admitted I was ambiguous of this situation surrounding such events. I explained to him the difficulties I had in believing some stories because of the scientific framework involved.
It was his children who inquired further to my scepticism, and his wife who asked if I was suggesting her husband a liar?
I informed her I didn't particularly believe anyone involved in UFO phenomenon a liar, merely the merits which surround such difficult subjects can sometimes lead to mistaken beliefs. I pointed out there was an air-force base further down the road, how military operations are not always logged, and how us, the general public can often confuse different circumstances when we have no prior knowledge of their delicacy. I told her I have a few friends who have worked for the military in the past, and quite often they become paranoid about covert operations.
John was adamant at that point. He stood there, his back to me, staring from the window. His head shook, and he insisted: "This was not military."
I asked him why he was so certain? He returned my question with a question, by asking me is there any such thing as totally silent engines? I had to admit, I most certainly have never heard of any type of propulsion system that ran silent. I have heard of new electromagnetic systems that run quietly; but nothing silent! "This thing was silent," said John, as he turned to face me. He leant back against the window ledge, his hands in his pockets. "Silent as the grave. It stopped mid-air, totally static, no sway, no motion. Rock solid in the sky. You know what can do that!" I promised him I had no inside information of these types of machine.
I asked him at that point to describe it to me, graphically, in more detail: The shape, its external size. John raised his eyebrows, took a very deep breath and removed his hands from his pockets, so they became animate as he spoke. John said, when he stopped his bicycle and dismounted, what he saw gradually manoeuvre overhead was possibly a triangular type object.
He revealed it was absolutely black, and appeared first as though part of the sky slowly moved. "Then the real enormity of it became apparent. If you took half a football pitch and built an equilateral triangle inside, then you could get a clearer picture to its size.
I just remember thinking to myself, that's big1 For a moment I sat silently; the room joined me. I savoured my thoughts as though they the only ones I had ever had.
There was nothing I could think of capable of such actions. As I say, I had heard friends talk openly of new stealth technology.
A chap I know had been asked to contribute to new engine systems to ride electromagnetic wave, by creating electromagnetic fields between the vehicle and the Earth itself, so they became like opposite magnets. But nothing absolutely silent. I had heard through colleagues the Yanks had developed a new stealth project 'Loflyte' that rode the waves which skate over the surface of the earth. I had even heard of rumours of a downed UFO in the UK, and a contributory built from it, but that was speculative in its nature. But my problem hear was one, the silence, and two, that ability to sit still in midair. If you imagine just for a moment the amount of noise a Harrier jump-jet makes as it hovers, you will see my point. And besides that, any object that can hold a perfect hover, or sit static as John called it, is defying the fundamental laws of gravity, and that I most certainly had never heard of, not even in rumour.
And what was that strange ball of blue light John had referred to? I was of the impression, if any vessel did incorporate electromagnetic fields to justify its existence, then a form of ball-lightning was not totally out of the question.
But that would be a natural occurrence, and John was more of the opinion this globe of blue light served some more significant purpose. I was perplexed by his account of events. "And there's the little Grey men!" said John's daughter.
She was very young and told by her mother to instantly stop making things-up. I was of a different opinion. I never had liked that belief adults can tell weird stories, but children can't; not because their tales are more weird, but simply because their age different. I asked her, with a warm, friendly smile and soft voice: "What little Grey men these were?" Her head hung low as she sat there; her eyes lifted in to mine without her, head lifting, and she whispered: "They come in the night."
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