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