Thursday, December 29, 2011


I was in high school with 2 other friends. We drove to the mall at about midnight because we heard the rumor that the Luby's restaurant in the mall stayed open later than the rest of the mall, and we had the plan to somehow sneak into the mall and run around at night.

Well we got to the mall and Luby's was already closed, so we started driving back home. On the way back there was a stretch of the highway that was slightly elevated with a lot of forest on either side. Driving past this part we all noticed a bright orange glow reflecting off these low hanging clouds to our left. This glow was coming from inside the forest.

We all thought it was a forest fire and we were looking for an adventure that night, so we decided to drive into the nearest neighborhood and see if we could somehow get closer to this fire.

Driving around in the neighborhood, we could not find a road that headed in that direction of the woods. So eventually we ended up parking our car and just walking into the woods. We had no flashlights or anything, but the orange glow off the clouds was illuminating the surrounding area somewhat. We basically just walked blindly in the direction of the source of the glow. At this point it was probably about thirty minutes after midnight.

After walking through the woods for awhile, we came across a makeshift road in the forest. It was composed of planks of wood lying one after the other. This road appeared to lead directly to the source of this glow. So we walked along the side of this road, in the direction of the glow.

Ahead of us the road curved and ended at this glow, it was enormously bright and there was a strange metallic grinding or roaring noise. We started to get nervous so we took cover in the woods and approached the destination through the woods, so that if anyone was there they wouldn't immediately see us. We came up to a clearing, my friends crouched down and I climbed a tree so I had the best vantage point.

What we were looking at was basically a clearing, at least a football field in diameter, with a gigantic crater in the center. It looked like a classic moon crater, raised on the edges. There was a HUGE flame coming out of this crater, this flame must have been over a hundred feet across and the flames were as high or higher than the surrounding trees. Standing around this crater were approximately 15-20 men in yellow hazmat suits. In the center of this flame I could barely make out a rectangular black object maybe about the size of a refrigerator. In the background of the clearing, behind this flame, were several large trailer houses.

Occasionally a low metallic grinding or roaring would be heard from the crater, and the flames would leap even higher into the air. I climbed down the tree so I could tell my friends what I had seen. We contemplated just walking out there and asking these men what was going on, but we were young and scared that maybe these people would kill us because we saw something we weren't supposed to see.

Eventually we left, and we spent the whole night theorizing about what was going on in that strange scene in the middle of the night in the woods. If it was just regular people doing some ordinary legitimate work, why do it at 1 in the morning?

Several days later I was telling a friend this story, and he didn't believe me. It was during the daytime and we decided to go back to the scene. We basically retraced my steps exactly, parked in the same place and walked through the woods. We found the road and followed it to the clearing. When we got there we discovered that everything, including the crater, was completely gone. It was simply an empty clearing now. We looked around for clues and found nothing.

I posted this story on a paranormal forum many years ago, asking if anyone knew what these guys were doing. No one could give me an answer, apparently it's very odd that these guys were doing whatever they were doing in the dead of night.

Sunday, December 25, 2011



Author Unknown

The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn't been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away. It was just another day to him. He didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a reason to celebrate. He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the last hour and wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a homeless man stepped through.

Instead of throwing the man out, Old George, as he was known by his customers, told the man to come and sit by the heater and warm up. "Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the stranger. "I see you're busy, I'll just go." "Not without something hot in your belly." George said.
He turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger. "It ain't much, but it's hot and tasty, "Stew ... made it myself. When you're done, there's coffee and it's fresh."

Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway bell. "Excuse me, be right back," George said. There in the driveway was an old '53 Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the front. The driver was panicked. "Mister can you help me!" said the driver, with a deep Spanish accent. "My wife is with child and my car is broken."

George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked cracked from the cold, the car was dead. " You ain't going in this thing," George said as he turned away.

"But Mister, please help ..." The door of the office closed behind George as he went inside. He went to the office wall and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside. He walked around the building, opened the garage, started the truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting. "Here, take my truck," he said. "She ain't the best thing you ever looked at, but she runs real good."

George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it sped off into the night. He turned and walked back inside the office. "Glad I gave 'em the truck, their tires were shot too. That 'ol truck has brand new ......." George thought he was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone. The Thermos was on the desk, empty, with a used coffee cup beside it. "Well, at least he got something in his belly," George thought.

George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start. It cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage where the truck had been. He thought he would tinker with it for something to do. Christmas Eve meant no customers. He discovered the the block hadn't cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator. "Well, shoot, I can fix this," he said to himself. So he put a new one on.

"Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter either." He took the snow treads off of his wife's old Lincoln . They were like new and he wasn't going to drive the car anyway.

As he was working, he heard shots being fired. He ran outside and beside a police car an officer lay on the cold ground. Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, "Please help me."

George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training he had received in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention. "Pressure to stop the bleeding," he thought. The uniform company had been there that morning and had left clean shop towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the wound. "Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he said, trying to make the policeman feel at ease.

