep, among beasities and monsters.

My parents always told me, when I awoke from childhood nightmares that monsters did not exist, not real ones. But they were wrong.

I was always taught; then, reasonably; that there was nothing in the darkness that wasn’t already there in the daylight. They were wrong again.

So with the newfound, long lost, sense of faith and awe comes fear of the nighttime; the seeming prime time for bedroom visitors’ activities.

How do they ‘vibrate’ a ’soul’ out of a body?

(Why bother?) You could simply take a sleeping body.

What are they up to?

Where do they come from?

The human mind- brain is a powerful tool; perhaps it can repulse their efforts; if I focus.

I am always residually amazed at their psychic -mind -controlling powers; powers that seem easy enough to unleash on people, during the daylight hours, not just when they’re dreaming, wrapped in self- delusional images.

(They seem to “enter” psychically, when one is in an altered state of awareness; hypnosis- like, as when one is driving or watching television; when “presence of mind” is altered, in some way. But sleep time is commando tactics time, for them.

I thank God that I have rejected anxiety, as a constant companion, in my life, and now recognize its sudden, free- floating presence or its slow creeping presence as the signature symptom of psychic- intrusion.

What a revelation, for me, and for others suffering from chronic anxiety. Personally, I must avoid evoking anxiety, by life situations, poor decisions, family disagreements, and calmly trust in a loving God, no matter what hardships occur; so that I can recognize the EGO- ALIEN wave, flash of gut busting anxiety or even slowly building fear that signals me that they are “arrived” and already (partially) “inside”.

March

I have been visited by the “Butcher.”

Since I began resistance, I’ve been plagued with multiple, concurrent mouth infections that required general anesthesia and surgery; and now just a month later, my internist has confirmed “I can feel your gut coming through; it’s definitely a hernia.”

(Pain in both sides of my groin area may mean a Double procedure…)

They mean business. (I am convinced that a good hypnotist is needed to give me unconscious protective techniques to serve me when I am unconscious, (in sleep. Can they ‘infect’ or ‘rip’ astral frequencies to ruin the body’s health?) God.

I am tempted to stop all psychic resistance and willingly relent if they will HEAL me, big-time; rather than watch my peripheral health slowly disintegrate, as I resist…

Their ‘demon- like’ qualities were reflected in a peculiar incident, one afternoon, as I was reading; Celtic-Irish accounts of ‘elementals’, ‘earth-spirits’ and ‘fairies’, who culturally bothered, harassed, visited, and abducted innocent people.

A thought came to me; “These aliens, these psychic-vampires are historically like indigenous cockroaches; culturally, they’ve been ‘entrenched everywhere, and as cockroaches, seek as ‘unwanted, unclean, vermin dangerous to one’s health!!” - Celtic folklore.

I was sitting in the same wooden chair, I am writing this now; seated at a table inlaid with floral- inlaid tile; my chair inches away from a wall where a Remington Western print and Paul Klee print hang. I got up, turned to rise and saw a monstrous, sedentary winged adult female cockroach, shiny in three fully inches of oily, resilient insect, on the wall, inches behind my recently moved head. I realized the potential for shock, panic, disgust, horror, fear, revulsion; infestation- anxiety (we are cockroach free); that those uncontrolled, negative feelings would feed the entity either in satisfaction or pure psychic energy. I controlled myself.

I walked over to the sink, breathing calmly, controlling my heartbeat and emotions, and in mild surprise and a modest sense of awe, at their seeming ability to pluck a creature I’d been thinking about interdimensionally, and respond to a mere unspoken thought, obviously monitored and appropriately, albeit evilly, responded to; I got a handful of towel- tissue, grabbed and drenched tight the enormous sexually mature cockroach and tossed the wad into the garbage pail, calmly.

Laconically, I thought “It’s a good thing I didn’t think of charging rhinos!”

The point is their omnipresent insidious, evil, mind- reading presence; I’d much rather be infested by cockroaches, than demons who can pull cockroaches out of thin air to make a point. The point is;, Evil: they’re in control are telepathic, in nature.

