Speaker 1: All right, here's a really cool story. I don't know
the Oh my gosh, Jimma link, Jimma get and these
chickens are driving me crazy. I'm sending you my story
of an interaction I had with something many years ago.
I'm sending I'm sending you this in a way to
get it off my chest. I've only told this story
to two people before, one my wife and the other
my brother. But I still feel the need to sort
of get it out after all this time. Hold on
just a minute, y'all. Jimma get.
Speaker 2: Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Speaker 1: All right there, I close my door. Now we shouldn't
be interrupted anymore. About twenty eight or twenty nine years ago,
I worked for a hospital in West Palm Beach, Florida.
The hospital has since closed down. I had worked there
for a few years and used the same route to
go to and from work on every shift. I lived
in Royal Palm Beach at the time. That meant that
I drove east to work in the morning in West
back home in the afternoon. On this day I was
leaving work for home. I had come to know the
streets on my drive quite well, and I came to
recognize the scenery For example, one house always had kids
bicycles in the front yard. They were dropped where they
had left them, and there was a basketball or two
in the yard, and certain cars in particular driveways. This
was the normal scenery for these streets, and I would
notice if something was different or unusual. I saw a large,
dirty white object to my left up the street. It
was not normally there. At first, I thought someone had
discarded an old white or tan rack, or that I
was looking at a discarded washing machine. It was far
enough away that I couldn't quite figure out what it
was yet, and as I got closer to it, it
took more and more of my attention. I just couldn't
figure it out. But there was something about it that
bothered me. As I got even closer, I continued to
look at it and wondered, what the hell is that.
I looked in my rear view mirror. I saw no
cars were behind me, and now I began to slow
down to get a better look. When I was several
car links from it, I took my foot off the
gas and I slowed down even more. My truck was
just coasting now. When I got two or three car
links from it, I suddenly realized that the thing that
I was looking at was alive. I could see skin
in pores, and it looked like a plucked bird. Suddenly
the object seemed to be in hyper detail to me,
and I could see skin and pores and wrinkles and
grass stains here and there. I thought, well, this thing
can't be real. It can't. But I see skin, and
I'm looking at something's back and it's huge. It's as
big as a washing machine, and it's crouching down. I
didn't see arms or legs or a head yet, just
the back. When I was ten or twelve feet away
from it, looking at its right side in the back
of its head, it slowly and very casually turned its
head to look at me. I looked directly into its
face and eyes, and again everything seemed to come into
hyper detail, with its face seemingly to be directed in
front of my face. It had jet black eyes, no
visible whites. There was a small straight mouth and slits
for nostrils, and black freckles on its face. I don't
remember seeing ears or hair. Its face was devoid of emotion,
completely blank. I got no sense of male or female.
It was intent on me, and then it considered me,
and then it dismissed me. I've had years to think
about this part of the interaction, and to say it
studied me or examined me would be wrong, as that
would imply too much effort. It considered me like I
was a bug on the sidewalk. At this point I
felt a slight push or pressure, like someone touching my
forehead and upper chest gently with a finger, and I
felt and heard this one is of no consequence. The
first two words of this kind were implied, but the
rest of the thought was clear as a bell. This thing,
this not human, not animal, considered me of no consequence.
I can't identify this thing, and it doesn't consider me
a danger. It doesn't consider my seeing it a threat.
It considered me of no consequence, like that bug on
the sidewalk. While this thing was considering me, pushing into
my consciousness, I got to look into it, a slight look,
but it was a look. This thing was not lost,
It was not alien and not scared or hesitant. It
was comfortable and confident. It was in its natural habitat
where it lived, and it had been in contact with
humans before. At no time was I scared during this interaction.
I was just confused, never having seen anything like this before,
and I had nothing to compare it to. I couldn't
believe what I was seeing. I thought to myself that
I can't be seeing this, and even as the truck
was still slowly coasting, I closed my eyes for a
second and I put my head down, thinking I'm not
seeing this. And I picked my head up and I
opened my eyes, and what I saw only makes some
sense at all. All these years later, I recently saw
a YouTube video of one of the Navajo Rangers and
he said that someies or able to give us what
he called snapshot memories or visuals, to substitute for what
you were really looking at. And I think that's what happened.