"Something for pain," George thought. All he had was the pills he used for his back. "These ought to work." He put some water in a cup and gave the policeman the pills. "You hang in there, I'm going to get you an ambulance."

The phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there talk box out in your car." He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the dashboard destroying the two way radio.

He went back in to find the policeman sitting up. "Thanks," said the officer. "You could have left me there. The guy that shot me is still in the area."

George sat down beside him, "I would never leave an injured man in the Army and I ain't gonna leave you." George pulled back the bandage to check for bleeding. "Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right through 'ya. Good thing it missed the important stuff though. I think with time your gonna be right as rain."

George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How do you take it?" he asked. "None for me," said the officer. "Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city. Too bad I ain't got no donuts." The officer laughed and winced at the same time.

The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun. "Give me all your cash! Do it now!" the young man yelled. His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never done anything like this before.

"That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer. "Son, why are you doing this?" asked George, "You need to put the cannon away. Somebody else might get hurt." The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or I'll shoot you, too. Now give me the cash!"

The cop was reaching for his gun. "Put that thing away," George said to the cop, "we got one too many in here now."

He turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's Christmas Eve. If you need money, well then, here. It ain't much but it's all I got. Now put that pee shooter away."

George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time. The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry. "I'm not very good at this am I? All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son," he went on. "I've lost my job, my rent is due, my car got repossessed last week."

George handed the gun to the cop. Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the best we can."

He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair across from the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid things." George handed the young man a cup of coffee. "Bein' stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin' in here with a gun ain't the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we'll sort this thing out."

The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop. "Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I'm sorry officer."

"Shut up and drink your coffee." the cop said.

George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the door, guns drawn. "Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer.

"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?" "GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who did this?" the other cop asked as he approached the young man.

Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just dropped his gun and ran."

George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other. "That guy work here?," the wounded cop continued. "Yep," George said, "just hired him this morning. Boy lost his job."

The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher. The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, Why?" Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas boy ... and you too, George, and thanks for everything."

"Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That ought to solve some of your problems."

George went into the back room and came out with a box. He pulled out a ring box. "Here you go, something for the little woman. I don't think Martha would mind. She said it would come in handy some day."

The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever saw. "I can't take this," said the young man. "It means something to you." "And now it means something to you," replied George. "I got my memories. That's all I need."

George reached into the box again. An airplane, a car and a truck appeared next. They were toys that the oil company had left for him to sell. "Here's something for that little man of yours."

The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old man had handed him earlier.

"And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that too," George said, "Now git home to your family."

The young man turned with tears streaming down his face. "I'll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is still good."

"Nope. I'm closed Christmas day," George said. "See ya the day after."

George turned around to find that the stranger had returned. "Where'd you come from? I thought you left ?"

"I have been here. I have always been here," said the stranger. "You say you don't celebrate Christmas. Why?" "Well, after my wife passed away, I just couldn't see what all the bother was. Puttin' up a tree and all seemed a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin' cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn't the same by myself and besides I was gettin' a little chubby."

The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder. "But you do celebrate the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he will become a great doctor. The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will make you a rich man and not take any for himself. "That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any man."

George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. "And how do you know all this?" asked the old man.

"Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And when your days are done you will be with Martha again."

The stranger moved toward the door. "If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now. I have to go home where there is a big celebration planned."

George watched as the old leather jacket and the torn pants that the stranger was wearing turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill the room.

"You see, George ... it's My birthday. Merry Christmas."

Thursday, December 22, 2011


Presidential Bigfoot

Posted by admin On December - 23 - 2010
From Fate Magazine

Teddy Roosevelt during his time as a rancher

Just 100 years ago, Theodore Roosevelt was the country’s chief executive and favorite son. His personality was larger than life. His exploits captured people’s imaginations worldwide. After the death of his first wife in 1884, Roosevelt spent two years as a rancher and hunter on his ranch in the Badlands of Dakota Territory. He climbed down from the saddle long enough to pen three books during this period. In 1893, he published a lengthy and most entertaining narrative entitled The Wilderness Hunter: An Account of the Big Game of the United States and Its Chase with Horse, Hound, and Rifle, a memoir of sorts of his days in the territories. Among the stories recorded here is what seems to have been a 19th-century Bigfoot encounter. 

The Frontiersman’s Tale

The report came to Roosevelt from the lips of a grizzled old mountain man named Bauman, who had spent the entirety of his very long life on the frontier. As he recollected the details of the event, Bauman had difficulty controlling his emotions. The event was very real to him.

Bauman was a trapper as a young man. His strange encounter occurred sometime between 1810 and 1840 when he and a partner were trapping in an area around the forks of the Salmon and Wisdom rivers in the Bitteroot Mountains, near the border of Idaho and Montana. The trapping business was rather lean so the two frontiersmen decided to try their skills in a remote area around a small mountain stream that seemed to have a lot of beaver signs.
This area had a rather sinister reputation. A year earlier, a lone hunter had wandered into the area and been slain by a wild beast. His half-eaten remains were discovered by a prospector. People who knew of the strange killing gave that area a wide berth, but this did not deter the two adventuresome trappers.