The Christians were right, about “sin”; not the Jews. The Jews say “sin” is an act; not a thought. (One can think about homosexuality, murder, theft, rape, but only the Act is sinful; one must not act upon one’s evil ideas.) The Ten Commandments speak only to overt acts, not thoughts. So does the U.S. law. The Christians believe God reads what is in the soul, or the mind, to know the inner ’sinner’. The evil is in the thought, itself. They are right; it’s in the mind.

I have repeated proof that the unseen spirit world exists, (can be sinister) and reads minds. Their minds; their motives are murky.

My faith in God has been strengthened, proportionately; with each troubling experience of high strangeness. If there is a bottom spectrum of unseen evil, as a bottom, there MUST be a top spectrum of goodness and divine protection.

I have been snuck into (God’s) faith by the back door. Only God knows, I need protection.

One of the off-shoots of harassment and other- worldly experiences, be it ghosts, revealing spirit -mediums, UFO abductions, is spiritual growth for the ‘victim’. I don’t believe that these ‘creatures’, harassing, malevolent, deceptive, are spirit guides who evolve our spirituality, but that such ‘growth’ is incidental to experiences of high strangeness.

Fairies, Jinns, aliens, are molesting entities, difficult and dangerous to ’shake’. But the power of the mind, as a tool; to rebuke them, positively, in protection, is not enough.

Divine protection brings hope.

Physical and psychic resistance?

Pinched nerves, ripped stomach muscles, infected areas of the mouth, nosebleeds, (Copious and left nostril). Nightmares and exhaustion and tremors in the leg are the psychical ailments I’ve suffered concurrent with realization and resistance techniques. I know it’s no coincidence and I’m only marginally paranoid, even after all these odd experiences. But I feel I’ve been thwarting the farmer’s efforts to ‘milk’ me and the ‘butcher’ has been sent to lend ailment spite work, into the equation. I wish I could cause them BEREAVEMENT.

Anxiety- levels high, nervous late one night, hours before bed, aware of them, intrigued. Ensconced in the ironic sense of their plaguing omnipresence, I posed a question playfully, internally; “Who was I physically in my previous lifetime?” I wondered, since they tamper with souls, throughout, and harass, intergenerational, in families, as well, that they should have bothered me in previous soul experiences, as well as in this one. It was a frivolous, teasing, tangentially curious question, I asked, myself,knowing that my thoughts were monitored never realizing that I would be provided an answer, of sorts. I relived an evil moment of that life.

That night, I had a strange breathtakingly vivid dreamlike flash; unlike an evolving dream scenario, it was a five- second- long lightning flash, which was so short and so bright that like lightning, the scenes immediate afterimages have lingered without revealing the whole landscape. I was in mortal terror, panicked. I was in heart pounding transit, running fast through a series of apartment rooms whose high corner windows overlooked a six story modern street scene; cars moved among the parked vehicles,in bright sunlight,far below.

The sunlight outside was very bright, I ran, dry- mouthed, wide- eyed, gasping, in fear.From what and into whose hands I know not; I fearfully rounded windows which overlooked the front street corner seeking the door and ran passed a hall mirror, on the wall, just before I reached for the doorknob, in desperate haste to leave the flat. In that mirror, I caught a glimpse of myself running for my life, as the door opened, heart pounding, in full flight, now, in mortal terror, the scene turned to blackness and I awoke, dazzled.

Inside - The person who ran was me; me in every feeling and nuance and thought, me in attitudes, likes and inclinations.

Outside -Not me at all; The picture, the lighting flash afterimage of the person in the mirror was a young girl of twenties, with blues and blonde hair of medium length, small in stature, pinched thin features clutching a bright red pocketbook.The blue eyes were identical.

I awoke realizing immediately that my question, seriously considered, had been given, fractionally. Had they imposed these images, or ‘retrieved’ them from my subconscious? Was it a lie?

(I was stunned that I was to admit believe that the recycled personality’s nature, is unalterable, that much could be called the soul.)

