By Travis Walton
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| Travis Walton |
An Ordinary Day
It was the
morning of Wednesday, November 5, 1975. To us, the seven men working in
Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest, it was an ordinary workday. There was
nothing in that sunny fall morning to foreshadow the tremendous fear, shock,
and confusion we would be feeling as darkness fell.
We were working
on the Turkey Springs tree-thinning contract. Basically, thinning involves
spacing and improving the thick stands of smaller trees to allow for their
faster growth. That day, November 5, we were cutting a fuel-reduction strip up
the crest of a ridge running south through the contract. Fuel reduction is the
process of cutting the thinning slash into lengths and piling it up to be
burned in the wet season.
The boss, Mike
Rogers, was twenty-eight, the oldest of the seven men. He had been bidding
these thinning contracts from the Forest Service for nine years. That had been
long enough to learn (the hard way) all the tricky pitfalls of the business. He
was getting to where he could fairly consistently gauge the price per acre that
would underbid the other contractors and still allow a profit margin. Turkey
Springs was the best contract, profitwise, Mike had ever been awarded. In fact,
it paid the highest acre-price he had ever received.
When we are
piling, some of the men run saws while the others pile. I was running a saw, as
were Allen Dalis and John Goulette. Dwayne Smith, Kenneth Peterson, and Steve
Pierce were piling behind the cutters as we worked our way up the strip.
Dwayne Smith
wasn't aware of it, but I had to be constantly careful to fell my trees so as
to miss him. His inexperience, or maybe over eagerness, was causing him to work
too close to me, instead of allowing a little accumulation of slash to put some
distance between us. But at least he was trying.
I could not say
the same for Steve. I could see Mike far back down the strip, restacking some
sloppy piles to bring them up to specification. Steve took advantage of the
boss's absence to rest his can momentarily on a handy log. He was ordinarily a
good worker, but was a little disgruntled today because Mike had blamed him for
some bad piles Dwayne had made.
I was trying to
keep my distance from the other men, but we were coming together on a thick
place to one side of the piling strip. The noise of my own saw is loud enough,
even with earplugs, without revving all three of them in one spot. Just then I
saw a shadow and jumped barely in time to escape a falling tree. I looked to
see who had cut it. Allen. His mocking grin let me know it was no accident. I
didn't let on that he had needled me. I moved farther up the strip to work.
Allen always cut like a crazy man. He was a faster sawyer than anyone out
there, even me. His speed helped acre-production, but it kept him from being up
to working every day. His uncontrollable temper was probably what made him saw
like that, taking his anger out on the trees. Allen had nearly come to blows
with almost everyone on the crew, including me. He had a way of picking fights
he never finished. Although our differences were forgotten as far as I was
concerned, and we were friendly on the job, I suspected that Allen might have
one or two lingering bad feelings toward me.
The afternoon
sun was starting to cool as it began angling steeper down in the west. In the
mountains, sundown comes early. It gets dark very quickly when old Sol slips
behind the trees and out of sight behind the high ridges. The gathering chill
was beginning to numb my nose. With summer ending, it was starting to get down
to five or ten degrees at night. I worked a little faster to ward off the
chill, eagerly anticipating the reprieve of the day's conclusion. Not long to
go before we could head for home.
Sunset had been
fifteen minutes earlier, but we kept cutting in the waning light. I checked my
watch again. It was six o'clock at last! Mike was still down the hill a little
way, picking up and repiling. I yelled and took the liberty of giving the
stop-work signal. The sound of the saws died; the final echoes absorbed into
the deepening dusk.
We loaded the
chainsaws and gas and oil cans into the back of the '65 International. After
arranging the gas cans so they would not tip over and leak on the bumps, Mike
slammed the tailgate tightly. The decrepit pickup groaned on its tired old
suspension as everyone piled in. There was Dwayne by the left rear door, Jown
and Steve in the middle, and Allen by the right rear door. In the front, I sat
by the door, riding shotgun. Ken sat in the middle, and of course Mike was
driving. The seven of us usually sat in the same place every day. Nonsmokers in
front, smokers in back.
Mike started
the old pickup and we climbed north up the ridge toward the Rim Road. It was
6:10. Barring any breakdowns, we should be home before 7:30. We left the
windows down so we could cool off some. We were still warm from laboring, in
spite of the evening air. Mike, Ken, and I do not smoke and we prefer to inhale
genuine, unadulterated air. The four in the backseat lit up as soon as we were
in the truck, eager after hours without a cigarette. The fresh air coming in my
window was bracing. We usually nap on the way to work every morning, but none
of us ever feels drowsy on the way back to town. The rousing activity on the
job hones a keenness that stays with us all the way home.
Bouncing over
the water-bars in the road — humps of dirt that prevent the road from washing
out in the rainy season — the truck kept bottoming out on its springs with a
dull clunking sound. The fellows started cracking jokes about the pickup.
Just then my
eye was caught by a light coming through the trees on the right, a hundred
yards ahead. I idly assumed that the glow was the sun going down in the west.
