From 2000, here’s my once best friend’s story…
Hawthorn said, “We must not always talk in the market-place of what happens to us in the forest.” There are some who live by this belief. As I boarded my flight for Vancouver I knew I was about to meet one of them. When the airplane touched down in Canada I was asking myself, “How in the world did I wind up here?” Only a few short months ago Vancouver, Canada was a city I knew little about and had no plans of ever visiting. But here I was landing with a six-day hotel reservation, a round-trip ticket, and a million questions. “This should be interesting,” I remember muttering to myself as I climbed up the ramp and headed for customs.
Had it only been February that we first started exchanging e-mails? The relationship started when one of us wrote the other from one of those pen-pal sites. I don’t remember who wrote who first. But we conversed, Tiny and I, letter after letter, until we discovered we were very much alike. Then one day we got around to the subject of UFO’s and aliens, one of my favorite subjects, and I got a sort-of hesitant letter from my Canadian friend. She said, “Well, ah…. I know about aliens.” Our similarity in backgrounds were about to diverge.
I wrote back, “Yeah? Tell me.” she was reluctant to talk but since we’d developed this friendship and were a lot alike in personality and she felt comfortable talking with me she decided to tell me. The story she started telling was incredible. I’ve always had an open mind and believe there are more things going on than we see. And I’ve always believed UFO’s were real and I’d also heard about such things as abductions. Now here was a flesh and blood person telling me things I couldn’t fathom. It wasn’t your “typical” alien abduction story. In fact, her mother was the abductee, mostly, and she was an observer, if a somewhat unwilling observer at times. It is a long and complex story and being a writer I started thinking that this story needs to be told. We talked and wrote and finally she and I agreed I would tell her story. But as fascinating and exciting as her story was, it was only an “e-mail” story. I really needed to look her in the eyes and hear her say these things with a straight face. We talked some more and the more she thought about it the more she wanted this story told so, there I was, landing in Vancouver.
Flight delays and customs kept me longer than I’d expected but eventually a cab dropped me at my hotel, the Biltmore, where my friend, Tiny, was waiting in the pub. The pub had few people in it and she was easy to find and recognize from pictures I’d gotten. Tiny is short, somewhat thin, deep-set eyes, high cheekbones, her Ukrainian heritage easily recognizable. We became instant friends and began a week-long conversation that went from alien encounters to Texas beer.
You have to love a place where there are more coffee shops than fast-food burger joints, where half a hundred cultures live huddled together and a dozen languages are spoken on any street corner at any time and where dollars are called Loonies. Vancouver is a delightful “people” kind of place. Pubs are large, elaborate, with games and beer and little groups crowded around talking and laughing while the inevitable TV sits in a corner with some sport playing and nobody watching. In this land of cool air, excellent beer, a rainbow culture and more aliens than residents I discovered some things about another kind of alien and those who have “met” them. What I learned about was far more foreign than you’d find down in Chinatown, Little Italy, or the East Indian communities with their turban’ed men and colorfully draped, dark eyed, dark-skinned women.
At first glance there’s certainly nothing peculiar about my petite Canadian friend. She has been married for almost twenty years to a man who at present works in a warehouse. She works for a pet insurance company and weekends as an attendant at a funeral home’s cinerarium. Although she is almost 40 she has no children. She has a great smile, a terrific sense of humor, and an outgoing personality. It wasn’t long, however, that I saw beneath the surface and discovered a woman puzzled and confused by the things life has dealt her.
Tiny’s experiences started when she was only a child and span her entire childhood. She related that even the circumstances of her birth was abnormal and she has early memories of lights in her bedroom and remembers “little people with big eyes” watching over her. “The first memory I have of them,” she tells me, “Is when I was very young. [This was the early 1960’s.] I have memories from very early childhood. It was a normal day in the ‘ol household, just mom and I alone, everyone else at work. Mom was in the kitchen baking pies and she had my highchair positioned against the wall by the back door. I was watching her roll dough and she looked really good and all was quiet and peaceful. All was well. Then all of a sudden three guys dressed in black entered the kitchen from our hallway. I remember feeling excited thinking “hey we have company!” I didn’t feel frightened at all. Mom had her back to them because she was standing at the sink. I watched
and played with my toy.
“I’m going to try to describe these guys for you.” Tiny said. “They were all in black. They had black boots on. No heels. They had on long black tunics that tapered at the waist but no belts. These tunics came right up high on there necks. They looked really interesting. The next thing I noticed was that they had no hair and at the time I thought they were wearing big black sunglasses. They had huge oval deep black eyes, shiny black eyes. They were pale as though they never went into the sun. They had little noses flat on their faces, pointed chins, small slits for a mouth and a few lines, sort of like wrinkles around their eyes. But for the most part their complexions were smooth. My mom was 4’9″ and these guys were smaller than she was.