When I opened my eyes, I was looking at an
Australian shepherd dog. It was black and brown and white
and sitting there staring at me. It didn't move, it
didn't blink, it didn't sniff, and it definitely was not
a normal dog. I kept looking at it and it
never moved, and I watched it in the side view
mirror as it faded behind me, and it never moved.
It just continued to watch me drive away. I think
I might have forgotten about the whole thing if it
wasn't for that push and the hearing of that of
no consequence, which ended up really angering me at being
dismissed like that. And that's the end of the story. Now.
I thought this story was appropriate because I think in
New Mexico or Arizona, there's a story going around of
a something streaking out of the sky. Many people saw it,
and then there's a call to nine to one one
from this family who is claiming that something landed in
their backyard and there are alien eight or nine foot
tall creatures walking around in their backyard. This story seems
to be getting traction. It's kind of gone, it's kind
of probably semi gone viral. We're hearing a lot of things.
There was a whistleblower recently talking about the Roswell incident
and that the United States has a spacecraft or some
kind of craft built not on this Earth and creatures,
or the pilots, at least the pilots of the craft,
they're dead, but they have them preserved and are studying
them and are trying to reverse engineer the crafts that
they commandeered. And this is all interesting and it's almost
like after this whistleblower made these revelations, and I don't
know if that if what he's saying is valid. I
have no idea, but I'm following the story and trying
to figure out, looking at YouTube videos, reading articles, trying
to find everything I can. But this is really interesting stuff.
There's a video of this family trying to get in
their backyard, the one that called nine to one one,
and they are scared to death. They're both all of
them are armed, and they're trying to walk in the
gate and they keep seeing something and they're backing out
and you don't see it in the video anyway, Just
to cut to the point, it kind of seems like
these incidents are kind of gaining frequency. I don't understand it,
but you know, the UFO thing, it has always been
interesting to me. But these reports that are coming out
are fascinating. And you know what's weird, Nobody cares, Nobody
seems to care about it. It's not front page news.
It's not. Of course, there's a lot of things going
on in our country, a lot of corruption and things
like that, it's not front page news at all. It's like,
it's like I don't know what the deal is, but
the news cycle and the news the way people report
news is so foreign into what I'm used to all
my life. But anyway, I thought this story kind of
went along with or I think current events can compare
and contrast to this man's experience. What could that thing
have been, I don't know, but it was a fascinating story.
Sorry I talked so much after this story, but it
was really good and I wanted to make sure you
heard it. So thanks to the writer for sending it.
This occurrence is something that I have carried with me
for many years. This is the first time I've ever
written a story down though. It was back in nineteen
seventy nine or eighty and I was living in a
small town in College Dorado. At one time it was
a small farm town, and my apartment was in the
building that was over one hundred years old. Across the
alley behind my apartment was a small walk in theater.
At one time it was an opera house, and back
in the day, people rode their horse drawn carriages into
town from the surrounding county to attend the opera performances there.
The apartment that my roommate and I were living in
was owned by a man that we had never met.
He had an interesting story. He was a young man
and he worked pushing a broom in a local bank,
and he was very thrifty, and when he could afford it,
he bought a share in the bank. Eventually he owned
controlling shares in that bank. And our apartment had been
vacant since World War II, and when we first moved in,
the bureau was lined with yellow newspaper. I imagined that
the paper was maybe ten years old. Was dated back
to the nineteen forty and it listed farm acreage with
a home for fourteen hundred dollars. There was an article
called the War Correspondence and Notebook. I was twenty seven
at the time, so the references to the war were
to circumstances that were far before my time. Every ad
for employment specifically stated women encouraged to apply, and I
had never seen that before. I realized that there was
a critical manpower shortage because of the war. Anyway, Our
apartment was located up on the second floor. Down on
the first floor were shops. The building was shaped with
an L, with the apartments and shops running the full
length of the main street along the square in the
middle of town, and the single upstairs apartment we were
in was located on the short leg of the l
The upstairs apartments in the long length of the building
were all connected into a single long apartment that was
occupied by the then l owner of the building and
his wife. Because of the upstairs location, street light shone
through our apartment windows at night, making sound sleep challenging well.