Then it occurred to me that the sun had set half an hour ago. Curious, I
thought it might be the light of some hunters camped there — headlights or maybe
a fire. Some of the guys must have caught sight of it too, because the men on
the right side of the truck had fallen silent.
As we continued
driving up the road toward the brightness, we passed in sight of it for an
instant. We barely got a glimpse through gnarled branches before we rolled past
the opening in the trees.
"Son of a
. . ." Allen started.
"What the
hell was that?" I asked.
My eyes
strained to make sense of the glimmering through the dense stand of trees
blocking our vision. From my open window, I could see the yellowish brilliance
washing across our path onto the road another forty yards ahead. Intrigued, I
was impatient to get past the intervening pines.
From the
driver's seat, Mike could not look up with the proper angle without leaning way
over, "What do you guys see?" he demanded curiously.
Dwayne
answered, "I don't know — but it looked like a crashed plane hanging in a
tree!"
Finally, our
growing excitement spurred Mike into wringing out what little speed the pickup
could still achieve on the incline. We rolled past the intervening evergreen
thicket to where we could have an unobstructed view of the source of the strange
radiance. Suddenly we were electrified by the most awesome, incredible sight we
had seen in our entire lives.
"Stop!"
John cried out. "Stop the truck!"
As the truck
skidded to a dusty halt in the rocky road, I threw open the door for a clearer
view of the dazzling sight.
"My
God!" Allen yelled. "It's a flying saucer!"
Abduction
Mike shut off
the engine. We watched, spellbound. The men on the left side of the truck
leaned over so that they could see. There, a mere twenty feet above the ground,
a strange, golden disc hovered silently. Our attention was riveted on that
object poised in the air. Impaled by the sight, we were held transfixed for one
long, silent moment that felt like an eternity.
The cold,
jarring reality of what we were witnessing struck fear and awe to the core of
every one of us. Suddenly beholding its vivid, magnificent structure summoned
all emotions at once. You could almost hear our hearts pounding above that
suspended instant of silence. Less than thirty yards away, the metallic craft
hung motionless, fifteen feet above a tangled pile of logging slash.
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| Image courtesy Michael H. Rogers ©1996 |
The craft was
stationary, hovering well below the treetops near the crest of the ridge. The
hard, mechanical precision of the luminous vehicle was in sharp contrast to the
primitive ruggedness of the dark surroundings. Its edges were clearly defined.
The golden machine was starkly outlined against the deepening blue of the clear
evening sky.
The soft yellow
haze from the craft dimly illuminated the immediate area with an eerie glow.
Under the weird light, the encircling forest took on bizarre hues that were
very different from its natural colors. The trees, the brush, and the grass all
reflected subtle, peculiar new shades.
I estimated the
object to have an overall diameter of fifteen or twenty feet; it was eight or
ten feet thick. The flattened disc had a shape like that of two gigantic
pie-pans placed lip to lip, with a small round bowl turned upside down on the
top. Barely visible at our angle of sight, the white dome peaked over the upper
outline of the ship. We could see darker stripes of a dull silver sheen that
divided the glowing areas into panel-like sections. The dim yellowish light
given off by the surface had the luster of hot metal, fresh from a blast
furnace.
There were no visible
antennae or protrusions of any kind. Nothing that resembled a hatch, ports, or
window-like structures could be seen. There was no motion and no sound from the
craft. It almost appeared to be dead in the air.
I glanced from
one to another stricken face. Turning back to that impelling spectacle in the
air, I was suddenly seized with the urgency to see the craft at close range. I
was afraid it would fly away and I would miss the chance of a lifetime to
satisfy my curiosity about it. I hurriedly got out of the truck and started
toward the hovering ship.
The men were
alarmed by my sudden action.
"What do
you think you're doing?" Mike demanded in a loud, harsh whisper.
Placing my feet
quietly, I quickly stalked closer to the mysterious vehicle. Stepping over a
low-leaning fir sapling, I carefully picked my way through the opening in the
trees. I put my hands in my pockets in response to the cooler twilight air
outside the truck.
"Hey,
Travis!" the men warned insistently.
I stopped
walking for a long, hesitant moment. I paused and turned to look back at the
six men staring questioningly at me from the truck. The sober realization of
what I was doing abruptly heightened the doubt I was already wrestling with.
What should I do? I asked myself. Maybe I'm being foolhardy, I told myself. I
won't get too close . . . but what if there's somebody inside that thing? I
faltered. Finally I reassured myself with: I can always run away.
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| Image courtesy Michael H. Rogers ©1996 |
I was
committed. Without replying to the guys, I resolutely turned and continued my
brazen approach. I moved more slowly, cautiously covering the remaining
distance in a half-crouch. I straightened up as I entered the dim circular halo
of light softly reflecting onto the ground under the craft. I was about six
feet from being directly beneath the machine. Bathed in the yellow aura, I
stared up at the unbelievably smooth, unblemished surface of the curving hull.
