I probed almost psychiatrist like as to why John thought it stupid of him? He admitted, if he had any sense he would have peddled for dear life, and not even bothered to look back. "But you don't, do you?" Mumbled John.
He said he brought his bicycle to a halt, dismounted and leant it against his body while holding his black doctor's bag limply in the other hand. I refrained from comment, and just tried to coax John with my eyes.
John said he looked-up as a shadow immersed his body and immediate area in a morbid blackness. "I could see the underside of it: A huge black monstrosity it was. Pipes and blocks jutting out from its belly; indentations and ammonite patterns engraved all over the surface, when a light suddenly appeared. Nothing grand," insisted John frowning: "Just a small white light which illuminated half the underside."
"Go on," I encouraged, as I lifted my cup. John said he stood rooted to the spot, his legs unable or unwilling to move. "Then a globe of blue light fell from its belly; about the size of a soccer ball! It halted about four feet from the ground, at chest height and just remained there suspended in mid-air It began to feel hypnotic," added John. "Then slowly it began to envelope my body. I felt my whole presence drowning in a sea of electric blue, and the next thing I knew, I was cycling my way home around 4am. Dawn was just breaking," said John, his words inspired. He appeared almost embarrassed by the affair. "And there's the dreams," interjected his wife. I asked her if she would care to elaborate.
She said, ever since that incident her husband had trouble sleeping. "He lays there tossing and turning most nights, then gets up to make a cup of tea, then just stares from the window."
I asked them both, if they could expand the finer content of John's dreams for me? John admitted he kept seeing this room. "A huge dark room, black as the grave, with just a table placed central. It's like a large operating table only perfectly circular," he stated. I asked him, somewhat compassionately if he believes he gets on this table, or whether he merely remains as an observer from a distant place?
"I can sense myself going forwards towards it," he insists. "I climb up and lay back supine. There's a lot of little gray people, known as GREYS, small, delicate little grey people that begin to gather round.
I feel immobilised and inanimate, almost as though I am being forcefully sucked to the platform." John's wife tells him not to upset himself, and I can see this man is becoming increasingly more emotional the more he talks.
Even his children have fallen silent by this time, and offer their support through a policy of tacit reticence. I asked John an obvious question: "Any exploratory examination or internal investigation of your body?" John instantly raised himself. He slowly walked across their nicely furnished drawing room towards a large set of bay windows, his wife's thoughts carrying with him, and with his back to me, he confessed openly he cannot be sure if the rest is a dream, multiplying with time, little bits being added on by himself, or whether they actually happened.
He briefly turned to glimpse me, and reminds me without prompt of his profession. "I'm a GP," he exclaims, and informs me how aware he is of sleep paralysis; (which we'll deal with later). John mumbled to himself: "It's all so real." I asked candidly if he'd prescribed anything for himself; something to help make him sleep! I thought if John had problems sleeping, then a mild sedative might just create subconscious hallucinogenic effects.
John told me how addictive sleeping pills can be, and how he avoided them. He once again stressed his profession, and how painfully aware he is, that drugs in them- selves can often create more problems than they actually solve. It was then that John swung round and asked me, without hesitation, if I believed in extraterrestrial life? It was a question I really hadn't expected. It threw me somewhat. Up until now, I hadn't given the subject much serious credence. I still sought evidence.
I believed in something, but wasn't quite sure what? I had to admit, with such a high volume of sighting's, close encounters of the first, second and third kind, I was hedging my bets. For the first time John spoke to me as a friend, rather than a stranger in his home. He told me, from the way I conducted myself, my knowledge of the subject, and how I listened intently, that I was not a stupid man.
I told him I would take that as a compliment, but
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