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October 12, 2025 54 mins

Alien abductees or those who claim to have seen a UFO, what is your story?

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Episode Transcript

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(00:00):
Story 1. Some memories stick to you like
wet clothes. No matter how many years pass,
you still feel the weight of them clinging, refusing to let
go. For me it was 1 summer night
before 8th grade. I wasn't thinking about anything
cosmic or unusual back then. Me and two friends were just
doing what kids did, sneaking out at midnight, planning to

(00:22):
walk over to see some girls we knew who were having a sleepover
down the block. Nothing special about it, just
stupid teenage stuff. We turned a corner and that's
when everything shifted. Above us, filling the sky was
this massive black shape. It looked like a blimp, smooth
and dark like polished metal, only bigger than anything I'd

(00:44):
ever imagined. If you lined up four or five
football field side by side, that's about the size.
It seemed what got me wasn't just the size, but the silence.
Something that huge, that close should have been shaking windows
or humming, or at least giving off some kind of sound.
But there was nothing. Dead quiet, like the whole world

(01:04):
was holding its breath. I remember staring up, my mouth
dry, glancing at my friends and seeing the same frozen look on
their faces. We all kept asking the same
thing over and over, Do you see this too?
But none of us moved. It hovered there, blotting out
part of the stars, just hanging like a shadow nailed to the sky.

(01:25):
Then it got strange. I don't remember it leaving. 1
moment it was there, enormous and impossible to ignore, and
then there's this sudden gap in memory.
A jump. The next clear thing I recall is
standing there, looking up at a completely different object.
A smaller glowing thing shaped like a barbell with light

(01:45):
spilling off it, drifting downward with faint trails of
smoke curling away. My chest was tight, like I had
missed a whole chunk of time. That's when the truck showed up.
Two of them. Brand new black pickups with
shiny silver gearboxes on the back, tearing down the
residential street at speeds that didn't belong anywhere near
a neighborhood. Easily 70 miles an hour.

(02:08):
Engines roaring way too fast fora 25 mile per hour zone.
They came out of nowhere, blew past us, and we're gone.
My friends and I just stood there, dazed.
The rest of the night is a blur.The next thing I can piece
together is US walking back to one of my friends houses.
The sky was already lightning, and by the time we got inside

(02:28):
the sun was rising. It was 5 or 6 in the morning,
hours later than it should have been.
None of us really talked about what had happened.
We made a quick promise to tell my dad because he worked for the
city and might know something, but when the sun was fully up,
that promise dissolved. We didn't mention it again.
Not to him, not to anyone. I lost touch with one of the

(02:48):
guys entirely. The other was my best friend for
years, but even with him, the subject never came up again.
It was like we had some unspokenagreement to keep it locked
away. When we reconnected years later
through Facebook, it was still there, hanging between us like
static in the air, but neither of us dared touch it.
What bothers me most when I lookback isn't just the missing time

(03:11):
or the trucks. It's the silence afterward.
This wasn't some deserted place.It was a busy suburb.
Hundreds of houses packed together, people awake at all
hours, cars driving, dogs barking.
Something that massive hovered right overhead.
And yet there was nothing. No story in the paper, no

(03:31):
segment on the local news, not even gossip whispered about in
school hallways. It was like the whole night got
erased, except for us. That idea chills me more than
anything else. Not the possibility of being
abducted, not even the memory gaps.
What scares me is the thought that others saw it too.
Neighbors, strangers, maybe dozens or hundreds of people,

(03:54):
and every single one of them either forgot or chose not to
say a word. A kind of collective silence,
like we were all pushed into pretending it never happened.
I've thought about hypnosis, about trying to dig out whatever
is buried in those missing hours, but the thought makes me
uneasy. I don't know if I trust the
results, or if I'd even want to know.

(04:17):
I was just a kid then, my mind wasn't built to process
something like that, and maybe it still isn't.
But the one thing I know withoutdoubt is that it happened.
It wasn't a dream. It wasn't 3 kids making
something up. We stood there, all of us
staring at something that filledthe sky, a massive silent shape
where nothing should have been. And to this day, the silence

(04:41):
afterward, the silence from everyone else, is the part that
unsettles me the most. Story Two Night driving always
had a way of feeling stretched out, like the road in front of
me was a ribbon pulled too thin across the dark.
I had made the trip home from Indiana University plenty of
times, so I didn't think much ofit.
When I left Bloomington around 10.

(05:03):
It was supposed to be two hours,give or take, depending on
traffic, and the stretch I was on was one of those rural
highways where you could go for miles without seeing more than a
pair of headlights in the distance.
At 10:53, I saw flashing lights behind me.
Red, blue, white. It was the kind of thing you
immediately assume as a cop. My stomach sank and I eased off

(05:26):
the gas, already planning to grab my registration from the
glove box. The next Country Rd. appeared on
my right, so I turned on to it, expecting the cruiser to follow
and pull me over. But as I slowed to a stop, the
lights simply vanished. No car drove past.
No headlights were treated in the distance.
The road behind me was empty. I sat there confused, staring

(05:49):
into the dark mirror when my car's electronics started
freaking out. The radio cycled through
stations on its own, skipping static and voices while the
volume cranked itself up and down.
The Dome light blinked in randombursts, and the headlights
flickered as if someone was flipping a switch.
My first thought was that I had an electrical short, or maybe

(06:10):
the battery was about to die. I reached down to pop the hood,
thinking I'd check the battery cables, and that's the last
clear memory I had. When I opened my eyes again, I
wasn't in my car anymore. I was lying flat on my back,
staring up at the sky, so clear it looked unreal.
The stars seemed sharper, brighter, as if I had never

(06:30):
really noticed them before. For a few seconds, I couldn't
move. My brain scrambled to make sense
of where I was. Slowly, I sat up and realized I
wasn't anywhere near the road. I was in a field, surrounded by
dry corn stalks that rattled lightly in the cold air.
That's when panic kicked in. My car was gone.
The road was gone. Everything was gone except for a

(06:52):
faint glow of headlights about half a mile away.
The questions hit all at once. Why the hell was I asleep in a
field? Where was my car?
How did I even get here? I forced myself to walk toward
the road, focusing on those distant lights like they were
the only real thing in the world.
Eventually, I reached an intersection.
The signs read 350 N and 50 W and when I turned I saw my car

(07:18):
parked on the side Rd. I had pulled into earlier.
It was right where I left it, only now it was lifeless.
The headlights were dark and when I opened the door the Dome
light didn't turn on. The battery was completely dead.
I grabbed my phone from the seatand the screen told me it was
2:17 AM. Over 3 hours had vanished.

