I became interested in UFOs a few years ago after seeing strange flying objects in the sky above my home town of Wakefield, West Yorkshire. I discussed my sightings with a police officer friend, and he warned me that I would not be taken seriously if I reported it to the authorities. I was astonished when he also confided in me that he had been abducted by aliens, but was too afraid to talk openly of his experience.
I decided to do some research on the issue. I talked with more abductees, attended UFO conferences, read many books on the subject and trawled the Internet for more information. I was surprised how much I found. I had no idea where my investigations would lead, but I was totally unprepared for what I uncovered.
Sifting the genuine stories from the fake accounts was challenging. Unfortunately, this subject is often trivialised and ridiculed, and I know that some will believe ALL the accounts are phony, no matter how much compelling testimony and physical evidence can be found.
I was drawn to a series of accounts that followed the same theme. Balls of light were seen in the sky, followed by abduction to a strange place, where physical examinations were made on the abductees by alien beings. Some abductees mention a breeding programme of some kind between aliens and human beings. How can so many similar stories, from individuals around the world, be false?
The idea of a book began to take shape. I wanted to expose the facts that I had discovered, but my police officer friend had warned me that nobody would listen. So I wrote a fictional account, using details from my research. You can read excerpts from the the story here.
Fact or fiction?
Urban myth or government cover-up?
This 9th excerpt is from a science fiction novel about alien abduction. If you would like to read the novel from the beginning, please see the previous excerpts in, ‘They Take our Children.’
The complete eBook series is available on Amazon stores worldwide.
Please go to an Amazon online store to purchase this novel if you can’t wait to read the rest.
Chapter Nine: (In the past, Helen)
Helen had floated in the mist. She didn’t feel uncomfortable, being neither hot nor cold, nor wet, nor dry. Surrounded by vapour, she was suspended in time, beyond all sensation of physical self. She was only slightly aware on a mental level, of her surroundings. She felt pangs of anxiety. Quivers of unease tickled her mind. Smoky blurred images of a past life intruded occasionally, tugging at her, trying to prise her from her secluded tranquillity. She resisted, preferring the calm sea of mist, preferring the comfort of this non-world to the frightening reality she was dimly aware of that existed beyond the veil.
She was aware of others that occupied the place she drifted in. Other unsettled souls vibrated with her in the mist. She felt their presence and was comforted by them, not knowing who they were, but feeling them to be kindred spirits. They jostled together, instinctively aware of each other. Sometimes they sought each other out, minds mingling, clinging supportively to each other. Mostly they drifted alone, aimless, adrift in the mist.
None of them remembered who they were. Helen only knew what she was now, an amorphous being, without solid form, mingling with others of her kind. They existed in a reality that had nothing to do with the other world, the world they caught glimpses of on the edges of the mist. They were remnants, discarded pieces of unwanted and unneeded beings. They were surplus to the requirements of the ones who took them, at least for the moment.
Helen had been shown glimpses of their purpose, a small insight that did nothing to lessen her fear, or her confusion. The other souls sharing her existence also knew. They shared and meshed their emotions constantly. The strange beings that controlled their lives had plans. Great schemes were in motion, which would alter all their futures and the future of hundreds of others who did not share in the privilege of knowing. It was a future that would begin somewhere out of the mist, beyond the safety of the vapour in which they drifted.
The fragmented images from other minds sometimes mixed with Helen’s own mental pictures. A confusion of memories filled her mind. She shared the recollections of fractured lives, and of happier times. No words could be spoken without mouths. There were no faces to be recognised, none to be seen without eyes. It was not in a physical way that they came to know each other, but instinctively, intuitively. The group became aware of each other in the most intimate of ways and they knew the minds of their fellow prisoners, the very essence of them. They became one being, one entity in the haze.
The blurred images and faint mutterings from Helen’s past life were at first, a nuisance and an annoying intrusion into her sanctum. She ignored them, pushing away the tendrils of reality that reached out to her through the veil. Gradually, the images became clear and the mutters became intelligible words. Their persistence was compelling and eventually she found she could no longer ignore them. Gradually, she began to respond. She learned that the intrusion would go away sooner after a small acknowledgement from her, leaving her to wander the mist in peace with her friends, her allies.