Bauman and his partner rode to within a four-hour hike of the area where they were going to trap. They hobbled their mountain ponies in a beaver meadow and set off on foot into the underbrush of the Bitteroot Range.

The trappers hastily erected a lean-to  where they stowed their packs, then hurried upstream to set a few traps and explore for signs before nightfall. When they returned to their makeshift camp at dusk, they made an unpleasant discovery. Their packs had been vandalized, and their gear thrown in every direction. Whatever attacked the camp had been vigorous in its assault, churning up the ground and completely destroying the lean-to.

Such vandalism was completely out of place. Frontiersmen knew of the hardship of survival. Lean-tos might stand for years as hunter after hunter used them and passed on their way. Packs were far too valuable to be recklessly strewn on the ground; they might be purloined by the unscrupulous, but never vandalized. Bears and other creatures might be drawn to food, but this was evidently not the case. It appeared someone was bent on destroying their packs.
As the unfortunate trappers gathered up their possessions, they noticed footprints in the ground that were “quite plain.” The urgency of salvaging their goods and rebuilding the lean-to required their immediate energies. The footprints, plain or otherwise, would have to wait.

Two Long Nights

When the camp was restored, Bauman began cooking a meal while his partner examined the footprints by torchlight. Returning for another firebrand, he remarked that the attacker walked on two legs. Bauman broke into laughter at the idea of a marauding bear walking upright as it demolished the camp. His partner insisted the bear must have walked on its hind legs and took a larger firebrand to examine the tracks in more detail. The prints clearly indicated that they were made by a creature that walked upright, having been made by two paws or feet.

Around midnight, Bauman was awakened by a noise. An awful stench filled his nostrils, the strong odor of a wild beast. By the opening of the lean-to, he saw the menacing shadow of a great body lurking in the darkness. He fired his rifle. The shot either missed its intended mark or did little harm to the towering form, but whatever it was ran off. The curtain of night could not obscure the sounds of something very large forcing its way through the thick underbrush surrounding the camp.

The second half of the night passed slowly as the trappers watchfully tended the fire. Nothing more of the great thing was heard, seen, or smelled that night.

When daylight came the two men set out to check their traps and make additional sets. Both were experienced mountain men, but instead of separating and covering twice as much area, they worked together all day. The events of the previous night obviously impacted them enough to alter their behavior.

As the last light of the afternoon began to give way to the ensuing night, the men reached their camp. It was déjà vu: again the camp had been destroyed. All their possessions had been rummaged and tossed about. The earth was churned up, indicating a great deal of furious activity. In the soft, damp earth near the stream were found clear footprints as crisp as if made in snow. The tracks were made by a creature that was obviously bipedal.

As darkness surrounded them, the trappers restored their camp as best they could, concentrating their efforts on building a roaring fire. That night, they could hear branches breaking in the underbrush, indicating that it was near. Occasionally it emitted long, drawn-out groans and moans, sounds that proved to be terrifying to the two men.

With the arrival of the new day came a decision. Although the area showed signs of an abundance of game, very little had been taken so far. Combined with the harassment of the unwelcome camp follower, the trappers decided to leave.

As the two men collected the traps they had set the day before, they felt the presence of someone or something watching them, dogging them. Their awareness of this phantom seemed to intensify their resolve to leave the area.

A Fatal Decision

But the light of day began to work on their manhood. They felt embarrassed about sticking so close together. Both men were experienced in wilderness survival. Both had faced danger from man, beast, and the elements before and had prevailed. Perhaps this reasoning influenced their next move. They decided to separate. Bauman was to check the remaining traps while his partner returned to camp and pack. They would meet at the camp and move somewhere else.

Fortune blossomed at the wrong time: each of the three remaining sets had caught a beaver. One of the poor creatures had fought with the trap and tangled the chain in a beaver lodge, requiring extra time to untangle. By the time Bauman had skinned the beaver carcasses and stretched the pelts, most of the afternoon was gone. As the last moments of daylight were disappearing, he neared the camp.
An eerie silence seemed to envelop the site. No birds could be heard. Bauman’s steps were muted by the pine needles and even the perpetual breeze of the mountains was still. He whistled, expecting a reply from his partner. No acknowledgement was heard. All was silent.

Within sight of the camp, Bauman saw that the fire was out, a thin blue smoke trailing from the dying embers. His partner’s lifeless body lay stretched on the ground by the trunk of a fallen tree. The body was still warm. The poor man’s neck had been broken. Four fang-like incisions marked the throat. Footprints indicated the attack was from an animal that walked on two legs.

Upon completion of packing, the unfortunate trapper must have sat on the tree trunk facing the fire waiting for Bauman to return. Reaching out from behind the resting man, the unknown creature must have wrenched the trapper’s neck. Evidence indicated that whatever killed the lone trapper had thrown the body about and rolled on it.

Bauman abandoned the camp, taking only his rifle. He made his way down the mountain pass to the hobbled ponies in the beaver meadow, then rode beyond the point of pursuit.