(07:39):
It hadn't felt like more than minutes since I reached for the
hood latch. I just sat there for a while,
completely stunned, trying to think of any scenario that
explained what had just happened.
Had I blacked out? Wandered into the field without
realizing it? But that didn't explain the time
gap, or why my car battery had drained out of nowhere.
I called American Automobile Association after sitting in

(08:01):
silence for what felt like forever.
While I waited. Every sound around me seemed
magnified. The wind through the corn, the
occasional creak of cooling metal in the car.
My eyes darted constantly to themirrors, convinced something was
going to appear behind me. The whole time I couldn't shake
the memory of those flashing lights and how quickly they
disappeared. When the tow truck finally

(08:23):
showed up an hour later, I didn't say much.
The driver jumped my car and theengine started like nothing had
ever been wrong. I thanked him and drove home.
But the whole way I kept checking the clock, expecting
the numbers to glitch or reset the way they had in my head
earlier. I've told this story only once
to my uncle. Everyone else would either laugh

(08:44):
or assume I was trying to get attention.
Honestly, if someone else told me the same story, I'd probably
think it was bullshit. It's too close to the
stereotypical abduction tales you see in movies.
Flashing lights, lost time, waking up in a field.
The problem is that it actually happened to me and I can't
explain it. Even now, years later, I replay

(09:05):
the details in my head, hoping to find something that makes
sense. Maybe the lights belong to some
vehicle I just didn't recognize.Maybe I fainted or had some kind
of medical event that made me wander.
Maybe the battery just picked the worst possible time to die.
Those are the explanations I tryto hang on to, but none of them
explain why 3 hours disappeared or why I woke up half a mile

(09:28):
away with no memory of getting there.
The scariest part isn't what happened that night, it's that
I'll never know for sure, and the thought that something
beyond my understanding might have reached into my life for
just a few hours and then let gostill makes the hair on my neck
stand up whenever I'm on a lonely Rd. after dark.
Story 3. Some nights feel heavier than

(09:50):
others, like the air itself presses down harder when you're
lying in bed. That's the only way I can
describe the night this happened.
I was in my early 20s, still living in a small upstairs
bedroom that had one narrow window where the moonlight
always spilled through. Sleep had never been easy for
me. I'd always had weird patterns,

(10:10):
vivid dreams, and eventually I developed something I now know
as sleep paralysis. At the time, though, I didn't
even have a name for it. I just thought I was going
crazy. It usually started the same way.
I'd wake up, but my body wouldn't respond.
My chest felt crushed, my arms pinned down like invisible
weights were holding me in place.

(10:31):
Sometimes I'd hear faint sounds,like voices muttering at the
edge of my hearing, and other times I'd feel a shadow looming
at the foot of the bed. Most nights I could shake myself
out of it, but this one particular night was different,
so much more vivid that I've never forgotten the details.
I remember flashes of blue first.
Not lightning, not headlights, but strange pulses that lit up

(10:53):
my room, like someone was flicking a broken fluorescent
bulb on and off outside the window.
I wanted to look, to turn my head and check if there was
someone outside, but I couldn't move.
My body was frozen solid, my chest tight as though invisible
hands had locked me in place. The light kept coming in,
stronger each time until it was no longer just flickers.

(11:16):
It filled the entire room, washing over me in waves.
Then came the sensation of beinglifted.
It didn't feel like floating in water.
It felt like something was gripping me right in the center
of my chest and dragging me upward.
My back arched, my arms jerk stiff, and my whole body rose
even though I never left the bed.
It was as if my ribs themselves had been hooked and yanked

(11:39):
toward the ceiling. I could hear a sound then.
Not soft like the muttering voices from other paralysis
episodes, but a loud mechanical whirring.
The kind of noise you'd expect from an engine, but constant,
unchanging, too steady to be a car or machine.
I recognized. The light kept growing brighter
until I couldn't see the walls anymore.

(12:01):
I wasn't blind in the usual sense.
It was more like my vision was drowned out completely, even
with my eyes squeezed shut. It burned through.
My heart raced, but my limbs wouldn't obey me.
All I could do was breathe in shallow gas while the whirring
drilled into my skull. The next thing I knew, I was
sitting up in bed. Not gradually, not like waking

(12:22):
from a dream where you pull yourself upright.
I was already there, arms lockedstraight behind me, chest pushed
out unnaturally, as if I had been propped into that position.
My muscles burned from the strain, but I hadn't chosen to
sit like that. It felt staged, like I had been
put there deliberately. The room was dark again.