The others were also having trouble with intrusions from their previous lives and the mist became a cacophony of unintelligible babble, as these past lives determinedly clawed back their own. One by one, the souls in the mist left. With each departure, the level of confusion dropped, as the babbling lessened, but the feeling of isolation among the survivors grew as their numbers fell.
Helen felt the pull of her family constantly. Eventually, it became a strain she grew tired of fighting against. She wanted to return, especially as the comforting presence of the others diminished continually. Only her fear kept her firmly in the mist for longer. She knew that once she returned, they would claim her and her life would continue on the path that had been marked for her. Once she set foot on the path, her future was sealed. Heartbreak lay ahead if she allowed that to happen.
She finally discovered an inner strength that sanctioned her to think independently. She made a decision. She decided not to allow the great plan to affect her and deciding made her stronger. She had choices and she would make them. The first choice she made was to leave the misty place. Resigning herself to fate, she listened to the calling of her family.
She ventured towards them, reaching out of the mist, feeling herself grow weary and heavy, struggling to form words from a consciousness devoid of language. She was repeatedly forced away from the family who pulled at her. She made the effort to escape the fog many times, but each time she was pulled back to the enveloping mist, to rejoin her decreasing number of comrades.
Then a strange voice reached out to her, one that she found irresistible. It trickled through her senses, undermining her fear, filling her with strength and hope. It wove into her consciousness, tied anchoring knots to her soul and began to pull. The voice called out to her, tugging gently, bringing her back. She allowed herself to be brought out of the mist. Leaving its cloying security made her fearful, but the voice compelled her to keep moving forward.
Helen looked out at her parents, wondering how she got home. They were so pleased to see her, fussing and touching her. She tried to speak, but only jumbled sounds came out, her thoughts were fragmented.
The strange man introduced himself as Mr Robertshaw. His was the voice that brought her home. She stared at him, an odd-looking man with a deep intensity to his eyes. He saw into her soul, he knew where she had been. She knew he knew. Her parents still fussed, they were unaware of this man’s intrusion of her soul. They were oblivious of the creeping unease Helen felt in his presence.
She barely understood the noise they made. The buzz of conversation sounded alien to her ears, it was loud and painful, but some deep recess of her mind recognised the words. She was unable to speak coherently. The meanings of her thoughts got lost between brain and spoken word. She allowed the fussing, but shrank from the invasive attentions of Mr Robertshaw. She was relieved when he spoke to her parents, telling them she would need quiet and rest. Her relief was short-lived as she heard him making arrangements with her father to return.
Strange as the place was where she had been, it felt even stranger to be home. She was pathetically weak and it was an effort to stand. Walking was a disorientating experience, as her limbs felt like encumbrances. Her head was a heavy load to carry. Eating was a joy, the taste and textures of food a delight. She felt her body taking in the nutrition and growing stronger daily. Words came gradually. She listened to her family speaking, taking in the rhythm and feel of the sounds. The sounds they made connected to her thoughts, becoming meaningful at last. She could speak, but she couldn’t find words to explain what she’d lived through. They didn’t ask too many questions. Helen was grateful because she didn’t have answers, only more questions and she knew they couldn’t answer them for her.
When Mr Robertshaw returned, a few days later, Helen felt stronger and more in control of her senses, or so she thought.
He set up his recording machine on the low coffee table, much to the interest of her mother. He asked for complete privacy and Helen watched with dismay as her mother left them alone. She gave herself a mental shake, this was only a man, he had no power to hurt her, she only had to call out and her mother would come to her aid immediately. She took a deep steadying breath. This was not so bad, he only wanted to talk, like the doctors and counsellors yesterday and the day before. They all had questions for her, but she had no answers. She kept repeating, ‘I’m fine,’ ‘I’m okay,’ hoping they would be satisfied and leave her alone.
When Mr Robertshaw began to speak, his voice was like liquid, flowing through her consciousness. She tried to resist the heaviness that crept over her, but was helpless, as she felt her very thoughts being manipulated.