I had the idea of getting cardboard boxes from the
local bike shop and cutting large pieces to fit into
the window sills to block the light, and it worked perfectly.
Once the cardboard was in place, you could not see
your hand in front of your face. When the lights
were out, it was darkest pitch. We had lived there
for a few months and we had settled into something
over a routine, and in the middle of the night,
my roommate woke up just enough to stumble into the
bathroom and then back into bed without flushing. Neither of
us woke up. It was easier to fall back asleep
if we didn't wake up any more than necessary. My
roommate fell back into bed and I began to drift
back to sleep in my bed, and I was almost
asleep when I heard a calm, clear, almost quiet and
yet a distant voice say it's foggy out. Well, I ignored it.
My priority was to get myself back to sleep by
the easiest scrout, and then my mind began moving. My
roommate was studying Spanish at the time. His favorite Spanish
word was afweererh, which means outside. He said that word
many times a day, maybe twenty times a day. If
he could say afwerer, he said it. In fact, he
went out of his way to find opportunities to say afwerer,
and in my mind I couldn't imagine why he didn't
say it's foggy afwera. I decided to let it go,
but my faults kept moving. Okay, this, uh, never mind.
Why did he say it's foggy out. I didn't know
anyone that talked that way. I would expect something like
it's foggy or even it's foggy outside, but it's foggy out.
It just didn't seem normal somehow, so I let it
go in favor of getting back to sleep, but my
thoughts kept moving. How did my roommate know that it
was foggy outside? Every window in the place had been
blocked out with cardboard, and even if there was fog,
there was no way that my roommate could know that.
And I decided to just let it go, but my
brain kept moving. It was a beginning to come aggravating.
We had lived in this place for two months and
at no time had we ever had a single night
of fog. Why would he say that there was fog?
It was bugging me and how could he even know?
And why would he even say it in such an
unusual way? And by this time I was much too
awake to be able to simply fall back asleep. I
had to know, so I yelled out in the darkness. Hey,
my roommate had already fallen back to sleep, so I
yelled louder, Hey, what do you want? His annoyance was conspicuous,
and I asked, is it foggy outside or not? In
His response was terse, I don't know, leave me alone.
That was that. I tried to go back to sleep,
but this time my brain was squirming. The agitation made
my sleep in an easy proposition. I lay in the
blackness pondering the situation, and I decided the only way
to handle the moment was to stumble my way through
the blackness to a window and pull out the cardboard.
And I threw off my blanket and I started stumbling.
I reached the window and took hold of the cardboard,
and I pulled it out from the window sill, and
to my astonishment, the fog outside the window was so
thick that it was not possible to see through the
glass more than a few inches, maybe four or six
inches at the most. The fog was as thick as
I have ever seen it in this area. I have
no idea whose voice I heard that night when I
was almost completely asleep, and I can only say that
the voice told me that it was foggy. I had
no way of about the fog without checking my roommate
could not have known, and until that night we had
not had any fog at all. The best explanation I
have is merely speculation on my part, and I'm still
not sure exactly what happened that night. And he signs off, Steve, Steve,
that's a cool story. Maybe you heard a ghost man,
maybe you heard somebody that used to live in that
old building, just letting you know that it was foggy out.
I don't know. I don't know, Steve. That's a good story.
I appreciate you writing it, and thanks for all the
emails over the years, Buddy. I live in Williamsburg, Virginia.
In two thousand and nine, after a layoff from the
company where I had worked for twenty years, I got
a job handling security in a historic plantation turned time share.