(12:43):
No blue light, no mechanical sound, just the faint glow of
the moon outside, as if nothing had happened.
I couldn't tell how long I'd been like that, but when I
finally forced myself to move, my whole body was trembling,
drenched in cold sweat. The sheets beneath me were damp,
my shirt clinging to my skin. I checked the clock on my night

(13:06):
stand. Only a few minutes had passed,
but it felt like I'd been stuck in that nightmare for hours.
For days afterward, I couldn't stop replaying the moment in my
head, the way the light filled everything, the way I felt
pulled straight out of myself, and the way my body ended up
sitting upright as if someone else had arranged me.
It was the most intense sleep paralysis I've ever had, and

(13:29):
that's saying something. Every little sound at night set
me on edge. When a plane passed overhead or
a car's headlights flashed against the window, I jolt awake
convinced it was happening again.
I grew up watching alien documentaries with my dad.
We love shows about UFOs, government cover ups, strange
lights in the sky. Back then I always laughed at

(13:51):
people who claimed they had beenabducted.
I thought it was all hysteria, people confusing dreams or
mental health issues with aliens.
After that night though, I understood why people believed.
If I hadn't known what sleep paralysis was, I would have
sworn on my life that something non human came into that room
and pulled me out of myself. The lights, the sound, the

(14:15):
sensation of being lifted, it all matched the classic
abduction stories almost too perfectly.
I've told myself 100 times it was just my brain misfiring
during a paralysis episode. It's the logical explanation.
My body was frozen, my mind was half awake, and it cooked up
something terrifying using all the alien lore I'd fed it over

(14:37):
the years. That's what makes sense.
But sometimes, in the middle of the night, I still wonder.
The experience was so physical, so real, that part of me can't
shake the thought that maybe it wasn't all in my head.
Maybe it started as sleep paralysis but turned into
something more. Even now, years later, I'll wake
up in that same stiff position, arms locked, chest pushed out,

(15:01):
and my heart drops like I'm about to be taken again.
I haven't had the blue light since, but I'll never forget
them. Whether it was my brain or
something else, it left a mark Ican't explain away and that's
the thing that bothers me most. If someone told me the exact
same story, I'd probably roll myeyes and say it was just sleep
paralysis. But when you live through it

(15:22):
yourself, when you feel the weight on your chest, hear the
whirring, see the light that shouldn't exist, you stop
laughing at people who swear they've been abducted.
Because the line between dream and reality isn't as solid as we
like to think. And sometimes you can't tell
which side you really woke up on.
Story 4. Some days feel like they're
stuck on repeat. Same Rd., same sun, same

(15:47):
silence, broken by the hum of tires on asphalt.
That was the kind of afternoon it was when it happened.
Just another ordinary drive where nothing stood out until
the moment the sky decided to betray what I thought I knew.
The road stretched ahead of me like a ribbon that had been laid
too straight. Nothing but the soft shimmer of
heat rising off the pavement in the distance.

(16:09):
I wasn't thinking about much, just heading home.
Windows cracked to let in the warm air.
Then, without warning, somethingflickered in my peripheral
vision and my head turned. Instinctively, it was there,
plain as day, hanging above the tree line a little to my left.
The first thing that hit me was the size.

(16:30):
This wasn't some distant speck or a vague light that could be
mistaken for a plane. It was massive, a clear shape in
the daylight, and that shape wasthe thing I never expected to
actually see outside of movies or weird late night TV shows.
It had the classic saucer form, rounded smooth edges that caught

(16:51):
the sun in a way that made it gleam unnaturally bright.
For a few seconds I forgot aboutthe road, my hands loose on the
wheel as I stared at it. I kept driving, glancing back
and forth between the road and the thing in the sky, trying to
make sense of it. There was no sound, no trail, no
sign of movement. It didn't tilt or wobble like a

(17:11):
helicopter might. It just hovered, steady, as if
it was placed there intentionally.
I even slowed down slightly, expecting that maybe it would
reveal itself to be something explainable.
A balloon, maybe, or some reflection off glass, But it
wasn't any of that. The sun hit it at an angle that
made it shine even more like polished metal, so sharp against

(17:34):
the clear sky it was impossible to ignore.
I was so locked into it that I barely realized how far I'd gone
down the road. And then it happened.
The part I still can't convince myself actually happened.
Without any warning, without a sound or a shift, the thing was
just gone. Not like it drifted out of view,

(17:54):
not like it zipped away into thehorizon.
One second it was there, and thenext it wasn't.
It vanished so abruptly that my eyes kept scanning the spot, as
if maybe I had blinked wrong. But it wasn't a trick of my
eyes. The air was empty.
For a long second. I kept driving in stunned
silence, gripping the wheel tight now, my mind racing to

(18:14):
catch up. I replayed it in my head,
searching for an explanation. A glare, a mirage.
Something caught on my windshield, but nothing lined
up. It was too solid, too defined,
too obviously there. And the way it disappeared, it
wasn't like anything I'd ever seen before.
I tried to push it out of my head, but the more I thought

(18:36):
about it, the worse it felt. The afternoon didn't feel as
warm anymore, even though the sun was still beating down.
My arms prickled with goosebumps, and the sound of my
tires suddenly seemed louder than it should have been, like I
was the only thing alive in the world.
I couldn't stop thinking about how unnatural that silence had
felt when the craft vanished. By the time I pulled into my

(18:59):
driveway, I had convinced myselfnot to talk about it.
Who would believe me if I said I'd seen a flying saucer in the
middle of the afternoon? Even I didn't fully believe it,
but the image was burned into mymind.
The brightness, the way it reflected the sun, the strange
steadiness of it, and the way ithad simply blinked out of

(19:19):
existence. That night I sat in bed
scrolling through UFO forms, something I never thought I'd
waste time on. And the stories were too
familiar. People describing saucer shapes,
strange vanishing acts, objects that didn't behave like planes
or helicopters. I had always brushed those off
as people making things up or confusing flares and drones, but

(19:41):
now I wasn't so sure. It didn't end there, though.
Over the next week, I caught myself looking at the sky way
more than usual. Every drive, every time I
stepped outside, I scanned the horizon.
Most of the time it was just normal planes in the distance,
birds circling. But sometimes I'd get that same
uneasy feeling, like the air itself was charged, like

(20:04):
something was watching me from somewhere I couldn't see.
It never showed itself again, but the memory of how easily it
appeared and then disappeared kept gnawing at me.
I can't say I believe in little green men or anything like that.
I don't know if what I saw was alien, experimental military
tech or some natural phenomenon we don't understand yet.