His words forged pathways through her clouded, fragmented memory and forced her to look in the dark shadows of her mind. His penetrating, mellifluous voice lifted the veils of security, revealing the awful truth buried deep in her brain. The pictures crowded her head, filling her with horror and revulsion. The bile rose in her throat, gagging her as she realised the full extent of her experience.
When the contents of her stomach emptied onto Mr Robertshaw’s scuffed black shoes, he stopped talking. Instead, he stared, open-mouthed at her reaction to the memories he had made her look at. Helen stared back, breathing heavily, wiping the traces of vomit from her mouth with the back of her trembling hand.
Mary came rushing in when she heard the explosive sound, concern for her daughter and disapproval of Mr Robertshaw clear on her scowling face. After making sure Helen was none the worse for being sick, she went to get a bucket and cloth and began to clear up the mess, tut-tutting at the man and making it abundantly clear that in her opinion, he was not to be trusted. ‘It’s all very well for George to invite you to our home, Mr Robertshaw, but I don’t like leaving you alone with Helen and just see what it has led to!’
‘Mrs Andrews, I must apologise for not informing you of the consequences of the first few regressions.’ Mr Robertshaw watched Helen’s mother as she mopped up the mess. ‘You must understand, your daughter has some particularly unpleasant memories to expose.’ His intense gaze never left Helen’s face.
‘What memories? She’s never left the house for months, the only thing we need to know is that she’s going to be all right from now on.’ Mary wrung out the cleaning cloth fiercely, in the bucket of disinfectant. Getting to her feet, she lifted the bucket, stretched to her full height of five foot four and turned to face the diminutive man. ‘All this palaver! Huh! The doctor is very pleased with her progress, I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I can’t see what good you’re doing, coming here and making her sick like this!’
‘I do understand how you feel, Mrs Andrews.’ His voice became fluid, placating, almost wheedling. ‘Helen does seem well, physically,’ he emphasised, ‘but you must understand, those night terrors were pretty spectacular, eh, Helen?’ He looked for support to the frightened girl, who stared back at him with eyes like saucers, too shocked by her recent excursion into her subconscious to reply.
‘Well all I can see is a frightened girl who doesn’t need all this hocus-pocus.’ Mary leaned to put a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder.
‘All this ‘hocus-pocus’ as you call it, will cleanse your daughter’s mind, Mrs Andrews,’ his silky tones wove their spell, ‘please allow me to continue, she will benefit, believe me.’
Mary seemed to hesitate, clearly unwilling to leave Helen in the same room as this man.
‘I’ll be okay now, Mum.’ Helen found her voice. She had heard the words, cleanse her mind and hoped Mr Robertshaw meant them literally. If he could rid her of the awful pictures that she knew were real, despite his words, night terrors, it would be worth a few more emptied stomachs. ‘You’d better leave the bucket though,’ she said to her mother as an afterthought.
Mary huffed, sighed and relented, setting the bucket by Helen’s side.
‘I’m right next door if you need me.’ She looked directly at Helen, searching her face for signs of distress.
‘I’m fine, Mum, honest.’ Helen managed a weak smile that worked wonders on her mother.
Alone again with this ferret of a man, Helen steeled herself against his insidious voice.
‘Relax, Helen,’ he smiled at her, showing uneven, tobacco stained teeth. ‘This won’t work unless you let me help you.’
‘What are you going to do?’ She was more than apprehensive, this time she knew where his voice could take her.
‘What you saw in your mind, what you remembered, is real. It happened to you and you have to live with it.’
‘No! You’re wrong!’ She didn’t want to listen and put her hands over her ears, childishly. ‘It was a nightmare,’ she insisted.
‘That would be too easy, Helen.’ He kept his voice low, soothing and oily. ‘You know different, you know how real it was.’ He leaned to the tape recorder and switched it back on. ‘Listen to me, listen to my voice and concentrate only on my words… ’
Helen closed her eyes, trying to shut out the droning, impelling noise, but felt herself relax despite her opposition. This time she was wary, she knew what lay beyond the shadows and approached them carefully as the voice led her back into the mist.
To be continued……………………
If you can’t wait to read the rest, They Take our Children, Book one, The Truth Revealed and They Take our children, Book Two, Taking Control, are now available as kindle eBooks in all Amazon stores.
Thank you for taking an interest in my work.