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Sleep deprivation caused by UFO activities. Page 19 of 50.

Once again I smiled delicately, and lowered my voice so as not to frighten this angelic little creature, with her large blue. eyes and long golden ringlets. She could not have been more than seven or eight bless her, and she wanted so desperately to tell me what she had seen. I had the feeling, from her sheepish expression she had been told off once too often, and that manifested itself in a semi-reluctance. "How many of them come in the night?" I asked. She said to me, slightly more buoyant when I took an interest, that there was usually three of them, sometimes only two. "It depends," she said. Her mother Jean mouthed at me, that I should take no notice. But civility remained.

I allowed this small, very fragile child to continue. I was not pushed for time, and it seemed inappropriate to upset someone so small.

She said that sometimes, when she was asleep they wake her up because they are talking in her mind, and then, she comes downstairs and they tell her things. "What sort of things?" I asked, curiously.

"Things about the stars; things about where they live, and their mummies and daddies. They say they have to teach me." Her little brother then shouted at her: "No they don't!" And she automatically fought back with hostile words of her own. At that point John insisted his wife remove them. The usual fatherly excuse was offered, they could not be trusted, and all his children are ushered from the room by Jean. In a way, and not trying to be nasty, it was greatly appreciated. It offered me a chance to speak with John in private; to maybe probe them recesses I could not with his family there. He seated himself back down, almost slumping in the chair. I inquired to his fitness, and he just replied how he was always, "so damned tired."

In my investigations into these strange UFO activities, I've heard a lot about a torpor individuals feel. Sleep deprivation appeared to be a common condition amongst subjectees and John seemed little different in this respect. I noticed the way he constantly massaged his forehead, the sometimes agitated way his body moved. He asked me, if I knew what was so bloody annoying about all this? I confessed that I really did not have a clue.

John told me as he elevated himself forwards in his seat, his fingers turning in to craws, that: "There's this bloody awfur feeling in my mind. It's like having a name on the tip of my tongue, but not being able to recall it, It feels exactly the same.

It's like there's is a message in my mind I simply cannot remember; but it keeps provoking me," I sensed at that point, this was the real reason for John contacting me. I guessed John thought I might have some answers for him. I put that very question to him. I asked if he expected me to solve his dilemma? He insisted that might be asking too much. "But anything," he pleaded. "If you just tell me I'm not going mad, it would help."

I sat there momentarily studying John, his lovely home, his perfect family, and in some ways envied him. He appeared on the surface to be a chap that had what most would fight and die for. But underneath this upper middle class existence an inexplicable problem tormented him and his family. You could tell from the way he snapped at his children, this situation was causing problems.

I felt truly sorry for the guy. He seemed such a decent person, whom had been dealt a decent set of cards in life, yet somehow I had the feeling I would not exchange positions for a million pounds. John was a troubled man.

Some might suggest John a man under pressure, and things had just become too difficult so his mind chose a more lateral direction to steer itself in. An escape from reality if you like. But others may not. When I left John's house, with a promise I would keep in touch via written correspondence, I travelled to the local police station. It was only a small, converted private house on the village periphery. Inside was two police officers, a Sergeant and a constable, both in short sleeves, both seemingly unconcerned about their profession. They seemed more intent on banter than policing, for as I walked through the tiny doorway into the foyer, my body dulling the room by restricting the outside summer sun, their merriment stopped.

I got the distinct feeling an unwelcome visitor had arrived. Both men stared vacant in my general direction, and the

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