(20:27):
What I do know is that it wasn'ta plane, it wasn't a helicopter,
and it wasn't a trick of my imagination.
Something was there and then it wasn't, and ever since that
afternoon, I haven't been able to look at the sky the same way
again. Story Five nights in the
countryside always felt heavier to me, like the darkness wasn't
just around you, but pressing down on you.

(20:49):
It was the kind of darkness you only got far away from town.
No St. lights, no headlights, noglow from buildings, just black
fields stretching into forever and the faint silver wash of
stars. If the moon wasn't out that
night. Sometime after two, AMI stepped
outside for no reason other thanhabit.
It was something I did when I couldn't sleep, stand in the

(21:12):
yard, breathe the cold air and stare at the sky.
I'd always been the type to watch satellites crawl across
the stars. They move steady, straight,
predictable. After seeing enough of them, you
stop thinking twice. So when I spotted a small dot
sliding slowly across the sky, Ibarely reacted.
My mind instantly filed it undersatellite, and I kept watching,

(21:36):
expecting it to continue its clean path until it faded out
behind the tree line. But halfway across, something
strange happened. It stopped.
Not slowed, not dimmed. It froze, as if someone had hit
pause on it. That alone was enough to make my
stomach tighten, because I had never seen a satellite just
stopped before. I thought maybe my eyes had

(21:57):
tricked me, that it was a plane.But no blinking lights, no faint
drone in the silence. The night was still, and the sky
had gone dead quiet in a way that felt unnatural, like
everything was holding its breath with me.
Then it moved again, but not theway it should have.
It's shot off at a sharp angle, completely opposite from where

(22:18):
it had been heading, faster thananything I'd ever seen.
The dots streaked diagonally across the sky and disappeared
in seconds, gone as if it had been erased.
I just stood there, frozen, replaying what I saw.
My brain was scrambling for answers.
Maybe a shooting star, maybe a trick of my vision, maybe some

(22:39):
classified military tech. But I'd seen satellites, I'd
seen planes, I'd seen meteors, burnout in the atmosphere.
Nothing behaved like that. I should have gone back inside
then, but I couldn't. Something in me wanted to be
absolutely sure I wasn't crazy. I stayed out there staring, half

(22:59):
hoping I'd see it again. That's when the silence started
to bother me more than the object.
Usually, even at night, you'd hear crickets, owls, the wind
moving through the grass, but itwas like the world had been
muted. The only sound was my own
breathing, and even that felt too loud.
I glanced back at the house onceor twice, fighting the urge to
retreat, but my feet wouldn't move.

(23:22):
Minutes passed like hours, untilI noticed something even
stranger. The stars themselves seemed off,
not gone, not dim, but wrong somehow, like some patches of
the sky were slightly smudged, as if a hand had dragged across
wet paint. My eyes strained, trying to make
sense of it, and for a moment I wondered if the thing I saw had

(23:43):
been part of something bigger, something hidden up there that
only revealed itself when it moved.
That thought alone gave me goosebumps, because what if what
I saw wasn't just a random object, but part of something
massive, Something. Watching The yard felt smaller,
the night heavier, and I realized how exposed I was,

(24:03):
standing out in the open. The back of my neck prickled as
if someone were behind me, though I knew the field was
empty. I finally broke and went inside,
locking the door even though I'dnever felt the need before.
I sat at the kitchen table in the dark, just listening.
For a long time, nothing happened.
Then the clock on the wall started ticking louder, so loud

(24:24):
it sounded like it was filling the whole room.
I stared at it, realizing the second hand wasn't moving in
rhythm anymore. It was skipping, stuttering
forward and back in tiny jerks. I checked my wristwatch to
compare, but it had frozen too. Both hands stuck exactly at
2:12. That was the point where fear
really sank its teeth in. First, the sky had broken its

(24:47):
rules. Now time itself was acting
strange. I couldn't tell if the two were
connected, but the coincidence gnawed at me.
Eventually the ticking stopped all together and both clocks sat
dead silent while I sat there, too afraid to move.
After what felt like forever, the normal noises returned.
The fridge hummed, the house creaked, and when I checked my

(25:10):
watch again, it had jumped aheadto 228 like nothing had
happened. The wall clock was ticking
normally too. It was as if the last 15 minutes
had been erased. I went to bed, but I didn't
sleep. I just lay there thinking about
how I was certain, absolutely certain, that I had seen that
object stop and then shoot off. Nothing in space behaves that

(25:32):
way. Satellites don't do that.
Planes don't do that. Shooting stars don't reverse.
And yet I'd seen it with my own eyes.
The worst part is no one else was there.
No neighbor to confirm it, no friends standing beside me to
say they saw it too. Just me, standing alone in the
silence with a sky that didn't follow its own rules.

(25:53):
I can't prove it happened, but Iknow what I saw.
Story 6. The sky has always been a kind
of television for me. As a kid, I'd climb onto the
hood of my mom's suburban and stare at the stars, pretending
they were scattered pixels on some giant dark screen.
Houston didn't give you many clear nights, but when it did,
I'd watch until my eyes burned. One of those nights, when I was

(26:16):
about 7, I saw something that never really left me.
Over the tree line, maybe half amile away, a light hung there,
too bright, too still, too out of place.
I shouted for someone to come look, but no one bothered.
Eventually it vanished. Or maybe I blinked too long.
Either way, I spent the rest of my life wondering if I'd really

(26:37):
seen it. That memory didn't come back
full force until years later, March 2008, Tuscaloosa, AL.
By then I was older, skeptical, and figured childhood
imagination could explain away most of what I thought I'd seen.
My mom lived in a quiet garden home community, identical houses
lined in neat rows, the kind of place where you could stand

(26:59):
outside and see across half the neighborhood without
obstruction. It was around 4:00 AM when it
happened. I just stepped out of a friend's
house after a late night and theair was cool and still under a
star filled sky. I noticed it right away.
Off to the left, hanging above the neighborhood was a cluster
of strobing lights. Blue, red, green, yellow, white,

(27:21):
orange, flashing so fast it was like a kaleidoscope in the dark.
My first thought was some kind of aircraft, maybe a helicopter
with weird lights, but the thingmade no sound at all the longer
I watched the stranger it got. It drifted slowly, and when it
moved across the face of the moon, I saw its outline.