I was filled with a tremendous sense of awe and curiosity as I pondered the
incomprehensible mysteries possible within it.
"Travis!
Get away from there!" Mike yelled to me.
I shot a
fleeting look at the pickup parked in the road, then turned my attention back
to studying the incredible ship.
Suddenly I was
startled by a powerful, thunderous swell in the volume of the vibrations from
the craft. I jumped at the sound, like that of a multitude of turbine
generators starting up. I saw the saucer start wobbling on its axis with a
quickening motion, in a pattern like the erratic spin of an unstabilized top.
The same side continued to face me as the craft remained hovering at approximately
the same height while it wobbled.
I ducked into a
crouch when a tremendously bright, blue-green ray shot from the bottom of the
craft. I saw and heard nothing. All I felt was the numbing force of a blow that
felt like a high-voltage electrocution. The intense bolt made a sharp cracking,
or popping, sound. The stunning concussion of the foot-wide beam struck me full
in the head and chest. My mind sank quickly into unfeeling blackness. I didn't
even see what hit me; but from the instant I felt that paralyzing blow, I did
not see, hear, or feel anything more.
The men in the
truck saw my body arch backward, arms and legs outstretched, as the force of
the blow lifted me off the ground. I was hurled backward through the air ten
feet. They saw my right shoulder hit the hard rocky earth of the ridgetop. My
body landed limply and lay motionless, spread out on the ground.
"It got
him!" Steve yelled.
Dwayne
screamed: "Let's get out of here!"
"Get this
son of a bitch moving!" Allen shrieked hysterically.
Mike did not
need to be asked. He was already desperately groping, fumbling around for the
ignition switch. His shaking fingers finally seized the key. The engine roared
to life. Mike gunned the truck up the boulder-strewn track. He frantically spun
the steering wheel one way, then the other, navigating the tortuous road.
"Is it
following us?" he yelled over his shoulder. Nobody answered.
"Is it
after us?" he shouted again.
When again no
reply came, he turned to see the looks of stupefied shock on the faces of his
crew. Their pale faces stared straight ahead, blankly. In reaction to the
unbelievable horror of what they had witnessed, six hardened woodsmen were
reduced to mindless terror.
Mike was fearful
that the saucer was pursuing them. He put his head out the open window to try
to see behind and was stung in the face by the sharp pine needles of a passing
limb. He kept hitting boulders and other obstacles in his attempts to look
behind. The erratically vibrating rearview mirrors only produced a blurred,
flickering image, a faint yellow glow in the blackness. Goaded by a surge of
terror, he stomped on the gas pedal.
The rattling
truck shot forward at thirty-five miles an hour — far too fast for the condition
of that road. A passing limb slammed into the right rearview mirror, bending it
uselessly to the side of the truck. The old International went flying through
the air over the dirt ramp of a high water-bar. As it landed, the pickup
smashed down destructively on its weakened springs with a terrible crash.
The powerful
jolt of metal on metal brought Mike to his senses. He was gripped by a sudden
icy realization. If the truck broke down, they would be stranded and at the
mercy of the unknown threat they were fleeing. He slowed the truck down to ten
miles an hour. He was grateful to find the truck still working, capable of
carrying them away.
The truck
passed behind dense thickets of pine saplings, and the ship was once more lost
from sight. In diverting his attention from his driving, Mike made the wrong
approach to a water-bar in the road. It was the largest of them, and the last
one before the Rim Road, a hundred feet farther on. Mike stopped the truck to
back up and make another run at it.
"It doesn't
look like it's after us," Mike shuddered as he shoved the gearshift into
reverse.
The pause broke
the men out of their shocked silence. They began to jabber hysterically.
Instead of continuing over the obstacle, they sat there with the engine running.
They struggled to collect themselves and decide what to do. Everyone was
yelling at once, in a confusion of high-pitched shouting.
Mike anxiously
asked: "I saw him falling back, but what happened to him?"
"Man, a
blue ray just shot out of the bottom of that thing and hit him all over! It
just seemed to engulf him." Ken's voice was solemn with awe.
"Good
hell! It looked like he disintegrated!" Dwayne exclaimed.
"No, he
was in one piece," Steve contradicted. "I saw him hit the
ground."
"I do know
one thing. It sure looked like he got hit by lightening or something!"
Dwayne returned. "I heard a zap — like as if he touched a live wire!"
"Hey, men,
we better go back!" someone said.
"No way,
man. I ain't going back there!" said someone else.
As the men
argued, Mike interjected. "Let's build a fire so the guys who don't want
to go can stay here in the clearing while the rest of us go back there."
Just as Mike
was about to get the gas out of the back, they were startled by the sudden
approach of headlights coming west on the Rim Road. The dim outline of a
camper-pickup could be seen passing in the dark.
"Let's go
catch that pickup and get help!" John yelped excitedly.
Everyone piled
in the right side of the truck. As Mike went around the driver's side of the
truck, he exclaimed: "Look! Did you see that?"