What troubled me was that I had received a powerful answer on many levels. They have monitored “me” in previous lifetimes when I was not “me” but really still was “me” and that is core to the abduction experience.They act as they recycle souls into bodies without the spirits ever seeing heaven or their angels or their messiah or their blueprints; we are hand puppets for alien creators playing God.

Why, then, were they interested in one’s soul? Can they “Splinter” the soul and kindle new flames from those sparks to create new souls for their own purposes; the way they would treat sperm or egg, hybrid baby samples, to create new somatic creatures?

I remember a voice in my head: “You are an old soul; a very old soul …”

“We come from within”, to me, means that with technology I have personally encountered, they can splinter sparks from, of our spirits to kindle new souls as well as they do take sexual and somatic cells to grow new beings.

This total playing of God ,in addition to recycling souls and bypassing heaven is designedly possession of the abductee -not by mere implants but by merging inserted alien bio electrical energies during an abduction session, a true silent invasion, not unlike demonic possession, but through machinery.

They are more interested in our spiritual essences than we are aware of our spiritual essences ;in this case, I awaken to find myself placed, bolted and strapped into a large heavily padded metal chair in a round dimly lit room, about 20 ft wide, containing four such chairs, in a circle, with large degraff generator looking poles, with round heads, about ten feet high, two feet thick, between the chairs.

I can see,across the room, a huge hulking form of a man wearing a dark suit, opposite me, also sitting, looking switched off or dead, hunched into another heavily padded metal chair who faces me within the circle.

Spectacular displays of what looks like white firework sparkler-like sparks fly straight up, from these poles, high into the air and are then quickly circled, cycled in a growing faster circle above both our heads, anticlockwise, in a circle of dazzling lights until parts of our energies are merged and merging, siphoned off into another hulking machine just beyond my sight.

When I was nine or ten, school was immersing and enveloping. Once, during class, in the midst of grade school, in the fourth grade, during class, I realized that I had floated out of my body and, looking both ways to see, gauge, what reactions my classmates had to this miracle, and discovering none, whatsoever, floated up in delight and flew around the ceiling of the room. I saw all my classmates, below, engaged in animated conversation. Wild joy gripped my heart and I drifted through the large paned school windows unseen. I flew over buildings, chimneys, rooftop- advertisements, streets, the exhilaration of ‘flying felt deep’ in my gut, wide eyed with ecstasy.

Somehow, I was suddenly sitting, back in class. The teacher questioning meaninglessly and I wondered how I’d returned. Nobody had known I was gone. I blinked and stared, looking around, feeling very peculiar; I had left the class, been outside and I knew I hadn’t just merely imagined such a thing.

I never mentioned this to anyone, until now, not even to myself.

Paul Schroeder Story

http://www.iwasabducted.com/schroeder/

Part of the alarming nature of the unknown is its mysterious link to the known; I awake each night to a lewd exhibition of the merging. I open my eyes and turn to see the digital alarm clock, sitting on the lamp table next to my bed and see 12:12, and 1:11 AM, 2:22 AM, and 3:33 AM and 4:44 AM. This distresses me so badly, upon awakening, that I cannot think; just a wave of panic that SOMETHING is awaking me, as the calculated odds of awakening each night precisely at those specific times is astronomically impossible. The message intended seems to throw me off balance and keep me wrapped in fearful confusion and lets me know that I am being toyed with but yields no greater insight than to let me know that when I sleep I wander amongst monsters and beasties.