(27:42):
The shape was like a sunflower seed, fat in the middle and
pointed at the ends. The lights weren't just
flickering, they seemed to pulsefrom the top, like beams being
transmitted upward. Behind it stretched a thin, dark
trail that lingered for about 50feet before fading.
The thing was close, maybe 400 yards away of that, and my chest

(28:03):
tightened with the realization that I was watching something I
shouldn't be seeing. I considered running back inside
to grab my friend, but I was terrified that if I looked away
for even a second, it would vanish.
So I stood there, frozen while it slid silently across the sky
until it disappeared behind the rooftops.
When it was gone, adrenaline pushed me into motion.

(28:26):
I hurried home a few blocks away, and once in the driveway I
looked in the same direction. At first, nothing.
Then two dim white lights crested over the horizon.
They move slowly, too slow for planes, and made no noise.
My pulse jumped. They weren't alone.
Over the next half hour, 5 separate crafts drifted overhead

(28:46):
in sequence, 2 together, then another two, then a final single
one. Each took about 6 or 7 minutes
to appear after the last, movingat maybe 20 mph, no more than
200 feet above the rooftops. I should have run for a camera,
but I couldn't. My whole body felt like it was
locked in place. The silence was worse than

(29:07):
anything else. No hum, no engine, no blades
cutting through the air. From underneath, each craft
looked nearly identical. 2 blinding white lights, so big
and bright they were hard to estimate, but at least 30 feet
across each. Between them pulsed a smaller
red light, glowing and fading ina slow rhythm, like a heartbeat.

(29:28):
Judging from the scale, each onehad to be at least 150 to 200
feet across. The last one was different.
It flew lower, slower, directly over me.
That's when the sound came. At first it was a low, vibrating
hum, the kind you feel in your bones more than here.
Then it twisted into something mechanical, a warped digital

(29:51):
screech that climbed into a pitch I didn't think was
possible. It was deafening.
The craft let the noise roll outtwice, each burst stretching for
several seconds. I can't describe it perfectly,
but the closest I've ever found were two separate audio clips
online that, when combined, gaveme chills because they weren't
even close to the full volume ordepth of what I'd heard.

(30:13):
The moment that sound hit me, I knew it was intentional.
It wasn't an accident of machinery or some technical
glitch. It felt like acknowledgement,
like it knew I was there, like it wanted me to know that it
knew I cried. I didn't mean to, but my body
reacted before I could stop it. It wasn't just fear, it was the
crushing weight of realizing that whatever was above me

(30:35):
wasn't human, wasn't something Icould understand or categorize.
The sound felt like a message I wasn't capable of decoding, and
the sheer power behind it broke something inside me.
After the 5th craft disappeared into the distance, silence
returned as if nothing had happened.
I stood in the driveway, shaking, the image of those
lights burned into my mind. The night sky looked the same as

(30:58):
always, but I couldn't bring myself to look at it the same
way again. For days afterward, I barely
slept. I replayed every second in my
head, searching for explanations.
Experimental military aircraft, drones, atmospheric illusions.
None of it fit. Nothing explained the shapes,
the silence, the size, or especially the sound.

(31:22):
I hadn't imagined it, I knew that much, but knowing it was
real didn't give me any comfort.It's been years now and I still
think about that night. I've never told many people
because the look you get when you mention UFOs isn't worth the
judgement. But I can't shake it.
I don't claim to know what I saw, but I know what I felt.
That I was being observed, singled out, acknowledged.

(31:45):
And whether it was aliens, some government project, or something
else entirely, I'll never forgetthe moment I realized we're not
alone. Story 7.
Sometimes the quietest nights are the ones that hit the
hardest. I was standing in my driveway
around 2:00 in the morning, smoking a cigarette and
listening to my iPod like I had done hundreds of times before.

(32:06):
Nothing about it seemed unusual,until I pause the music and
flick my hand over the screen, letting the backlight flash in
short bursts like a little strobe.
The neighborhood was still. No cars passing, no dogs
barking, nothing but the faint buzz of St. lights in the
distance. Then it hit me.
The overwhelming sensation of being watched, not like someone

(32:28):
peeking through blinds, but likea weight pressing down on my
shoulders, urging me to look up above me, was something that
shouldn't have been there. It hovered maybe 75 feet up,
close enough that if I had a good arm I could have hit it
with a rock. The craft wasn't a simple saucer
or triangle like in movies. It was trapezoid shaped, edges

(32:49):
rounded with a strange glowing outline pulsing between deep red
and black, almost like electricity flowing through
liquid. The glow shimmered in a way I
can't describe properly, like watching lightning freeze in
place before melting back into itself.
For about 10 or 15 seconds, it floated directly above me in
absolute silence. The way it moved is what really

(33:11):
unsettled me. It didn't just hover still, it
drifted slightly side to side, forward and back, like someone
was testing the limits of a joystick.
The motion was too smooth, too precise, like the training drone
from Star Wars. Small gliding corrections, but
never leaving its spot by more than 20 feet.
I was frozen solid. Not from cold, but from the

(33:34):
sheer realization that this wasn't anything human.
Planes made noise, drones buzzed.
This thing was quiet in a way that made silence sound alive.
Some part of me acted before I could stop it.
I raised my hand slowly and gavea little wave, trying to look
non threatening. The outline around the craft
shifted instantly, changing its light pattern in response.

