It was a mild evening in 1950, sometime after 9 p.m., and I was living in Jacksonville, Florida. A companion and I were walking home, cutting through the neighborhood park. Looking up at a clear, starry sky, I remarked, “Wow! There’s so many stars out, tonight!” Suddenly, I noticed something very strange. Almost directly overhead there was a circle of sky without a star in it. No clouds, no nothing but perfectly round blackness. My companion dismissed the matter, suggesting we sit on the bench in front of our apartment building and talk awhile.
When we reached the bench, I pointed to a spot about half a block away, where very quietly, a small silver-gray craft had appeared. It looked smaller than a school bus. There was a broad, shallow dome on top but no discernable windows or lights. We stared for some moments, before something moved on the left side of the saucer. I could make out what appeared to be an awning slowly lift from the saucer’s left side.
Instinctively, we began walking backwards into the apartment building. Three grays in jumpsuits came in as soon as we were inside the apartment. One was stationed at each doorway and a third entered the living room. He went straight past me and stared at my companion, face-to-face. I noticed he was short, bald, with a flat-faced profile. I thought he was wearing some kind of dark glasses but I can’t say there were any stems on the lenses. I “heard” him in my head, saying, “We did not come for you, this time. You were able to see us because of the attachments. You will not remember this.” He repeated that. “You will not remember this.”
Well, I remembered the big black circle in the sky, so it would seem they were a little sloppy or wanted to leave me a clue for later on. The landed saucer only came into my awareness after 50 years, when I went to a hypnotist.
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