Roosevelt noted that Bauman was of German ancestry, and would have heard many a ghost and goblin story as a child. In his years on the frontier he would have heard tales of the unexplained and of the magic of the Indian medicine man. As a hunter and trapper he would have learned the track of every animal in the area. Roosevelt did not doubt that an incident took place, but he gives the impression that a psychological explanation would account for the unexplainable part of the story.

According to this report, a large, foul-smelling creature that appeared to be bipedal repeatedly attacked two young frontiersmen in the region of the Bitterroot Mountains. What was it? Roosevelt did not say. However, something about the story of the old mountain man must have impressed the future president deeply for him to include it in his great narrative of the frontier West.

Written by Gary W. Hemphill, a writer living in Greenville, Pennsylvania. Story published in FATE Feb/Jan 2009.

Sunday, December 18, 2011


A  brother and sister had made their usual hurried,obligatory pre- Christmas visit to the little farm where dwelt their elderly parents with their small herd of horses.  The farm was where they had grown up and had been named Lone Pine Farm because of the huge pine, which topped the hill behind  the farm. Through the years the tree had become a talisman to the old man and  his wife, and a landmark in the countryside. The young  siblings had fond memories of their childhood here, but the city hustle and bustle added more excitement to their lives, and called them away to a different life.

The old folks no longer showed their horses, for the years had taken their toll, and getting out to the barn on those frosty mornings was getting harder, but it gave them a reason to get up in the mornings and a reason to live.  They sold a few foals each year, and the horses were their reason for joy in the morning and contentment at day's end..

Angry, as they prepared to leave, the young couple confronted the old folks.  Why do you not at least dispose of The Old One."She is no longer of use to you.  It's been years since you've had foals from her.  You should cut corners and save so you can have more for yourselves.  How can this old worn out horse bring you anything but expense and work?  Why do you keep her anyway?"

The old man looked down at his worn boots, holes in the toes, scuffed at the barn floor and replied, "Yes, I could use a pair of new boots.  His arm slid defensively about the Old One's neck as he drew her near with gentle caressing he rubbed her  softly behind her ears.  He replied softly, "We  keep her because of love.  Nothing else, just love."

Baffled and irritated, the young folks wished the old man and his wife a Merry Christmas and headed back toward the city as darkness stole through the valley.  The old couple shook their heads in sorrow that it had not been a happy visit. A tear fell upon their cheeks.. How is it that these young folks do not understand the peace of the love that filled their hearts?

So it was, that because of the unhappy leave-taking, no one noticed the insulation smoldering on the frayed wires in the old barn.  None saw the first spark fall.  None but the "Old One".

In a matter of minutes, the whole barn was ablaze and the hungry flames were licking at the loft full of hay. With a cry of horror and despair, the old man shouted to his wife to call for help as he raced to the barn to save their beloved horses.  But the flames were roaring now, and the blazing heat drove him back.  He sank sobbing to the ground, helpless before the fire's fury.  His wife back from calling for help cradled him in her arms, clinging to each other, they wept at their loss.

By the time the fire department arrived, only smoking, glowing ruins were left, and the old man and his wife, exhausted from their grief, huddled together before the barn.  They were speechless as they rose from the cold snow covered ground. They  nodded thanks to the firemen as there was nothing anyone could do now.  The old man turned to his wife, resting her white head upon his shoulders as his shaking old hands clumsily dried her tears with a frayed red bandana.  Brokenly he whispered, "We have lost much, but God has spared our home on this eve of Christmas.  Let us gather strength and climb the hill to the old pine where we have sought comfort in times of despair.  We will look down upon our home and  give thanks to God that it has been spared and pray for our beloved most  precious gifts that have been taken from us.

And so, he took her by the hand and slowly helped her up the snowy hill as he brushed aside his own tears with the back of his old and withered hand. The  journey up the hill was hard for their old bodies in the steep snow. As they stepped over the little knoll at the crest of the hill, they paused to rest, looking up to the top of the hill the old couple gasped and fell to their knees in amazement at the incredible beauty before them.

Seemingly, every glorious, brilliant star in the heavens was caught up in the glittering, snow-frosted branches of their beloved pine, and  it was aglow with heavenly candles.  And poised on its top most bough, a  crystal crescent moon glistened like spun glass.  Never had a mere mortal created a Christmas tree such as this.  They were breathless as the old man held his wife tighter in his arms.

Suddenly, the old man gave a  cry of wonder and incredible joy. Amazed and mystified, he took his wife by the hand and pulled her forward.  There, beneath the tree, in resplendent glory, a mist hovering over and glowing in the darkness was their Christmas gift.  Shadows glistening in the night light.  Bedded down about  the "Old One" close to the trunk of the tree, was the entire herd, safe.

At the first hint of smoke, she had pushed the door ajar  with her muzzle and had led the horses through it.  Slowly and with great dignity, never looking back, she had led them up the hill, stepping  cautiously through the snow. The foals were frightened and dashed about.  The skittish yearlings looked back at the crackling, hungry flames, and tucked their tails under them as they licked their lips and hopped  like rabbits.  The mares that were in foal with a new years crop of babies, pressed uneasily against the "Old One" as she moved calmly up the hill and to safety beneath the pine. And now, she lay among them and gazed at the faces of the old man and his wife.  Those she loved she had not disappointed.  Her body was brittle with years, tired from the climb, but the golden eyes were filled with devotion as she offered her gift---

Because of love.

