What I'm about to share is something that is unbelievable, and I have survived
a traumatic event that I wish it never happened. This event in time has
left me where I have been robbed not only of my future but also my
past. I feel like someone might know something that might help me, but
at this time I'm definitely afraid to use my name because of the inquiries that
may ensue if I do so, and I prefer that you keep this contact
information to yourself, but feel free to read it, as there may be
others that listen to your program that have had similar experiences. I will keep
this short as possible, and I don't have much strength now and my memories
are vague, but there are still pieces of everything since the event occurred.
My first memory is standing in the middle of the road in the middle of
a pitch black night, which might not be that unusual, except that I
was completely naked, confused, scared, and unaware of how I got there
nor even where this road was. Suddenly there was a bright light racing toward
me in a loud noise, and then another, and then another. Now
you can envision how confused I must have been, having no idea what these
things were. I thought maybe there were cars, because they were honking at
me and dodging me to keep from hitting me. Another vehicle came speeding toward
me with red and blue lights, and a big guy jumped out of the
car and came running up to me, yelling in a loud, rude voice.
Well, I didn't understand what he was saying, and in fact,
I was unable to even speak. Now. I must have looked like I
was stoned out of my mind, and when he grabbed my arm, it
felt like his hand was hottest fire and it burned. I remember jerking my
arm away from him and screaming in pain instantly, and he didn't waste a
second, throwing his arm around my neck and tossing me face first onto the
blacktop. The fear I was experiencing was beyond belief. It was like I
was being attacked by a monster, and I felt like he was trying to
hurt me. He handcuffed me, and he threw me into the car,
and he took me to the police station, where he took my fingerprints and
photos of me, and then asked me questions for two hours. But I
never understood a word of what he said. After growing impatient, he handcuffed
me again and drove me to the local hospital, where they strapped me to
a bed and started doing all types of tests on me. I now know
they were testing me for drug and substances that were illegal through my blood and
urine, which they took from me without my consent. I never understood what
they were saying, nor where I actually was, and over the next four
days nothing changed until two uniformed soldiers who I didn't recognize, entered my room
and took the restraints off my wrists. They put me in dark brown pants
and shirt, and they gave me a pair of boots, and then they
escorted me out to their vehicle. I was cuffed up again and driven to
the airport and flown to Jacksonville, Florida, and admitted to the Naval Hospital.
There, I was treated for my memory loss as well as minor radiation
poisoning. I was put into a room by myself, and I had an
endless flow of doctors and visitors over the next several weeks, and then two
men and two women came to see me. I later discovered they were my
parents and my fiance and my brother, whom I did not know at the
time, and when I realized some months later, I felt horrible about that.
They kept coming back for a couple of weeks, until the only one
that stayed was my mother, and she kept coming back day in and day
out. I still couldn't understand what she was saying or remember anything about them.
She began to show me pictures, and she read me stories, and
she told me of my childhood and sing songs and hymns. Over the next
several months, and I finally began to remember bits and pieces of my life
before that dark night in the middle of Utah. I grew more and more
aware of my surroundings and my past as time went on and my language skills
started to return to me. I was so excited to realize that I was
beginning to understand the doctors and nurses when they came in, as well as
the people from Washington, who never seemed to be short of questions. I
had no answers for most of what they were asking me, but was more
than willing to listen and try. It was like my life was coming back
to me slowly, and if these people could help me remember, I was
game for anything. They attempted hypnosis as well as some truth drugs and some
other drugs that should have helped me remember, but everything stopped. I only
got to a certain point of memory. What was truly shocking was that it
seems that the evening before I was found in Utah, I was at work
some miles away, and in fact was over twenty eight hundred miles away in
the middle of the Bermuda Triangle aboard the USS Ronald Reagan, which is one
of the Navy's aircraft carriers. I apparently traveled over twenty eight hundred miles in
less than three hours, which is over nine hundred miles per hour, and
the military was interested in how this occurred. They had quite a few theories
about what happened. I was informed that I was on the USS Ronald Reagan
and we had just left Jacksonville after spending five months in port, and I
was headed back around South America to the Pacific. I was one of the
deck crew, as one of the Blue Crew or salvage wreck team, as
well as an ordnance personnel, and I was told that I spent all my
waking hours above deck, even when not on duty. When I missed muster
the next morning, and after a search of the ship, it was assumed
that I had fallen overboard, and several aircraft were launched to comb the ocean
looking for the needle in the Hays deck. Three days later, when my
prints and picture reached the military, they sent a police escort to retrieve me.
Theory one was that I was a wall from the time we left port
and had someone covering for me on the ship, but too many people had
witnessed me there aboard the ship, and the second was that I was some
sort of spy, and the third was I was trying to get a Section
eight discharge. After six months in total at the hospital in Jacksonville, they
transported me to Walter reed in Bethesda, Maryland, to be examined by the
nation's finest military medical staff. I had constant visitors there from Washington, as
well as psychologists from the military and all types of doctors. They concluded that
I was not lying to my superiors in Brass and that something had happened to
me that impacted me so much that all my memory had been suppressed. I
was in Walter Reid for four years in total, and I was discharged on
a medical and I received total disability. My case was classified until recently,
in which it was unclassified at the same time as the UFO case files.