The men
scrambled to look. One of the men ran to the front of the pickup. "What
was it?" he asked.
Mike told them
he thought he had briefly seen the outline of the golden disc through the trees
to the south. It had raised itself vertically to treetop level and streaked
away toward the northeast at incredible speed.
They got in the
truck. Mike angled the forgiving old pickup over the high water-bar and pulled
out onto the Rim Road, heading west. The men argued on, rehashing what had
happened. They were still arguing a mile down the road, where they reached the
turnoff that went north to Heber. There, they finally worked their way around
to the inevitable conclusion.
Mike turned the
truck around at the turnoff. He said firmly: "This truck is going back.
Anybody who doesn't want to come can get out right here and now, and wait!
We've been acting like a bunch of cowards. We're all scared, there's no denying
that, but we've got to do what we should've done in the first place!"
The embarrassed
men no longer protested returning to the site. Even if any were still
reluctant, they were ashamed to say so. Also, the prospect of waiting alone at
the turnoff in the dark was much worse than going back together.
Their courage
had been reinforced by the time and distance away from the site. However, as
they turned left, off the Rim Road toward the original scene, their
apprehension began steadily to rebuild. They began speculating on the dreadful
possibilities of what they might find when they returned. The nearer they got,
the more anxious they became.
"Hold it!
It was right back there!" Ken exclaimed.
Somebody
suggested pulling the truck around and pointing the headlights toward the log
pile above which they had seen the hovering ship. They backed up and pulled in,
driving over the fir sapling leaning in the way. Their eyes searched the area
illuminated by headlights.
They found
nothing.
"We're
just going to have to get out and look around," said Mike.
They searched
first in the security of the headlights. Everybody stayed together, huddling
close to Mike, who carried the only flashlight. The flashlight beam probed into
the night, examining every dark shape. They searched behind every log, bush,
and stump. They called repeatedly: "Travis! . . . TRAVIS!!" Except
for their calls, the woods were deathly quiet. They searched farther north, as
Allen had suggested. They searched beyond the crest of the ridge and farther
south. They found no sign anywhere — no foreign objects or unusual markings. No
burns, pad impressions, or disturbed ground. Not a trace of tracks and no
evidence of a struggle.
The longer they
continued, the more worried Mike became, more overcome with emotion. He
stumbled, then stood, looking down struggling to control his feelings. The loss
of his friend, his guilt at driving away, and the pressure of the leadership
being demanded of him all became too much to bear for a moment. Finally, Mike
managed to regain his composure. "Okay, you guys, we're not doing any good
here. Let's go!"
They got in the
truck and began the long drive back to Heber. The memory of what they had so
recently witnessed left them with a spectrum of strong emotional reactions.
Then Ken voiced
the one thought they had all avoided so far. "We're gonna have to tell the
authorities about this."
The Aliens
"Ugnng . .
." I moaned silently. My first glimmer of slowly returning consciousness
brought with it the single overpowering sensation of pain.
"Oh,
damn!" I gritted my teeth against the agony. The excruciating ache almost
caused me to lose consciousness again. I felt badly burned, all over, even
inside me.
I was lying on
my back. I didn't try to move or even to open my eyes at first. I was weak, so
watery-weak, that I knew if I attempted to move even my arm I'd lapse back into
unconsciousness. A bitter, metallic taste covered my tongue. My mouth was dry
and I was very thirsty. Oddly, the weakness in my muscles did not seem to come
from hunger. The trembling felt odd, like a strange mixture of exertion and
illness. Something was terribly wrong.
I sluggishly
dragged my eyelids open. I could not see anything. Then a blurred image began
to coalesce. My eyes struggled against the agony. My sight shifted in and out
of focus. My vision slowly became clearer. The hazy scintillations of light
gradually solidified into an image. I could make out some kind of light source
above me.
The fixture was
a luminous rectangle about three feet by one and a half feet. The diffused
light came from the flat, frosted surface of the rectangle. For an instant I
could distinguish the brushed metal luster of a ceiling in the softer,
reflected glow above the light. The fixture seemed to be suspended lower and
closer to me than the ceiling. I deduced from the nearness of the ceiling that
the hard flat surface I was lying on was a raised table of some kind.
What's the
matter with my eyes? I asked myself. The ceiling is all crooked. It's too small
on this end and too large on that end! Were my eyes playing tricks on me? I
closed them against the discomfort, but soon opened them again to ward off the
feeling of vertigo that welled up in me. The odd-shaped ceiling was indeed as I
had perceived it: generally triangular, with the base toward my feet.
What a weird
place! I reflected wonderingly. I had been hurt. Yeah, that was it! . . . But
what? I could remember straightening up and feeling as though somebody had
whacked me with a baseball bat.
Suddenly, the
memory of what happened before I'd blacked out came rushing back with stunning
impact. I remembered standing in the clearing in the woods looking up at the
glowing saucer!