Only Because of love...

Tears flowed as the old couple shouted their praise and  joy... and again the peace of love filled their hearts.

This is a  true story.

Willy Eagle


Thursday, December 15, 2011


From Jorge Martin


I'm sending you here three photos of apparent cosmic wormholes photographed
in the sky over Puerto Rico, all of which I analyzed with Photoshop digital filters.

Photo #1 was obtained by a well known physician, Dr. Walter Cotté, in the area of Lajas, Puerto Rico (in the southwestern region of our country, and shows what seems to be a wormhole in the sky from which oval and spherical-shaped objects are emerging to our atmosphere.

Photo #2 was obtained by Mr. Víctor Román in the area of the city of Aguadilla
(northwestern region of Puerto Rico), and shows something similar to
photo #1, but with a front view.

Photo #3 was obtained by Mrs. Wanda Vélez in Lajas, Puerto Rico
(southwestern region of Puerto Rico), and it speaks for itself once submitted to
the digital filters, as you will see.

Please post the images in your blog, and ask if any of your readers have similar pictures to analyze.

Should you need to contact me for more details, or anyone else interested in the images,etc.,
send an e-mail to my new e-mail address, which is:

Or call me by phone: (787) 758-0692

Also, I wish you a very merry Christmas season and a New Year 2012 full of happiness, health, love and successes.

Thank you.


Jorge Martin

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Sunday, December 11, 2011


"Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities.  But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors.   It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve.  I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted for Christmas.  We did the  chores early that night for some reason.  I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible.

After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible.  I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.
Soon Pa came back in.  It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see.  We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this.  But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens.  Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house.  Something was up, but I didn't know what.

Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled.  Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job.  I could tell. We never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load.  Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand.  I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me.  I wasn't happy.  When I was on, Pa pulled the sled  around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed.  He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said.  "Here, help me."  The high sideboards!  It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever  it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high side boards on.

After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood - the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing?  Finally I said something.  "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"
"You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road.  Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight.  Sure, I'd been by, but so what?

Yeah," I said, "Why?"

"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt."
That was all he said and then he turned and went back into  the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him.  We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it.  Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait.  When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand.
"What's in the little sack?" I asked.  
"Shoes, they're out of shoes.  Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning.  I got the children a little candy too.  It just wouldn't be Christmas without a  little candy."

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence.  I tried to think through what Pa was doing.  We didn't have much by worldly standards.  Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most  of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it.  We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy?  Really,  why was he doing any of this?  Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn't have been our concern.

We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door.  We knocked.  The door opened a crack and a timid  voice said,  "Who is it?"

"Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt, could we come in for a bit?" Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in.  She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.  The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly  gave off any heat at all.  Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.

"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour.  I put the meat on the table.  Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it.  She opened it hesitantly and took the  shoes out one pair at a time.  There was a pair for her and one for each of the children - sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last.  I watched her carefully.  She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started  running down her cheeks.  She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.

"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said.  He turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile.  Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up."
I wasn't the same person when  I went back out to bring in the wood.  I had a big lump in my throat and as much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too.  In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running  down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak. My heart swelled within me and a joy that I'd never known before filled my soul.  I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference.  I could see we were literally  saving the lives of these people.

I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared.  The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face  for a long time.  She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord has sent you.  The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us."

In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again.  I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true.  I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth.  I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others.  The list seemed endless as I thought on it.

Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left.  I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get.  Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.

Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave.  Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug.  They clung to him and didn't want us to go.  I could see that they missed their Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.

At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow.  The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals.  We'll be by to get you about eleven.  It'll be nice to have some little ones around again.  Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell."  I was the youngest.  My two brothers and two sisters  had all married and had moved away.

Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles.  I don't have to say, May the Lord bless you; I know for certain that He will."

Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold.  When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something.  Your ma and me have  been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square.  Your ma and me were real excited,  thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that, but on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do.  Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."

I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again.  I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it.  Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities.  Pa had given me a lot more.  He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.

For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensen's, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much  more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life."