Having a military former sworn security background, I was happy
to get a job because I've always felt that work
was better than unemployment. My former employer, the historic colonial
capital of Virginia, suffered severe cutbacks due to a lag
in tourism because of the economy. I had spent twelve
of my twenty years there in security. A large part
of that job was entering the historic original buildings in
the wee hours of the night to make sure they
had been properly secured and free of anything that might
cause a fire like a candle or a hot plate
still switched on. There were many stories of hauntings coupled
with a few creepy feelings that I had experienced during
my inspections, So when I was interviewed for the job
at the plantation, I was asked my feelings about haunted houses.
My unvarnished response was, been there done? That management inform
me that there was a ghostly press since called the
Lady of the house, who was feared by most everyone
who entered the place, and that after making sure no
one was left inside, I would have to risk her
displeasure in order to close the building each night. Since
I had no trepidation toward being inside haunted structures in general,
plus my experience with three hundred year old buildings and
their previous unearthly occupants, I got the job. On the
first night, I accompanied my training officer into the house
to secure it. I was surprised to learn that all
the lights were left on twenty four to seven. They
told others that the practice was done to make the
house look more opulent, but I suspected it was for
the benefit of the nervous staff and their arrested fear
of the dark. My training officer had recited all the
spooky tales that had struck fear into the hearts of
the employees throughout the years. As we entered a building
and started to the second floor, I initiated a make
believe conversation with the lady of the house. Hello, old
lady of the house, I said, please allow me to
introduce myself. I'm Carl, the new security officer, and it's
nice to meet you. My training officer looked at me
like I had lost my ever loving mind. Well, I explained,
my reasoning can hurt. To show some respect, I declared,
I'm sure I'm the only one who's ever done that.
She affirmed that I was the only one quote crazy
enough to greet the woman unquote. As we walked by
the upstairs bathroom, the training officer noted that the light
was off, and before her hand could flip the switch,
it flicked back on. I thank the lady of the
house in bitter good night as we closed the front
door behind us. For reference, there is an eighteenth century
historic building in Williamsburg called George Wythe House. Both it
and the plantation were designed by the same architect, and
the houses are almost identical, with two stories and a
large center staircase flanked by two large rooms on either
side at the top of the stairs. The room on
the left in the plantation is used for storage and
features of bathroom with a modern door that unlocks when
you exit the bathroom. This detail would become relevant. Later,
some months went by, and one day, as a visitor
was leaving, she asked if I would like to see
a weird picture that she took while inside the house.
I answered her questions about the place being haunted, and
I revealed several stories, including the one about the bathroom light.
She showed me a photo on her digital camera that
she took of the first floor fireplace, and standing in
front of it appeared to be three translucent figures in
colonial American clothing. One was a very regal looking woman.
I continued to serve in my security role, unafraid of
the alleged spirits whose presence unnerved my fellow employees, and
one night, as usual, I was making my rounds and
preparing to lock up the place. Once I got to
the second floor, I noticed the bathroom door was locked.
As I mentioned earlier, this door unlocks when its user exits.
I was concerned that someone may have had some disastrous
encounter inside and might be unconscious or otherwise injured, so
I began knocking hard on the door to get their attention.
Without any response, I realized the spared door key was
outside in my vehicle. I attempted to jimmy the lock
with my pocket knife, and even try manipulating the mechanism
with a credit card, but it didn't work. I turned
to head down to my car to retrieve the key.
When I was struggle with an idea. I stood at
the top of the stairs and I pronounced loudly, Lady
of the house, will you please unlock the bathroom door
for me? If it didn't work, I would just be
another foolish employee with a misguided belief in spirits, but
I was thankful there was no one but me in
the building to bear witness. One way or another. A
way back to the bathroom, I reached for the handle
and easily opened the door. After a quick inspection in
finding no one inside, I stepped back into the hall.
I opened and closed the door several times until I
was assured it would remain unlocked. I walked over to
the stairs and offered a heartfelt thank you to the
lady of the house, and I locked up the building
for the night. I don't think my coworkers believed my story,
but unlike them, I never had a problem with locks
or door sticking. The secretary, who also doubles as a
long time his storian of the place informed that the
Lady of the house must really be fond of me,
because she never extended such courtesy toward any other security
officer before or since.