Sometimes after abductions, the inter dimensional door, left open, invites the gangster fringe element of the spirit world; sometimes demons are thrown into the equation,by greys, as spite work for attempts at thwarting abductions. But the unseen sinister world is as real as the nose on your face; The building, called Harold Hall, since renamed, stands six stories and houses some eighty families. The basement area is the only place I’ve encountered, face to face, the entity that followed me home and whom stands gauntly by my bed at night and delivers mind blowing dreams. It stands at the intersection of 92 st. and Fort Hamilton parkway, in Brooklyn, not far from Shore Road, on the Narrows, and abuts the old army base still there, Fort Hamilton Army Base. I know nothing of the history of this building except that when I left, sure that anyone who entered the basement would meet it, it seemed to have moved with me. I am straddling the fence of the twilight zone surrounded by harassing, omnipresent, sinister, psychic, tenacious entities, whose presence fills me with wonder and indignation. Unlike murky dreams, the out of body attacks differ from my dreams in their vivid 3 D total sensory envelopment and the inherent viciousness in provoking angst, realistic in every way as compared to consciousness. The perspective is waking to find I am asleep, wrapped in delusional thoughts and scenes, dreams so aligned with negative thoughts that the scenarios reveal that they are imposed, by virtue of their worst scenario plots and their vividness. These occupants of UFOs, these discorporate negative thought entities are masters of delusions and I have recognized the raw power of the vividness as more than murky dream scenarios could ever muster. I am convinced that we are dead wrong about the nature of dreaming itself. At night, your astral body travels to realms from angelic to demonic, a spirit world of myriad vibrational levels and the pictures you see on the backs of your eyelids, while you REM, are not dreams but visits, souvenirs of a greater reality. Like a goldfish who never suspects a greater world beyond the pond’s surface, the limited awareness of humankind floats beneath the surface of a greater reality; groping, mouth agape in total ignorance. But that is generally unaccepted by western medicine, that the mind is part of the receiving quantum physics of the universe and that’s no help to one under psychic attack by the dark side greys.

Sadly, I’ve only met sharks, not the porpoises, in the ocean currents of unconsciousness, between 2 and 6 AM and grounding is essential, but, how? As we struggle into consciousness, each morning, a self-erasing mechanism destroys memories of dreams; only vague and vivid snippets remain as clues. But how many people can recall dreams that were not dreams at all? I have recall for hours and days, afterwards of these impositions, unlike the general amnesia accompanying most of my dreams, all of my life. I assure you that I have shockingly unlearned all Jungian and Freudian concepts of dreams; it’s only our own language’s impotence, calling these dreams; the Eskimos have myriad words for snow; we have only one for dreams that often are not dreams which we, ourselves, generate. My experiences, in the extreme, illustrate this indigestible possibility. Bless you for the chance to ventilate and exchange ideas in this horrid realm; horrid, because that attacks continue and vary in intensity to the point where I have tacitly accepted all I’ve told you at the risk of denying everything about the mind and dreams I’ve ever learned.

Description of haunting; At night a large black shapeless mass turns out the lights while you are in the labyrinth of mazes hallways en route to storage rooms, in the back, and stands in your way laughs, evilly, there is a terror and a strong wave of hatred felt. Trying to retrace your way in the darkness, back towards the elevator, hugging the walls, brings air blown onto the back of your neck, your name whispered in your ear and your clothing clutched and plucked at by unseen hands.The terror at facing something you know cant exist is overwhelming and dazzling.

The presence is large and blacker than the darkness surrounding it; you feel a sense of being watched and sense warmth, waves of intense hatred which is undeniable. Flashlights fail and dim and blink out when one tries to outsmart its turning the lights out. The six floor apartment building abuts the Fort Hamilton army base, a quarter mile away and is at the virtual foot of the Brooklyn side of the Verrazzano bridge. I have been the supt of that building between 1990 and 1999 and have encountered that entity through my denial to acceptance to raw fear of it.