Thursday, December 8, 2011


George Filer spent the weekend with Tom Reed at the Tennessee MUFON Nashville/Murfreesboro Conference and heard Tom's story of abductions and spoke with him privately and felt he was telling the truth regarding his family - brother Matthew, mother Nancy, and grandmother have a documented history of multi-generational abductions that would span over fifty years, and five states. This case file is one of the largest and must detailed, multi-generational abduction cases in the history of MUFON. Investigator - Steve White and Max Mitchell are responsible for investigating the case and providing much of the information. They picked me up at the Nashville Airport for the conference.
Before, during, and after these abductions, neither Thomas nor his family members would have their memories fully blocked, they were wide awake, aware of what was happening, and allowed to recall almost all of what took place during the abductions.
Thomas is convinced this was there indoctrination period, which was why the family was able to recall so much of it so clearly. These clearly remembered experiences with multiple family members would add first and second person verification and view points. Thomas would be the first to search and locate the earlier landing areas where his and his brother's initial abduction occurred.
This case has been investigated for over twenty years by MUFON, various police investigators, and UFO abduction groups. In this case, most of the family members share the same blood type, O Rh negative, and A Rh negative. Thomas has taken and passed a polygraph and undergone age regression hypnosis in 2010 at the Knoxville Hypnosis center to aid in additional memory recovery regarding the 1969 abduction, but almost all of the information is recalled without hypnosis.
Thomas and Matthew Reed's first abduction started with orbs in the spring of 1966, with the orbs appearing in their shared bedroom. The orbs seemed solid like glass, but without density, the balls were not luminous but resembled a shiny hole in the air that you could not see through with a bluish outer ring. The orbs had direction, one of the orbs moved slowly to the left of the window then along the south wall of the room just below the ceiling. Thomas felt as if they could see, and were watching him, he closed his eyes hoping when he opened them, they would be gone, he did this several times.
Within days, the first abduction occurred. Beings now known as Grays, who glowed softly like they were ghosts, appeared in their room. Thomas recalls light and in seconds the boys were outside their home in a field along a tree line on the edge of his family's property. Thomas recognized the path as Thomas and his mother would ride their horses along it often. At this point, the Gray's illumination ceased and Thomas could see their structure, and what looked like a mask or the headgear, which they kept on at all times.
They came to a small clearing on their right side; they could see the craft and a being standing to the right of it. Thomas was first in a line ahead of his brother and the Grays. When they were within twenty feet of the craft, Thomas turned his head to see Matthew, but he and the beings were now gone. Thomas became fixated on the being standing to the right of the craft and said he was summoned to walk towards him, as calm came over him.
The being raised his arm and lightly placed his right hand in the center of his chest. Then Thomas was standing in a bright, narrow hallway with Matthew on board the craft. It was at that time they would be separated. Thomas was taken to a room about forty feet in diameter.
A being stood next to a large screen that appeared to be part of the wall. Thomas was with the tallest gray who placed his hand on Thomas' left shoulder. Two other figures stood at assigned tables, while the fifth was with four-year-old Matthew. The taller Gray would communicate with the others, who would control the images on the screen, just in front of Thomas.
He was then shown images of a willow tree and visuals of what Thomas feels to have been a galaxy. The controls that the Grays used on these tables resembled Braille and were bronze in color. Something seemingly similar was also imbedded in a chest panel on their attire, and was used to control and communicate.
Reed Abduction, Photo 2Matthew, the younger of the two brothers, would be kept back about 15 feet from this room in the hallway, Thomas turning his head repeatedly to make sure his brother was still there. Matthew was standing to the right of what Tom felt was the being assigned to him, just before he was removed out of his sight.
The craft had smooth, white hallways and no chairs. There were five beings on the craft, the main Gray who seemed to have befriended Thomas, made him feel important; the interest was in Thomas' biological make up, Thomas was important. This would be Thomas' indoctrination.
Matthew was in an entirely different part of the craft, but the boys would be returned home together. The next day, Thomas arrived home from school, he took his horse, Thunder, from his mother's stable and with clear memory within an hour would locate where the craft had landed within a quarter mile of his house.
In 1966 Thomas was abducted for a second time; he was in conversation with his brother in the bottom bunk moments before he was abducted. Matthew first saw the flashes of light, heard the rattle of hinges, and then he was talking to an empty bed. Matthew watched much of the Grays abduction process, as well as after the abduction, before he was abducted himself.
The Grays moved silently from room to room they also had a soft, white glow about them while a now referenced and referred to, Reptilian supervised. Matthew would run and hide behind his mother's bed. Within seconds Matthew would see an illuminated Gray hovering at the bottom of his grandmother's bed just feet away. Matthew states he froze in panic. The Grays lined up and left the room together, but the Reptilian scanned the room before he followed the others.
Matthew woke his mother to look for Thomas when a door slammed behind Matthew. Now Matthew was also gone. Nancy and the grandmother were frantic, they searched the grounds, hours passed, and then in an instant the boys were in the driveway, pale and frightened, just staring at each other, eyes locked. Nancy immediately takes the boys inside, sits them at the kitchen table.
With wet towels, blanket, and juice, she cares for them. Nancy gives them aspirin. The boys finally fell asleep together on the sofa in the living room. Nancy watched over them the entire night. Thanks to Thomas Reed, Steve White, Max Mitchell, and UFO Casebook. The case will continue in next weeks files.

Thanks to George File's Filer Files.

Sunday, December 4, 2011



Riley Martin's own words from the Forward of the book:

In 1953 at the age of seven, near the St. Francis River in Arkansas, I was abducted and taken aboard a UFO or flying saucer and kept for three days before returning unharmed. Since then I have been visited by the same extraterrestrials every eleven years.