(33:57):
Then, as if acknowledging me, itglided off without a sound,
drifting past the roof line of my house and disappearing from
sight. Later, I kept thinking about how
it hadn't tried to hide itself. If anything, it seemed to want
me to see it, almost like it expected me to follow.
At the time, though, I was too shaken to even move.
That was only the beginning. Over the next year, I saw the

(34:20):
same trapezoid shaped craft three more times in different
towns across Alabama, Tuscaloosa, Hoover and Bessemer.
Each sighting was unique, but none gave me peace.
The Hoover one hit hardest. I was at an apartment complex on
top of a hill that overlooked the city, standing outside at
night with a clearview of the skyline.

(34:41):
A Gray colored craft hung there,facing me, head on.
It didn't pulse like the trapezoid.
It looked flatter, almost like something out of a sci-fi movie.
The second I noticed it, it darted sideways into the dark,
silent but impossibly fast. It was gone before I could even
react. The other times the trapezoid
shape appeared again, but different, white instead of

(35:04):
glowing red and black, stretching itself like taffy
until the bottom end shot forward and the whole thing
vanished. Watching it reminded me of
movies where ships hit lightspeed, but seeing it happen
with my own eyes left me shaken.Smaller things started showing
up too, enough to make me wonderif I'd become a magnet for this
stuff. I began noticing what I called

(35:26):
streaks. They look like shooting stars,
but flew far too low, with glowing tails trailing behind
them. Sometimes they were white, other
times bright colors. Blue-green, even orange.
They moved slower than meteors but still zipped across the sky
fast enough to make me doubt my senses.
These streaks became so common Ialmost got used to them, but

(35:48):
deep down I knew they weren't normal.
The strangest part came in a dream that didn't feel like a
dream. I was in Tuscaloosa, asleep when
I felt myself on a cold surface.I couldn't see or hear anything,
but I could feel everything, rubber like material pressed
against my legs. It was invasive, unnatural, and

(36:09):
I woke up unsettled in a way I couldn't shake.
The next morning I let the dog into the backyard and there it
was, a perfect white ring burnedinto the grass about 8 to 10
feet wide, right beside the patio.
My mother mentioned she'd woken up in the night to a strange
noise, but ignored it. That detail still makes my
stomach turn, because it meant something really did happen,

(36:32):
even if I wanted to dismiss it as a dream.
Another night brought something even harder to explain.
Standing in my driveway again, not far from Shelton State
Community College, I heard a deep static sound, almost like a
jet engine, but distorted. I looked up and froze.
Directly over the college was a massive vertical slit in the
sky, glowing light blue and stretching maybe 200 yards long.

(36:57):
White currents of energy crackled off both sides like
lightning trying to escape. Before I could even process it,
about 25 glowing white objects shot out of the slit one by one
in rapid succession, each leaving a trailing streak
behind. They move with purpose,
vanishing into the distance as the slit itself began to close.
The bottom edge slid upward until the sky sealed itself

(37:19):
shut, and with one last distorted noise, it was gone.
Orbs came next. Some were dim, drifting lazily
across the sky like lanterns. Others burned so bright they lit
up the area around them before fading into nothing.
I watched them move in patterns that didn't make sense.
Zigzags, sharp turns, stops mid air.

(37:41):
They weren't planes, drones, or satellites.
They behave like something alive.
After all of these experiences, I dove into research, desperate
for answers. What I found only confused me
more. Some people wrote about alien
craft, others about military experiments, and a few about
shared hallucinations. But the more I read, the more

(38:02):
unsettled I became because my experiences lined up too closely
with hundreds of other people's stories.
I wanted to write it off as coincidence, but how do you
ignore glowing rings in your backyard, a sky splitting open,
or a craft hovering close enoughto touch?
I don't know why I've had so many encounters when most people
go their whole lives without one.

(38:23):
I'm not special. I'm not even someone who wanted
to believe in this stuff before it all started.
I wish I could explain it away, but I can't.
Every time I step outside late at night, I catch myself
scanning the sky, half hoping I won't see anything and half
terrified that I will. Story 8 Living in Los Angeles,
you get used to the ground occasionally reminding you who's

(38:44):
boss. Lamp swing Shelves rattle
buildings Creek. It's part of the deal when you
choose to live on fault lines. Back in 2010, I was doing
something as normal as cleaning my apartment when I felt the
floor shift beneath me. My kitchen light swayed like it
was caught in a slow dance, and the walls grown just enough to
confirm it. Earthquake.

(39:06):
Nothing massive, but long enoughto make me pause.
When it stopped, I called a friend to check in, more out of
habit than fear. We started talking while I
stepped onto my balcony, which overlooked Runyon Canyon.
The view there always helped me breathe after the adrenaline of
a quake. People hike those trails
everyday. Dogs ran wild, and helicopters

(39:27):
cut across the skyline. It was the background noise of
LA that morning, though something stuck out against the
usual Hovering above the Canyon was an object I couldn't place.
At first glance I figured it wasa helicopter holding position,
maybe filming something, but then I realized it was way too
high for a chopper to be hovering like that, and too

(39:48):
small to be a plane. It's shape was the thing that
got me round, almost like an orb, not sleek or aerodynamic
like the crafts I was used to seeing.
What made my skin crawl was how it just hung there.
No bobbing, no drifting, no sound.
Just still. I kept my eyes on it for what
felt like forever, but must havebeen three solid minutes.