Where in hell
am I? . . . Oh my God — the hospital! They brought me here to the hospital! I
thought.
It was very hot
and humid. The heavy air was almost stifling. It smelled slightly stale and
muggy. I was sweating; warm moisture beaded my temples. Feeling my jacket
bunched up under my arms, I wondered why a nurse had not removed it. I still
had all my work clothes on, even my boots, and the jacket was just too warm. I
must be injured so bad there wasn't time to take off my coat, I thought. Maybe
I was in an emergency room of some kind.
Then I felt
something pressing down lightly on my chest. It felt cool and smooth. I looked
down and managed to hold my eyes open long enough to see that my shirt and
jacket were pushed up around my shoulders, exposing my chest and abdomen. A
strange device curved across my body. It was about four or five inches thick
and I could feel that it extended from my armpits to a few inches above my
belt. It curved down to the middle of each side of my rib cage. It appeared to
be made of shiny, dark gray metal or plastic.
I looked past
the upper edge of the device. I could see the blurry figures of the doctors,
leaning over me with their white masks and caps. They were wearing unusual, orange-colored
surgical gowns. I could not make out their faces clearly.
Abruptly my
vision cleared. The sudden horror of what I saw rocked me as I realized that I
was definitely not in a hospital.
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| Image courtesy Michael H. Rogers ©1996 |
I was looking
squarely into the face of a horrible creature! It looked steadily back at me
with huge, luminous brown eyes the size of quarters.
I looked
frantically around me. There were three of them! I struck out at the two on my
right, hitting one with the back of my arm, knocking it into the other one. My swing
was more of a push than a blow, I was so weakened. The one I touched felt soft
through the cloth of its garment. The muscles of its puny physique yielded with
a sponginess that was more like fat than sinew. The creature was light and had
fallen back easily.
I lunged
unsteadily to my feet and staggered back against a utensil-arrayed bench that
followed the curve of one wall. I leaned there heavily, keeping my eyes riveted
on those horrid entities.
My action had
caused the device across my chest to crash to the floor. No wires or tubes
connected it to me, or to anything else. It rocked back and forth on its upper
side. The rocking sent shifting beams of greenish light out onto the floor,
from the underside of the machine.
My aching body
would not do what I told it to. My legs felt too weak to hold me up. I leaned
heavily on the counter. The monstrous trio of humanoids started toward me.
Their hands reached out at me.
With the
superhuman effort of a cornered animal, I ground out the strength to defend
myself. Fighting the splitting pain in my skull, I grabbed for something from
the bench with which to fend them off. My hand seized on a thin transparent
cylinder about eighteen inches long. It was too light to be an effective club.
I needed something sharp. I tried to break the tip off the tube. I smashed the
end of the glasslike wand down on the waist-high metal slab I had been lying
on. It would not break.
I sprang into a
fighting stance with my legs spread wide to brace for the attack. I lashed out
with the weapon at the advancing creatures, screaming desperate, hysterical
threats. The creatures slowed but continued toward me, their hands
outstretched.
"Keep
back, damn you!" I shrieked menacingly.
They halted. In
a snarling crouch I held the tube threateningly back behind my head. I felt
hopelessly trapped. I was surrounded, with my back to the wall.
They stood
still, mutely. They were a little under five feet in height. They had a basic
humanoid form: two legs, two arms, hands with five digits each, and a head with
the normal human arrangement of features. But beyond the outline, any
similarity to humans was terrifyingly absent.
Their thin
bones were covered with white, marshmallowy-looking flesh. They had on
single-piece coverall-type suits made of soft, swedelike material, orangish
brown in color. I could not see any grain in the material, such as cloth has.
In fact, their clothes did not appear even to have any seams. I saw no buttons,
zippers, or snaps. They wore no belts. The loose billowy garments were gathered
at the wrists and perhaps the ankles. They didn't have any kind of raised
collar at the neck. They wore simple pinkish tan footwear. I could not make out
the details of their shoes, but they had very small feet, about a size four by
our measure.
When they
extended their hands toward me, I noticed they had no fingernails. Their hands
were small, delicate, without hair. Their thin round fingers looked soft and
unwrinkled. Their smooth skin was so pale that it looked chalky, like ivory.
Their bald
heads were disproportionately large for their puny bodies. They had bulging,
oversized craniums, a small jaw structure, and an underdeveloped appearance to
their features that was almost infantile. Their thin-lipped mouths were narrow;
I never saw them open. Lying close to their heads on either side were tiny
crinkled lobes of ears. Their miniature rounded noses had small oval nostrils.
The only facial
feature that didn't appear underdeveloped were those incredible eyes! Those
glistening orbs had brown irises twice the size of those of a normal human
eye's, nearly an inch in diameter! The iris was so large that even parts of the
pupils were hidden by the lids, giving the eyes a certain catlike appearance.
There was very little of the white part of the eye showing. They had no lashes
and no eyebrows.