Mom was busy at the sink and didn’t notice them right away. One of them came over toward me and stood at the wall to the left side of my highchair; just stood there staring at me with black eyes. He didn’t make
a move for awhile so I watched the other two. One of them stood about two feet behind mom. The other one stood about three feet behind the one standing behind mom. All of a sudden mom turns and sees
them!..WELL!!!!!!!…poor mom. I’ll never forget the look on her face! Mom didn’t yell or make a sound. Her knees gave out. She slid down the corner of the kitchen bar by the bottom cupboards. She crouched there in the corner looking up at this creature and she went as white as a ghost. Her eyes were huge and her mouth was open but she didn’t scream. The little fella extended his hand to touch her and she tried to push herself into the corner farther with her knees bent up for protection and when she moved he withdrew his hand and waited a few seconds before trying to touch her again. She just sat there staring up at him with this horrified expression on her face. Then he tried to reach out and touch her again. This time she
let out a shriek. It was sort of a sound a woman makes when she sees a spider. Again he withdrew his hand and waited. The third time he reached out he touched her gently on her arm and then all of a sudden her expression changed. Her color came back and her eyes weren’t bulging anymore. She just stood up calmly. I thought this was weird. So the little guy over by me took a big step towards me and took one of his fingers and ran it really gently down my left arm. I still remember what that felt like. His touch was so smooth. After he touched me he stepped back really quickly, never taking his big black eyes off of me. I just looked at him and I got this really friendly feeling from him. I liked him. I got the impression that he was afraid of me so I wanted him not to be. He stepped forward again and touched me a second time.
The next thing I remember is mom walking into the hall with the other two out of my sight. The one standing beside me followed them. But before he went into the hall and out of my sight he turned and looked at me for a few seconds as though he was making sure I was alright in my highchair.
Then they all disappeared. The next thing that happened was I felt like I was groggy or something and I noticed that mom was nowhere to be seen and I started to feel afraid. Where was she?
Well the little fella that had been standing beside me must have sensed that I was about to escape from my highchair and all of a sudden he appeared again from the hallway. He just stood there about five feet away from me and stared at me. Then I calmed down. I don’t know how much time passed but I remember
mom coming back into the kitchen acting normal, not afraid or anything as though nothing had happened at all. And that was the beginning of their visits….”
Tiny’s childhood was not a fun one. Her older brother, while protective, could be difficult. Her father was loud and abusive. And her household was filled with odd events which she and her mother experienced and which was apparently unknown to her father and brother. Her brother did, however, have more to do with what was happening than he let on. Tiny recalls he often drew “alien heads” -the large-cranium, small chin, huge eyes and small mouth and nose of a Grey-all over his school books. And I saw the results of her brothers’ wood-working class, a small wooden head with features resembling a Grey. No doubt the teacher misconstrued the art work as an African head but Tiny’s mother despised the art and tried to throw it out. Tiny kept taking it out of the trash and now has it as a memento.
Tiny said her mother had a special hiding place for her beneath a cabinet in the kitchen where at times she’d spend hours while “they” would come into her home. Sometimes “they” would show up unannounced and she recalls several times when she sat in her high-chair looking into the face of a being she later learned to fear. “They” had the typical skin color, large heads and “almond-shaped” eyes of the race known to Ufologists and abductees as Greys. She remembers a night when as an elementary-aged girl she was carried toe-sack style by her mother, a woman as small as she, down an alley late at night to a large field behind her school where some sort of craft was sitting. Then she suddenly found herself standing barefoot and cold in the alley behind her home, alone, and terrified she would be locked outside.
Other times Tiny remembers being on an alien craft with her mother and observing while her mother was examined. Once she came home and found her mother in the basement nonchalantly washing clothes while being observed by one of the trench-coated aliens.
“Have you ever felt that someone was watching you and you turn around and no ones there?” Tiny asks. “Well that’s how I feel. I’m serious when I say that I’m being monitored. Sometimes I feel like I have no control over what happens in my life. I feel as though everything that happens is preplanned and being
observed just to see what kind of emotional reaction I give to any situation I’m put in.” What amazed me is that here’s a woman whose life has been anything but normal and who feels like a goldfish in a tiny round bowl and is speaking of it as if it were nothing more than a bad case of chronic indigestion. I can mention “abductions” in an extra-terrestrial sense to friends and family and they roll their eyes and give me this, “you don’t believe that stuff” look. But here Tiny was sitting before me and telling me her tale. “Do you believe me?” She asks with such sincerity and concern. I assure her that I do believe her and that others will too. At least those who need to hear her story will.
Tiny’s mother never talked about the “visitors.” Never, that is, with one exception. There was the night during her teenage years Tiny and her mother were discussing death and ghosts, a subject that had come up because her aunt had recently died. Tiny related to her mother how she had felt someone tug on her one night and had turned the light on and no one was there. Tiny thought it was the ghost of her aunt. Her mother told her she didn’t think it was ghosts. She ask if not ghosts, then what? “[Mom] looked up from her crocheting,” Tiny says, “She didn’t say anything. She took her finger and pointed it towards the ceiling. I looked at her and said incredulously ‘SPACEMEN!!!!’ Then I said…’oh come on!!!!’ Then I took my two index fingers and placed them at the sides of my head so they looked like antenna and made an eerie sound and started laughing at my mom for telling me that she thought that it was aliens that were moving my arm and doing other things and not ghosts! I now wish I hadn’t laughed at her. She was right.”