This association has been an ongoing one for the last thirty-five years. During that time a kind of intimate rapport has developed between the Biaviians ( pronounced BE-AH-VEANS ) and myself. I do not believe that my experience has been unique owing to the fact that a considerable number of earthlings have been, and are contacted, and also the fact that I personally saw a number of humans, via telescan, living on the home planet of the aliens, and at least one man who also appeared to be in their confidence as I have thus far been. I further believe that three levitating, domed gardens aboard the great Mothership are peopled by humans or hybrid humans, though I never had the chance to view them close up.

My formal education does not exceed a G.E.D., and I have spent time in several county jails and one prison during my life. I won't attempt to go to any extraordinary lengths to try to convince the reader of the first hand truth of my knowledge. Instead I will leave the contents of this book to your own scrutiny and sense of logic, be you scientist or layman.

Since I am not a scientist, I know that much of the information that I've been made privy to is beyond my ability to comprehend and my over-all assessment of the character and motivation of these aliens is, no doubt, handicapped by my intellectual limitations, but it may not be beyond yours.

During my life I have pursued a varied number of vocations, most of them legal, some not so legal and nearly all of the physically menial sort. I left home before my fourteenth birthday and have traveled extensively about this country and some others. I have worked as a farm hand, a migrant worker, whiskey maker, bare knuckle fighter, bodyguard, soldier of fortune, construction worker and other minor things.

I have no history of mental problems or blackout spells, and I've never before this time come forth with this knowledge that I've gained of the aliens. I do so now for several reasons. First, as with many abductees, the conscious memory of these experiences has been a fragmented haze up until recently, second, I've learned through recent hypnosis that I had made a promise to these visitors not to divulge our association until I was given the go ahead to do so. I've recently been given that permission. Even so, there is at least one other species of aliens who do not wish this information to be spread and who have actively sought to curtail my revelatory activities of late and with some success. These negative type aliens are called Targzissians and appear to me to be of reptilian origins.

I wish I could tell you that these celestial visitors have come bringing only good neighborly cheer and some universal message of perfection, but sadly this is not the case. The aliens are not perfect, they are not infallible, and they do have technological, psychological and spiritual limitations. They do not have, in my opinion, a good understanding of the human psyche and are often perplexed at the fickle illogic of humanity's modus operandi.

To some they have appeared as angelic all seeing, all divine apparitions from heaven, while to others they have been perceived as unfeeling, uncaring and terrifying automations. The truth is that they are some of both, depending upon the individual, the incident of contact and the physical treatment remembered from the encounter. As I have come to know them on a more conscious and intimate basis, having spent as many as nine days in one stretch in their company, I have found them to be fascinating, strange, logical, silly, funny, loving, offensive, careless, ignorant, wondrous, fragile, ominous and momentarily terrifying, but never unbelievable.

The extraterrestrials are real. They have individual personalities, tastes and subtlety differing philosophical opinions. They eat, sleep, have sex of a sort, defecate, burp and even die, either by the rare techno-accident or eventually by choice.

The ones I'm most familiar with, the male and female called Tan and Nela, have even learned something of the concept of bullshitting or joking, as well as amusement expression, via the smile. I have smelled them with my nostrils and touched them with my finger tips, held long and in-depth conversations and at the age of eighteen made love to from nine to a dozen hybrid females for purposes of procreation. Though I've not always been completely satisfied with the answers given to me, I've never yet asked a question of my alien friend, Tan, that he did not answer. And I asked many questions.

Of course, numerous sightings have transpired simply by chance, but I have learned that seldom if ever have there been chance abductions. The subjects are chosen for a reason, even though this reason may not be one of esoteric or revelatory meaning. The reason is often a matter pertaining to genetics and other scientific procedures.

Inasmuch as it is possible for an Earth person to penetrate the inward motivations and intentions of these celestial visitors, I have slowly come to the realization that the human animal is unique to the aliens simply because they feel responsible for a living experiment of their own formulation, if not creation. To allow the human species to perish from the universe would be a sad thing. Therefore, the human race must be preserved as a species in spite of itself, just as numerous other species of creatures have been preserved though we believe them to be extinct.

While the Biaviians, I believe, look upon Earth man as a kindred spirit, albeit an inferior one, the sentiments of the Targzissians or Targs, I believe to be a different one, more clinical in its projection. I further learned that common reasoning as we have come to know it and our set of values, which, with minor nuances, may be considered universal on Earth, need not necessarily apply to these aliens.

I personally saw numerous forms of life aboard the great Mothership, but I learned that there are but seven different species of intelligent technological life forms aboard the huge egg-shaped craft and these are: (1) the Biaviians, (2) the Targzissians, (3) the Stagyians, (4) the Dorians, (5) the Nyptonians, (6) the Insectillians and a (7) The Seventh Form for which I could not learn a name or the nature of their origins.