With all the
screaming and the hysterical questions I had thrown at them, they never once
said anything to me. I did not hear them speak to each other. Their mouths
never made any kind of sound or motion. The only sounds I heard were those of
movements, and my own voice.
Just as I
girded myself to spring at them, they abruptly turned and scurried from the
room! They went out the open door, turned right and disappeared. The anticlimax
of their retreat was incredible. The extra adrenaline that had squirted into my
bloodstream left me trembling uncontrollably. I collapsed back against the
bench, struggling to slow my racing heart. I gulped the heavy air in ragged
gasps.
Afraid of the
aliens' return, I looked toward the door. No sign of anyone. I needed something
better to defend myself with. I noticed an array of strange instruments lying
on the bench. The instruments were arranged near the middle of the bench,
leaving either end of it clear. There was nothing I recognized, but some of the
chromelike objects reminded me of those in a laboratory or doctor's office. All
of the objects were too small to be effective as weapons. I was more afraid of
being hurt by some of those instruments. I touched nothing more, throwing the
clear tube I still held down on the floor.
I've got to get
out of here, I thought frantically with a surge of determination.
There was a
curving hallway about three feet wide outside the door. The ceiling of the hall
gave off a faint, almost unnoticeable illumination. I looked to the right down
the narrow, dimly lit passage in the direction the aliens had run. There was no
one in sight.
Seeing nothing
in the passage to my left, I began walking that way. I broke into a frightened
run down the narrow corridor. The cramped hallway turned continuously in a
tight curve to the right. I dashed past an open doorway on my left without looking
in, only ten feet down the hall from the door I had just exited. I caught a
glimpse of a room but was afraid to stop.
Wait just a
damn minute, Travis! I struggled to get a grip on my self-control. What if I
missed a chance at that doorway to find a way out of this place? I saw another
doorway ten more feet ahead on my right. I slowed down to a walk as I neared
it.
Maybe this
would be my way out . . . .
Human?
The door was
only a few feet ahead on my right, on the inside curve of the hallway. I slowed
down, turned, and stopped in the opening.
I looked in
cautiously. I saw a round room about sixteen feet across with a domed ceiling
about ten feet high. Equally spaced around the room were three rectangular
outlines resembling closed doorways.
No one there.
The room was totally empty except for a single chair that faced away from me.
I looked behind
me. The hallway was still empty. I slowly entered the room. I hesitated to
approach the high-backed chair. There might be somebody sitting in it that I
could not see from behind.
I circled,
keeping my distance from the chair, checking to see if anyone was sitting it
it. I followed the curve of the wall to get around to where I could see. I was
ready to beat an instant retreat if I should see one of those hideous creatures
again. I stopped every few steps to crane my neck over the back of the chair.
Seeing nobody, I continued around to where I could ascertain, with much relief,
that the chair was unoccupied.
Glancing
apprehensively toward the open door, I slowly went toward the chair. As I
gradually approached it, a very curious thing began to happen. The closer I got
to it, the darker the room became! Small points of light became visible on, or
through, the walls, even the floor. I stepped back and the effect diminished. I
stepped forward and it increased again, the points of light becoming brighter
in contrast to the darkening background. It was like the stars coming into view
in the evening, only very much faster. The matte gray of the metal wall just
faded out to be replaced by the glinting, speckled deep-black of space.
I looked at the
controls on the chair. On the left arm, there was a single short thick lever
with an oddly shaped molded handle atop some dark brown material. On the right
arm, there was an illuminated, lime-green screen about five inches square with
a lot of black lines on it that intersected each other at all angles. Under
that, a square of approximately twenty-five colored buttons arranged in about
five vertical rows with one color for each row. I looked for symbols or written
words and found none.
The experiment
I was considering was risky, but I was desperate. Maybe one of those buttons
would open a door or something. On impulse, I went ahead and pushed one of the
green buttons. I looked around the room and listened carefully — nothing
happened. When I pushed the button, I noticed that the lines on the screen had
moved. I recklessly pushed another green one. The lines rapidly changed angles,
slid down each other, then stopped. I pushed some of the other colored buttons.
Nothing happened. Nothing moved and no sound could be heard.
Trembling, I
sat down on the hard surface of the chair. I put my hand onto the molded T-grip
of the lever. The handle was slightly small for my hand. The whole chair seemed
a little too small. I rotated the handle of the lever forward, feeling the
slow, fluid resistance of it. I felt suddenly disoriented as the stars began
moving downward in front of me, in unison. Quickly I pulled my hand off the
lever, which returned to its original vertical position. The stars stopped
moving, but remained where they were when I released the lever.
If this thing
is flying, I could crash it or throw it off course and get lost or something! I
resolved not to tamper with those controls anymore. I might escalate a
desperate situation into a fatal disaster.
I got out of
the chair and walked to the edge of the room. As I did, the stars faded out and
the surfaces of the wall, ceiling, and floor came into sight. I moved over to one
of the rectangles resembling closed doors. I searched the edges for a sign of a
switch or an opening mechanism. Seeing none, I put my eye to the crack; I could
not see any light. I looked around for some kind of symbol or writing that
would help me figure out where I was or how to get out of there. None.