It was then I saw the videos from the information release on the videos and
photos taken from the deck of the USS Ronald Reagan the night I had vanished.
Up until that time, I had no idea this could have been connected,
and I wondered if this is what all the interest in me was four
For five years that I spent locked up in the hospitals, I had moved
back in with my parents after leaving the hospital. I was still struggling with
some of the most basic parts of living alone, such as driving and shopping
and paying bills. And over the next several years, I experienced two more
events where I was found walking miles away from my car or where I was
last seen some hours later. Both episodes, I had no memory of how
I got there or what happened. Just prior to realizing that I was lost,
I was seen at the VA every four months as my body was aging
at a rate of three times the rate of a normal person. And now
I'm going to tell you something that will blow your mind. Just three months
ago, when going to Virginia my brain. Mother slammed the van door shut
on my hand and something went wrong. Immediately, my hand erupted in pain
like I had never experienced before. It was like I had struck my hand
into a vat of hot oil, but it was inside my hand, not
on the surface. A neon orange bruise the size of a silver dollar appeared
under the skin and began to spread and grow, and I was rushed inside
the hospital, where they sedated me and went to work on my hand.
When I woke, a massive portion of my hand had been removed, and
there were officers from the military present. Again. I was informed that the
impact of the van door on my hand had ruptured some sort of organic device
the length of twenty millimeters and the diameter of a grain of rice, and
it had tentacles stretching out over six inches from all over the surface area into
my hand, located a point between my fingers where this device was implanted.
Yet I had no knowledge of what this was nor where it came from,
let alone when it happened. The next morning, I was back at Walter
Reed and they were now scanning my body looking for more of these devices,
in which they located seventeen more in different parts of my body, including my
feet, hands, arms, neck, and connected to my tailbone, as
well as two that were implanted in my nostrils and into my brain. The
decision was made to remove these devices, starting with all the ones in the
extremities first and then tackling the two in my brain at a later time.
As of now, all of the devices have been removed, with only some
minor side effects to my eyesight and hearing. I've also begun to have nightmares
of being held down under a bright light and my body put through painful expres
experiments and surgeries, along with silvery looking squid type monsters looking down upon my
immobile body. Today I'm back with my parents, but I look like I'm
over eighty years old. My skin is wrinkled and my body is crippled up,
and my hands hurt from authritis. My back is humped over, and
I have to walk with a walker to get around. I am now forty
years old, and I wonder if I will see another year. And I
wonder who has done this to me? And what were those devices that were
removed from my body at Walter Reed And what did the military do with them.
Why haven't they told me anything that might give me an explanation as to
what has happened? Now? I wonder if I was abducted that night by
aliens from the deck of the USS Ronald Reagan and then deposited in Utah after
they did a bunch of experiments to me and wipe my memory from my mind?
And last, what was the purpose of this and why did they pick
me? When I was fourteen, I was with some of my family at
an actual haunted house called Saint Auban Sanatorium in Radford, Virginia. The place
began its life as a Lutheran boys' school, but bullying became such a problem
that several of its students took their own lives. With a reputation like that,
the school eventually shut down In nineteen sixteen. It reopened as a psychiatric
infirmary. Although it was supposed to be a better alternative to the other insane
asylums, it too developed a bad reputation. There were stories of cruel and
inhuman treatment of the patients. The stories were rampant. Experiments often left them
permanently disabled or dead. The staff to patient ratio was outrageous, with one
staff member for every one hundred and thirty five patients. Divide that into three
shifts with days off, and the number gets a lot closer to four hundred.
In the itteen nineties, the place was shut down, and today it's
considered one of the most haunted places in the Eastern United States. And for
the price of admission, you too can experience the other worldly happenings inside its
walls. Now, can you blame me for being too scared to go inside?
My uncle, who worked security there, stayed outside to keep me company
while everyone else went in. We walked around and talked until he got a
call to go to a walk through. While I was standing at the ticket
booth waiting for my uncle to come back, this guy with a pale face
and dark eyes walked up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. I
guess he was about five foot ten, and he was dressed in a uniform
like the inmates of the asylum would have worn. Do you know where the
bathroom is? He asked, well. I told him no, that I'd
never been inside. He stood there for a second, staring at me,
and then he turned and silently walked away. I assumed he was an actor
hired to add to the creepy factor of the haunted house. I never gave
him another thought, But a few days later we were all together again,
and everyone who went inside was showing off the pictures that they had taken and
talking about the suicide bathroom. It was the place where the students of the
Lutherans boys' schools would go to commit their final act. Someone had taken a
photograph of a wall of pictures showing the people who had died in that bathroom,
And right there, as clear as he was when he tapped me on
the shoulder, was the guy who asked me where the bathroom was. Almost
a decade later, it still haunts me, and I can't help but wonder
if the person he'd ask that question of while he was living had given him
have the same answer that I did. Would it had given him time to
think about it, maybe make a better choice.