(40:11):
Then, without warning, it started moving slowly.
Painfully slowly. I'm talking slower than any
aircraft I'd ever seen, slower than blimps, slower than a
drifting kite. It almost looked like it was
deliberately dragging itself West across the sky, but without
any sign of propulsion. Every once in a while the sun

(40:32):
would catch its surface and reflect a flash, but only at
certain angles, like it was polished metal.
The longer I watched, the more uneasy I felt.
Earthquakes I understood. Helicopters, planes, even drones
I could explain away. But this?
Nothing about it matched anything I knew.
My stomach nodded as I ran back inside and grabbed my old

(40:54):
digital camera, the kind you hadto mash the button twice before
it took a blurry shot. I aimed it and tried to capture
what I was seeing. The images were trash, but it
didn't matter. The point was that I needed
proof that I wasn't losing it. When I returned to the balcony,
the orb had shifted position. It was now further left, still
hovering. Again.

(41:14):
No sound, no drift, no logic. It sat there like it was mocking
the rules of physics. My chest felt heavy and I
couldn't shake the feeling that it was aware of being watched.
Then, without any build up, it moved.
Not in a slow crawl this time. In the blink of an eye, it shot
straight upward, faster than anything I've ever seen in my

(41:36):
life. It wasn't acceleration, it was
instantaneous, like it had just teleported higher into the sky.
One second it was there, the next it was a fading dot.
And then nothing. I stood frozen on my balcony,
heart pounding, camera still in my hand.
I waited for some kind of after effect.
A sound barrier. Boom.

(41:56):
A trail of smoke. Something.
But the air was dead silent. The city around me carried on
like nothing had happened. Traffic humming in the distance,
a dog barking below, birds Wheeling lazily through the air.
I felt like the only person who had just witnessed something
impossible. For the rest of the day, I
couldn't focus. Every time I closed my eyes, I

(42:19):
saw that orb hanging there, unnaturally still, before
darting off like it was never real.
I kept trying to rationalize it.Could it have been a trick of
light? Some weird reflection off a
drone or experimental aircraft? Maybe my brain exaggerated the
speed because I was spooked, butevery explanation felt thin.

(42:39):
That night when I tried to sleep, my apartment didn't feel
the same. I kept expecting the lamp to
start swinging again, not from an earthquake, but because
something unseen was moving through the space.
Every small Creek in the building made me tense.
I told myself it was just paranoia, but deep down I felt
watched. Like that orb hadn't just

(43:00):
vanished, it had gone somewhere I couldn't follow.
In the weeks after, I checked UFO forms online and found posts
from people describing similar sightings around Los Angeles
during that same year Round metallic hovering objects that
moved impossibly slow, then shotaway at speeds no human craft
could replicate. Reading their words made my skin

(43:21):
crawl because they sounded like they were describing the exact
same thing I had seen. The part that unsettled me most
was the earthquake. I couldn't shake the timing, the
lamp swinging, the ground moving, and then immediately
after that object appearing. Was it coincidence?
Probably, but the thought kept gnawing at me.

(43:43):
What if it wasn't? What if the quake was connected?
Not just a random event, but a side effect of something else?
I never saw anything like it again, and maybe that's what
makes it worse. If it had happened twice, maybe
I could have chalked it up to some weird aircraft test or a
hallucination, but the fact thatit was a one off, that it came

(44:03):
and went with no explanation, left me stuck with the memory.
Even now, more than a decade later, every time I see a
helicopter pause in the sky or aplane glint in the sunlight, I
feel a shiver in my spine. Because I know what I saw that
morning in 2010. And it wasn't anything built by
us. Story 9 Some memories cling to

(44:26):
you like smoke. You can't hold them, but they
linger in your lungs. That's how I remember the night
in Turkey, back in the 90s, whenI stayed alone in a small rented
cottage far into the countryside.
I was younger than traveling to get away from the noise of
everyday life, chasing some kindof quiet that you can't really
find in the city. The place was remote enough that

(44:47):
nights felt heavy with silence, so thick you could hear your own
heartbeat when you lay in bed. I had a dog with me, a mutt that
usually slept by the back door. He was calm most of the time,
almost lazy. But that evening something got
to him. It started with low growls I
hadn't heard from him before, like he was warning something I
couldn't see. I thought maybe it was a fox or

(45:09):
some stray animal in the fields,but soon his growling turned
into sharp barking so relentlessit cut through the walls.
At first I stayed put, telling myself it was nothing, but when
it didn't stop, I finally got upand stepped outside to check.
The air Outside felt strange, charged somehow, like the
atmosphere before a thunderstorm, but without clouds

(45:31):
or wind. The sky above was clear, stars
scattered across it, but one thing didn't fit.
There was a light, not flickering like a plane, not
steady like a star, but moving in a way that made no sense.
It shifted back and forth, lowering gradually, and as I
stared, I realized it wasn't onelight, but three, arranged in a

(45:52):
triangle. I stood frozen, trying to
rationalize it. Maybe it was some kind of
aircraft, a military drill, something with an explanation.
But as it drew closer, the details became sharper.
The lights marked the corners ofsomething massive, dark against
the night sky. My chest tightened as it
descended low enough that I could see it's shape clearly, a

(46:14):
perfect triangle, silent, yet somehow humming in my bones.
The dog went ballistic then, barking and yelping, pulling at
the chain like he wanted to RIP free.
His panic set me on edge more than the thing in the sky did,
because animals don't fake fear.I wanted to go back inside, shut
the door, pretend it wasn't happening, but I couldn't move.

(46:37):
My legs were locked, eyes fixed on the object as it hovered
closer to the cottage. That's when the vibration began.
At first it was faint, like a truck driving by in the
distance. But soon the walls rattled and
the dishes in the kitchen clinked against each other.
The entire house felt alive, shaking from the inside out.