I walked back
to the chair and stood beside it, looking at the buttons. I was thinking about
pushing some of them, when I heard a faint sound. I whirled around and looked
at the door. There, standing in the open doorway, was a human being!
 |
| Image courtesy Michael H. Rogers ©1996 |
I stood frozen
to the spot. He was a man about six feet two inches tall. His helmeted head
barely cleared the doorway. He was extremely muscular and evenly proportioned.
He appeared to weigh about two hundred pounds. He wore a tight-fitting bright
blue suit of soft material like velour. His feet were covered with black boots,
a black band or belt wrapped around his middle. He carried no tools or weapons
on his belt or in his hands; no insignia marked his clothing.
I ran up to
him, exclaiming, babbling all sorts of questions. The man remained silent
throughout my verbal barrage. I was worried by his silence. He took me firmly
but gently by the arm and gestured for me to go with him. He led me out of that
room and hurried me down the narrow hallway, pulling me along behind him due to
its narrowness.
He stopped in
front of a closed doorway that slid open, into the wall. I did not see what
caused it to open. The door opened into a bare room so small it was more like a
foyer or section of hallway. The door slid shut quickly and silently behind us.
Again I attempted to talk to the man as we stood there. No answer.
We spent
approximately two minutes in the metal cubicle, no more than seven by five by
twelve feet. Then a doorway, the same size as the other door and directly
opposite it, slid open.
The brilliant
warm light that came through the opening door into the airlock-like room was
almost like daylight in color and brightness. Fresh, cool air wafted in, reminding
me of springtime in the out-of-doors, making me realize just how dark and
stifling that place had been. What relief that fresh air was! The air moved
around me in a softly fluctuating current. I stood and inhaled deeply the
clean, cool breeze. The last tinges of the ache in my head and chest almost
completely disappeared. I had nearly forgotten the discomfort that had been
with me constantly since I had regained consciousness.
I decended a
short, steep ramp seven or eight feet to the floor. I looked around to discover
that, although I was outside that dim, humid craft, I was not out-of-doors. I
was in a huge room. The ceiling was sectioned into alternating rectangles of
dark metal and those that gave off light. The ceiling itself curved down to
form one of the larger walls in the room. The room was shaped like one-quarter
of a cylinder laid on its side.
The outside of
the craft we had just left was shaped like the one we had seen in the woods,
but was very much larger, about sixty feet in diameter and sixteen feet high.
It did not emit light; instead it had a surface of shiny brushed-metal luster.
It seemed to radiate a faint heat from its hull. The craft either sat flat on
its bottom or, if it had legs, they were only a few inches high. It sat nearly
in the middle of the large room.
On my left,
toward one end of the large room, there were two or three oval-shaped saucers,
reflecting light like highly polished chrome. I could see two of them very
clearly, and a silvery reflection that could have been another shiny, rounded
craft. They were about forty or forty-five feet in diameter, quite a bit
smaller than the angular vehicle I had just come out of. I saw no projections
or breaks in the smooth, shiny, flattened spheres. They sat on very rounded
bottoms and I could not see how they balanced that way.
 |
| Image courtesy Michael H. Rogers ©1996 |
The man
escorted me across the open floor to a door that opened silently and quickly
from the middle outward. We were in a hallway about six feet wide, illuminated
from the eight-foot-high ceiling, which was one long panel of softly diffused
light. The hallway was straight and perhaps eighty feet long. Closed double
doors were distributed along the corridor.
At the end of
the hallway, another pair of double doors. I watched closely this time. I did
not see him touch anything, but again the doors slid silently back from the
middle. We entered a white room approximately fifteen feet square, with another
eight-foot-high ceiling. The room had a table and a chair in it. But my
interest was immediately focused on the three other humans!
Two men and a
woman were standing around the table. They were all wearing velvety blue
uniforms like the first man's, except that they had no helmets. The two men had
the same muscularity and the same masculine good looks as the first man. The
woman also had a face and figure that was the epitome of her gender. They were
smooth-skinned and blemishless. No moles, freckles, wrinkles, or scars marked
their skin. The striking good looks of the man I had first met became more
obvious on seeing them all together. They shared a family-like resemblance,
although they were not identical.
"Would
somebody please tell me where I am?" I implored. I was still utterly
shaken from my encounter with those awful creatures. "What in hell is
going on? What is this place?"
They didn't
answer me. They only looked at me, though not unkindly. One man and the woman
came around the table, approaching me. Silently they each took me by an arm and
led me toward the table. I didn't know why I should cooperate with them. They
wouldn't even tell me anything. But I was in no position to argue, so I went
along at first.
They lifted me
easily onto the edge of the table. I became wary and started protesting.
"Wait a minute. Just tell me what you are going to do!"