I'm sure that many people have suffered grievously, more psychologically than physically, and some have probably developed different kinds of psychoses which have on occasion landed them in an asylum, yet I do not feel as if I have undergone any major psychological alterations as a result of my experiences with them. Perhaps this is because I have known them for most of my life and thus have never been subjected to the preconceived notion that man is the only intelligent life in the universe. It has never occurred to me to believe that extraterrestrials do not exist, thus I simply thought of them as strange and different beings who for some reason of their own chose to befriend me at the age of seven.

This book definitely contains a message for all and erstwhile secret revelatory information for others. Some of the things that I will reveal during the course of this book will serve as a key to unlock the unconscious doors of minds of other contactees who are not yet consciously aware of the fact. This book will also serve, I am told, as a beacon instrument for those who shall ultimately be chosen as the ones for the great airlift which will transpire in the not too distant future.

Further, this book will serve as an instrument to at least superficially acquaint the masses with the knowledge that the aliens do exist. Thereby helping to psychologically condition them for the mass overfly, which must inevitably happen if the mass airlift is to transpire. It is not the aliens' wish to cause mass panic with their temporary presence, nor to be construed as an invading force.

If you should measure my life as most people measure this existence, that is by education, position, material possessions and tangible accomplishments, I'm afraid you will find me sorely lacking in sociological substance or even pinpointed religious zeal. However, the nature of this fantastic dimension of reality that I have been made privy to tends to supersede what most consider to be the tangible accumulated norms of society.

I do not consider myself an outcast of society, and I'm certainly not a loner. On many occasions in my life, I have been as actively involved in what I believe to be worthy causes, such as the Civil Rights Marches and the picketing of the South African Embassy. I am in empathy with conservationists and all manner of human suffering.

The fact that I have thus far neglected to become stationary and put down roots may have something or much to do with the fact that I consider all the trappings of human society as fleeting, transitory things of little value in comparison with the universal order of reality.

The fact is that most of man's ideology, politics and religions are composed of just so much false and rhetorical BS. His politics, wars and professed sense of moralistic worth are but a simple fabricated facade blanketing his true primordial bestiality. His esoteric motivations rarely go beyond eating, defecating and f.....g. All exalted positions is nothing more than varying stages of the license to steal. Philosophically and spiritually man is a potential God, while realistically he is nothing more than a naked predatory ape with a gun.

Human society, I've come to believe, is composed of two predominant kinds of people, the predators, who through various forms of subterfuge or outright dictatorial tyranny, feed their gluttony by controlling the stupid, bigoted masses which thrive on hate much more than common sense, and the smattering of philosophically prominent ones in between from whence all the rest draw the bulk of their religious and moralistic pseudo persuasion and fleeting inspiration. So I don't attempt to delude myself that my revelations will change the nature of humanity.

But this book will, I hope, reach the ones for which it is intended and also serve to enlighten humanity at large as to the reality of physical things far beyond the scope of our commonly realized dimensions.

I won't dwell unduly upon those portions of my life which do not deal with my time spent in the company of the aliens, because the subject matter covered during my time with them is quite sufficient to fill the manuscript of this book.

What you will gain in knowledge from this book coupled with what you already know will no doubt serve to speed up and bring to maturity the purposes for which it is intended.

Thursday, December 1, 2011


On the Platte River between Torrington and Alcova, Wyoming, a legend persists that a "Ship of Death” continues to sail upon the sometimes dangerous waters. The phantom ship is said to rise out of a strange mist that quickly becomes a massive rolling ball of fog. As the ship grows closer, witnesses report that its sails and masts are covered with frost. Upon its deck stands the crew, also covered with frost, huddled around a corpse lying on a canvas sheet. The legend continues that the ship always foreshadows the death of someone who will die on the day that it is spotted. As the crew steps back, the identity of the corpse is revealed as a person known by the witness.

The first alleged sighting was made in 1862 by a trapper named Leon Weber. When the crew stepped back, the corpse revealed the body of Weber’s fiancé who died later on that same day. 

Another sighting of the phantom ship was made by cattleman, Gene Wilson in 1887, when he saw the body of his wife laid out on the canvas. 

In 1903, another tale describes that when Victor Heibe was chopping down a tree on his riverfront property, he spied the ship. Laid out on the deck was the body of a close friend.

Every case was reported in the late fall, and in all cases, the person seen upon the deck of the phantom ship died on the very same day.

One of the sightings allegedly occurred six miles southeast of the town of Guernsey, near Casper, Wyoming. Another sighting was said to have occurred at Bassemer Bend on the Platte River.
This story reminds me of the "Flying Dutchman" ship that is seen in odd places.  One of the sightings was in the San Juan Islands south of Vancouver Island, B.C.  A narrow channel is navigated by boats there.  One of the ships saw the ghost ship, The Flying Dutchman, pass by and narrowly miss the observer ship.

"The legend of the Flying Dutchman concerns a ghost ship that can never make port, doomed to sail the oceans forever. It probably originates from 17th-century nautical folklore. The oldest extant version dates to the late 18th century.

Sightings in the 19th and 20th centuries report the ship to be glowing with a ghostly light. If hailed by another ship the crew of the Flying Dutchman will try to send messages to land, or to people long dead. In ocean lore, the sight of this phantom ship is a portent of doom."