(46:57):
I grabbed the door frame just tokeep my balance, convinced the
roof might cave in. My dogs barking turned into a
high pitched whine. Desperate and terrified, the
craft hung directly above me. Then I couldn't see details
beyond its shape and lights, butthe sheer size of it was
overwhelming. It blocked out the stars.
The air felt heavy, pressing down on me, buzzing through my

(47:21):
chest like static. My mind raced with explanations.
Maybe it was experimental military tech, maybe I was
hallucinating, but nothing made sense.
Minutes stretched like hours. The object didn't move, just
hovered there, as if studying me.
I remember the way my skin prickled, goosebumps racing up

(47:42):
my arms, the soundless pressure in my ears like I had gone
underwater. And then, just as suddenly as it
appeared, it began to rise. Slowly at first, then faster,
until it was nothing but a distant light.
Then it was gone. The silence afterward was
deafening. My dog collapsed on the ground,
panning like he'd been running for miles.

(48:04):
The house was a mess, cups and plates shattered across the
floor, a picture frame lying face down.
My hands shook so badly I couldn't even pick the pieces
up. I sat down on the couch and
waited for something else to happen, but the night eventually
returned to normal. I never told anyone right away.
For years, I kept that night to myself, convinced people would

(48:25):
laugh or chalk it up to an overactive imagination.
But I know what I saw. I know the way the air changed,
the way the house shook, the waythat impossible shape filled the
sky above me. People can argue it was
military, or some natural phenomenon, or even a dream, but
it wasn't. It was real.
And the worst part is, I don't think it was the first time that

(48:48):
thing had been there. The way the dog reacted, the way
it hovered so deliberately, it felt like it already knew the
place, like it had been watching.
And maybe in some way I can't explain, it was watching me.
I still don't like to look at the night sky for too long.
Stars used to feel safe, distant, constant.
Now, whenever I catch one that seems a little too bright or a

(49:11):
little too steady, I wonder if it's really a star at all, or if
one night it'll start moving again and I'll be back in that
cottage with nowhere to run. Story 10.
When you're a kid, bedtime feelslike a border between 2 worlds.
On one side, there's the comfortof blankets, toys scattered on
the floor, and the muffled soundof adults talking downstairs.

(49:33):
On the other, there's the dark, an endless stretch of unknown
that lives just beyond your bedroom window.
I was 8 when I learned that sometimes the dark doesn't just
stay outside. That night started off like any
other. I crawled into bed, did my usual
routine of staring at the ceiling until my eyes grew
heavy, and then drifted into that half sleep where dreams

(49:54):
start bleeding into reality. At some point I became aware of
movement in my room. My eyes stayed shut, but I could
feel it, the way you can sense someone standing over you even
without looking. A shape moved by the window.
And then I felt myself being lifted.
I had always been good at pretending to stay asleep.
I'd used it plenty of times to get out of church or to make

(50:16):
sure I was carried inside after late car rides.
So I did the same thing then, forcing my body limp, waiting
for whatever was happening to stop.
The weird part was how real it felt.
The air around me was cooler, thinner, almost like being
outside on a fall night. My body didn't bump against
anything as I was moved. It was smooth, steady, like I

(50:38):
was being pulled up through the air.
I remember thinking it had to bea dream because nothing else
made sense, but even as I told myself that, the sensation of
rising kept going until it suddenly stopped.
I opened my eyes. The room I was in didn't look
like any place I had ever seen. It was dark, but not in the way
my bedroom got dark at night. There were faint reddish lights

(51:01):
scattered around, glowing dimly like embers.
The walls didn't look like walls.
They were rounded and shadowy, like I was inside some kind of
machine. I couldn't see much detail, only
impressions that made my stomachtwist.
Surfaces too smooth, too clean, too wrong to be anything human.
Then came the touch. Not hands, not exactly, just a

(51:25):
pressure against my skin. A soft pinch on the back of my
left hand, another on the front of my right.
It didn't hurt, but it left me frozen, trapped in the feeling
that something was marking me. The moment it happened,
everything blurred, like my mindskipped ahead.
One second I was staring at thatdimly lit room, and the next I

(51:47):
was back in my bed, heart pounding so hard it shook the
mattress. I wanted to scream, but what
came out instead was crying. Heavy, ugly crying.
The kind you can't control. I bolted from the bed, ran
downstairs and clung to my babysitter.
She told me it was just a dream,said I must have scared myself.
Half asleep. I tried to believe her.

(52:09):
At 8 years old, it was easier toswallow that explanation than
face the alternative. The problem came the next
morning, when the sun was up andeverything seemed normal again.
I noticed the back of my left hand.
A small scar I had never seen before, was sitting right where
I'd felt the pinch. Faint, but unmistakable.
Worse, when I rubbed at my rightpalm, I felt something solid

(52:31):
under the skin. Small, round, like a tiny ball
bearing lodged inside me. I pressed against it, but it
wouldn't move. It was just there, part of me, I
told myself. Maybe I had hurt myself playing
outside and forgotten about it. Kids get cuts all the time.
Maybe the thing in my palm was just some kind of weird

(52:52):
swelling. That's what I repeated over and
over, but it didn't erase the memory of that night.
The red lights, the floating, the pinches that match too
perfectly with what I found later.
For years, I kept the story to myself.
Even now, I still hesitate to call it an abduction.
I mean, who wants to admit to something like that?

(53:13):
It's easier to say it was a nightmare that went too far, but
the scar never left. The lump in my palm is still
there even now, and every time Icatch myself pressing on it
absent mindedly, I remember thatfeeling of being carried through
the air, that strange silence, that unreal room and the cold
certainty that something took mefrom my bed and decided to leave

(53:36):
a piece of itself behind. I've never had another night
like that. No more floating, no more
lights. But sometimes I wake up with the
memory as sharp as if it just happened, and I can't help but
wonder if it wasn't a one time thing, but more of a test, a way
of seeing if I'd notice, if I'd remember.
I tried to tell myself it was just a dream, but then I pressed

(53:59):
my palm and feel the metal undermy skin and suddenly that
explanation doesn't feel like enough.
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