I began to
resist them, but all three began pushing me gently backward down onto the
table. I looked up at the ceiling, covered with panels of softly glowing white
light with a faint blue cast.
I saw that the
woman suddenly had an object in her hand from out of nowhere — it looked like
one of those clear, soft plastic oxygen masks, only there were no tubes
connected to it. The only thing attached to it was a small black golfball-sized
sphere.
She pressed the
mask down over my mouth and nose. I started to reach up to pull it away. Before
I could complete the motion, I rapidly became weak. Everything started turning
gray. Then there was nothing at all but black oblivion . . .
 |
| Image courtesy Michael H. Rogers ©1996 |
Return
Consciousness
returned to me on the night I awoke to find myself on the cold pavement west of
Heber, Arizona. I was lying on my stomach, my head on my right forearm. Cold
air brought me instantly awake. I looked up in time to see a light turn off on
the bottom of a curved, gleaming hull. As I'd raised my head up, a white light
caught my eye just before it blinked off. Either a light had been turned off or
a hatch had closed, cutting off the light from inside. I only caught a glimpse
as I raised my head; I could not be sure which it was.
Then I saw the
mirrored outline of a rounded, silvery disc hovering four feet above the paved
surface of the road. It must have been about forty feet in diameter because it
extended several feet off the left side of the road. It was too large for the
highway and it extended past the roadside to my left to clear a cutaway rock
embankment on the other side of the highway. It appeared to be about fourteen
feet high in the center.
For an instant
it floated silently above the road, a dozen yards away. I could see the night
sky, the surrounding trees, and the highway center line reflected in the
curving mirror of its hull. I noticed a faint warmth radiating onto my face.
Then, abruptly, it shot vertically into the sky, creating a strong breeze that
stirred the nearby pine boughs and rustled the dry oak leaves that lay in the
dry grass beside the road. It gave off no light; and it was almost instantly
lost from sight.
The most
striking thing about its departure was its quietness. It seemed impossible that
something so large, moving through the atmosphere at such speed, would not have
shrieked through the air, or even broken the sound barrier with a sonic boom.
Yet it had been totally silent!
 |
| Image courtesy Michael H. Rogers ©1996 |
I scrambled
shakily to my feet. My legs felt rubbery. I swayed, then caught my balance. I looked
around and recognized the deserted stretch of curving road as the highway that
wound down the canyon into Heber from the west.
I ran wildly
down the deserted highway, across the bridge into Heber, stopping at the new
building across from the Union 76 service station. No one answered my desperate
knocking. No cars passed by.
I ran down the
highway, over the second bridge, to the row of telephone booths at the Exxon
station. I dialed the operator — a dime was not required to reach an operator
in our part of the country — and panted out the number of my sister. She was
the only nearby relative with a telephone.
My
brother-in-law Grant answered. It was 12:05 A.M.
I was in an
incredible mental state, difficult to describe. As best I can remember, I shouted
something like: "They brought me back!" Then I babbled, "I'm out
here in Heber, please get somebody to come and get me!" My hand shook as I
held the cold receiver.
Grant was not
amused. He took this call to be another cruel joke. "Uh, I think you have
the wrong number," he replied sarcastically, starting to hang up.
"Wait!
It's me, Travis!" I screamed hysterically into the receiver.
"Where are
you?" he asked, still suspicious of a joke.
"I'm at
the Heber Exxon station."
"Okay,"
he replied, almost apologetically, yet still cautious of a prank. "Stay
right there. I'll come and get you. Just hang on."
Grant drove the
three miles from Taylor over to Snowflake and found my brother Duane at Mom's
house. He told Duane about the call, and of his doubts it was really me. Duane,
too, thought the call might have been yet another example of someone's idiotic
concept of humor. But they decided they couldn't risk not investigating. They
set out for Heber, thirty-three miles away.
Lights suddenly
shone into the phone booth. Relief flooded over me when I raised my head and
saw the headlights of Duane's pickup. Duane and Grant got out and came to where
I was still slumped in the phone booth. Duane opened the glass door of the
booth and helped me to my feet.
"Am I ever
glad to see you!" Grant said.
Duane helped me
into the warm truck and asked Grant to drive. On the way to Snowflake I tried
to tell them about what happened to me, but I just couldn't get it all out.
"They were
awful — white skin — great big eyes . . ." I sobbed in horror.
"Take it
easy, Travis, you're all right now. They didn't harm you, did they?"
"No . . .
but those eyes, those horrible eyes! They just kept looking at me!"
"Just so
you're okay, that's all that counts," Duane said. "Everyone has been
worried sick about you."
"If it's
already after midnight, I must have been unconscious for a couple of
hours," I replied shakily. "Because I only remember about an hour or
an hour and a half inside that thing."
Duane and Grant
looked at me strangely.
"Travis,
feel your face," Duane said.
"Good
hell, I just shaved this morning and it feels like a week's growth!" I
exclaimed, still not comprehending.
"Travis,"
Duane said gently, "you've been missing for five days!"
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