It has intruded into my dreams; followed me into the elevator and into my bedroom to evoke horrid worst scenario nightmares which betray that it knows our minds better that we do; I avoided the basement, neglected my duties there and was subsequently fired by the management office. This building stands at the intersection of 92 street and Fort Hamilton pkwy, in Brooklyn, New York. Although I have moved far, the psychic attacks continue, nonetheless; I am drowsing over the bathroom sink; half asleep and yawning, supporting myself with my arms on both sides of the sink, tired, still half asleep naked, when something brushes my face and loins, both just below the sink and just above my face, above the sink. I open my bleary eyes and dully see an enormous conglomeration of festooned fishhooks surrounding me, hanging from the ceiling across the sink; a filigree chandelier of razor sharp connected fishhooks that I’ve stumbled onto, stark naked. Pinching sharp needle connections at my groin and lip and face apprise me, quickly panicking now, that I’ve been deeply hooked in myriad places; through my scrotum, through my lip and my cheek. In dawning horror, I notice that moving back and away from the sink, slowly, that to move backwards, in shock or panic flight is to deeply gaff myself further, inextricably and beyond help.

I am attached painfully and as I lift my right arm to gently work out the fishhook, razor thin, dozens of others swing, move into and onto me, fasten against and bite into my flesh. Scared further into desperation and confused fear as I awaken, quickly now, and find that I am unable to think my despairing senses into anything other than a gathering sense of panic and helplessness.

I turn my head and the hook in my cheek tears deeply into my mouth; I shift and the fishhooks, unseen, beneath the sink begin to bite deeper and more painfully into me.

I am a marionette impaled from face to scrotum and have wandered unknowing into this macramé of razor blade-like fishhooks some madman must have concocted over my sink in my bathroom. The slightest movement brings sharp painful reminders that I an stuck fast and in a nightmarish predicament I cannot solve as I am screaming, muted, for help from my wife asleep in the other room.

Opening my mouth to holler I feel the deeper bite of the hook into the deep muscles of my face and I can only growl and moan loudly, aware I won’t likely be able to reach her ears with my low moaning and am becoming more entrapped with every movement.

Like a monstrous wind chime of dangling fishhooks, I am trapped and my fear level climbs to near hysteria as I awaken, suddenly, in bed.

Again I am aware of the imposed horror for ethereal feasting but dazzled at the raw power of the attack; the totality of sensory construction and the viciousness inherent in the scenario.

I am beset with demons; negative thought entities who are malevolent and who know our minds much better than we do in projecting telepathic sustained attack.

How can you fight something you can’t see? This was the first of several creative virtual reality psychic attacks delivered, on this night and represent a continued program of spiritual and out of body attacks at the hands of unseen entities who are clearly brilliantly malevolent and tenacious.

A lot of people discuss UFOs as flying saucers - it seems to be the best description that they can come up with. Others suggest, rather dismissively, that UFO simply means unidentified flying object and that the light that someone saw flashing in the sky was either a plane, a helicopter or a reflection of light off of a cell phone tower or another metal object.

Reflections of light from a cell phone tower do little to explain away “mysterious materials” found in Roswell, New Mexico in the late 1940s. While the United States military has always stood their ground that these materials were merely fragments of a research balloon, a top secret test that ended badly, others offer another explanation. They assert that the materials were fragments of a UFO, an alien craft that crashed rather than safely landing. They believe that the “flying disc” - as it was called by military personnel - that was recovered could not be something from this world, and so began one of the most talked about UFO encounters in the world.

Many who believe that the UFO in Roswell, New Mexico deserved more attention than it was being given, believe that it wasn’t something that could just be dismissed. In part, this is likely to have something to do with other stories surrounding the flying saucer. A farmer talked about having found materials miles away from Roswell, and the story was picked up by newspapers, accompanied by photos of the strange find - strips of rubber, something like aluminum foil, sticks. It’s a story that has gained so much attention around the world that it has influenced many people’s sense of alien life and alien visitations to earth.

If the Roswell, New Mexico story had never become so widespread, UFO and flying saucer may not be so common in our language, in our experiences and in novels, television programming and films. How common is it for people to see a UFO?

It’s hard to say, really, because many people who see an unidentified flying object in the sky are reluctant to report it. Either the person who saw a UFO believes that there is a far more logical explanation or merely thinks that no one would believe them if they were to say anything about it. And yet, there are UFO sightings that are shared and that become the topic of conspiracy theories by those who believe that beings from other planets and galaxies have visited the earth.