It was only in her twenties that Tiny finally understand that the “visitors” of her childhood were aliens. She went into a book store for something and passed the “best seller” rack where a book with an odd image caught her eye. She went on to another part of the store and then returned. The book was Intruders, by Bud Hopkins, a leading researcher and author on the abduction phenomena. “When I read it I kept shaking my head. I couldn’t believe it. Most of the things written in that book had happened to me and my family. I was shocked. And that’s when it all started to make sense to me. And that’s when the memories started to surface again very clearly. I was amazed, bewildered, and frightened. And of course the main question on my mind was “why?” Thus I began reading everything on the subject and that’s when I realized I wasn’t alone.”
Tiny keeps asking why? But there is another question those of us must ask who have not had these experiences. That question is not why, but how could this happen? Meet this woman on the street and you’d never, ever expect anything extraordinary had happened to her. She is friendly and outgoing, talkative, quick to smile and easy to laugh. But her past clouds her present and to get to know her is to discover she has few friends and trusts fewer and is suspicious of everyone. My trip to Vancouver was, for me, to make sure I was hearing a story from a real person and not some oddball on the Internet. For her it was so she could see that I was also a real person, someone she could trust with information she’d never told anyone. It took only a very few minutes with Tiny for me to be confident that the chance I’d taken in a trip to Vancouver was well worth it.
While I was there we talked as much about that foreign place called “Texas” as we did about Greys and lights in the night. But I got to know the personality behind the experiences and saw the struggle she has with the two different realities she lives in. Tiny’s husband of eighteen years thinks everything alien is fiction and will not listen to her. She has never told him most of the things that has happened to her. Once during a vacation in Vegas she took him out to find Area 51 and they very nearly got arrested. He was none too happy about that event. Only her best friend knew of her experiences and she lost that best friend more than a year ago. Behind her eyes I could easily see the clouds which hovered in her mind.
What makes Tiny’s story unique and the reason I said she should tell this story is because the vast majority of people who experience abductions do not have observers. Spouses and siblings and children may or may not be part of the events and may themselves be part of the abduction experience but it’s unique that a child is allowed to observe.
Tiny did not fear them as her mother did. Her mother was always terrified of them. At one point her mother recruited her brother’s help in plugging the chimney and any other entrance which might be used by “them,” but it was of little use. They still came. Sometimes her mother knew when they were coming. Tiny said her mother would change from her ordinary quiet, kindly personality to being angry and frustrated and without patience when they would show up and after they left. Communication was apparently by telepathy but Tiny knew what was happening and often had an “understanding” of them without having heard a voice.
Something is happening in this world where you and I live, something unknown, something beyond our control, something which may or may not be sinister. Some day, hopefully, we will all have some kind of answers about the how’s and why’s. Until then it is up to people like Tiny to give us a window on this unknown world. When they do tell their stories it is up to the rest of us to listen with an open mind and a kind heart and a willingness to understand.
Tiny has no desire for fame. “Tiny” is a pseudonym. It is no doubt helpful for her to be able to tell someone the stories she’s withheld so long. But it is painful and traumatic and fraught with peril in that she could be laughed at and ridiculed. Or worse, thought to be some kind of kook or liar. “I’m not lying, Ted,” she says, over and over, “I’m not lying!”
It should be noted that the events Tiny related to me were not the result of any kind of hypnosis or enhanced memory efforts. There are gaps in her memory but much of what happened to her she can recall, far back into her early childhood. This, in itself, is extraordinary. And it’s another reason her story is so important because the nay-sayers cannot claim her stories were concocted through hypnotic suggestions.
The last contact she remembers was about three years ago. She was working for a bank at that time and came to know a man who was part of MUFON, the Mutual UFO Network. She had a couple of conversations with him and mentioned a little of what had happened to her. Only a few days after those conversations she relates that she had contact with the aliens through some form of out-of-body experience or mental imagery or something else which she is not sure of. Events are sketchy in her mind but essentially she met with them in some kind of underground tunnel and got the impression she should not have been talking to “the MUFON guys.” She told me “after my last encounter with the little fellas I decided to keep my mouth shut.” Until now. She keeps telling me that odd things might begin to happen again, and to me as well. I assure her that I’m not worried. Still, I keep a watch on the night sky.
Delays, bad weather, bumpy rides and blurry-eyed fatigue awaited me back in Texas. So did reality, that ordinary kind of life that so many of us take for granted. Friends, family, the little annoyances of traffic and the wonderful smell of the air after a thunderstorm. We can’t understand the storms that rise inside the minds of those whose experiences fall far outside of our reality but whose experiences are just as real as the bumper-to-bumper madness of Austin freeways and verdant countryside between there and my home. It’s easy enough for me to share my reality. But Tiny’s is one that is locked away, hidden, a reality that nobody wants to hear and fewer believe. It is far more important, however, that we look into her reality than mine for if we do not look there then we will never unlock the doors to unknown worlds which impact our lives and we will forever be subject to capricious “things that go bump in the night.”
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