One such incident occurred in 1980 in Rendlesham Forest in Suffolk, England. Those who saw the UFO all claimed to have seen flashing lights coming from an unidentified flying object that was descending towards the woods - a UFO that was roughly the size of a car and seemed to float on a beam of light. After reports were made about the object, it was discovered that trees were damaged, radio frequencies became nothing but static and soil samples later showed radioactive activity.

Similarly, in Gulf Breeze, Florida in 1987 tales of a UFO began to circulate when a man saw a strange light coming from his lawn. When he saw the flying saucer, he grabbed a camera and started shooting photos as proof of what he had seen. Of course, in this situation, the story was not just of a UFO sighting, but about repeated experiences by the same person, over and again.

Though discussions of these UFO sightings continue, and there has been audio recordings and photo documentation, it is still difficult to know whether or not the unidentified flying objects were indeed from space. Many claimed, in regard to the Gulf Breeze, Florida UFO sightings, that the man had manipulated the photographs and fabricated the story.

In each case, both sides - the believers and the skeptics - find evidence to support their claims. Those who believe in UFOs and alien visitations cite facts that they claim cannot otherwise be explained. Those who are skeptical offer their own explanations along with their own supporting evidence. Which side is right? For now, that’s up to you to decide.

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This article was written by Turner Rover for Alien-Experiences.com.

Turner explains the origination of his name as being a case of his mother hating him - tongue in cheek of course. He says that his mom always wanted a boy named Turner, so he was thus named Turner when he was born. Unfortunately, his father passed away when he was young and his mother remarried a man named Thomas Rover. He said that Thomas adopted him, and his last name was changed to reflect his adopted father’s name. In that moment, he said he became Turner Rover, and he has been the butt of many jokes since.

The Alien-Experiences.com website is focused on giving people a platform to share their stories of UFO sightings, alien abductions, ghostly encounters, and other paranormal encounters.

Two of the people I know in my daily life have tried to document some of the strange happenings at a museum, which was once a home to a wealthy family, nearly a century ago.  My friends were in the mansion / museum late one evening after an event held at the mansion. Having heard strange noises and voices in times past, they had brought with them a digital recorder to catch any strange sounds, if they could. And they did.

I have obtained the EVP recording and posted it online here.

On the recording, you can hear the two of them talking among themselves. After they stopped talking, what appears to be a voice of another woman is heard… The building was empty, except for the first two people, at the time of the recording.

Listen to the recording and decide for yourself whether it is really a voice and what was said by the voice. Knowing the two people in the first part of the recording as well as I do, I can assure you that the third and unknown voice (EVP) was not the woman heard in the beginning of the recording.

Click here to listen to the recording for yourself, and you be the judge as to what you hear.

My scientific mind leads me to believe that most UFO’s are probably unknown military aircraft, but I do not know for sure. As to alien abductions, I tend to be a disbeliever, but I try to keep an open mind.

I have known in my life, perfectly sane and perfectly smart people who have believed in the alien abduction phenomena, with absolute certainty. I respect those people enough to at least keep an open mind about the possibility.

In my mind, I have always wondered if it could be true… So, I decided that perhaps one of the best ways to find out the truth was to ask people to share their personal experiences with us on a website.

In the vein of the X-Files, we have provided a number of categories in which you could place your testimony:

• UFO Sightings
• Close Encounter
• Alien Abductions
• Other Encounters
• Black Helicopters, and other Black Military Projects

In order to contribute your story to our website, you only need to Register for free, Login to the site, and submit your story.

All stories are moderated by a human reviewer, before it will be accepted for public viewing. Given the nature of spam on the Internet, we need to take this measure to protect the integrity of our website.

If you have photos to submit, you will be able to do that when you submit your story. We simply ask and require that you are the owner of any and all photos that you submit to our website.

In the tags area of the post submission screen, we ask that you do include location descriptions: city, state, zip, etc. in the post tags. This will enable researchers to be able to monitor sightings and encounters by location.

Thank you for your interest and participation in our website.