Subject: UFO Sighting Reports
Below is the result of your feedback form.
It was submitted by (clayton@fullnet.net)
on Saturday, March 15, 1997 at 02:42:40
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name: Lori Clayton
location: Either New Mexico or Idaho...
not sure where we were living at the time
date: ca. 1963 or 1964
time: Night...
sighting: I'm very tired as I just got off work; however I found this web page and feel compelled to share a
bit of my past with others, so I'm going to relate a personal story that I wrote for a college writing class back
in 1990. It's entitled, "An Uneasy Confession."
Everyone possesses some type of fear or phobia. Those who profess otherwise may subconsciously avoid situations
in which they are forced to confront their fear, or else they're just ashamed to admit they're fallible. Before
anyone can learn to overcome or control a fear, however, he/she must first recognize and admit there is one. Therefore,
I make this confession: I fear the dark. It's not actually the blackness that scares me--it's what may be lurking
in it.
Fear develops early in a person's life. Usually it stems from a traumatic or life-threatening episode. I believe
the root of my nyctophobia is an experience I had when I was about three or four years old.
My parents had kissed and tucked me in for the night. As they left, they turned off the light and closed the door.
The small patch of light that flowed from the living room was reduced to a tiny strip beneath my bedroom door.
I squeezed my eyelids together for several seconds so that my eyes would quickly focus in the darkness. With my
blankets safely tucked around my neck, I opened my eyes and waited--for THEM. Soon they would appear, as they had
for many nights previously.
It was useless to call out for either of my parents. I had done so in the past and several times they had answered
my calls; however, each time Mom or Dad would open the door and turn on the light, my visitors would vanish. Of
course when the door closed and darkness resumed, the visitors reappeared. Eventually my parents began ignoring
my pleas, and I finally quit calling.
So now I was terrified and alone. In a short while, THEY began appearing. I thought of them as the little black
men. They were about two to three feet tall and only visible from the waist up. They stood in one spot at the edge
of my bed for about five to ten seconds, disappeared and then reappeared at different locations around the bed.
Once during the day I told my father about the little black men and he began to laugh. "Ask them for some
money," he scoffed. I was angry and humiliated. He didn't believe me and told me I was either dreaming or
imagining things. That night I decided to investigate (not for my father's sake, but for my own) and discover whether
or not these visitors were real or just part of my imagination.
Because I didn't want to mistake one of the little black men for the wall, which was on my left, I waited for one
of them to appear on my right. Adrenaline-laced anticipation pumped throughout my body. The little black man finally
appeared and the seconds turned into hours as my hand slowly reached towards him from beneath the blankets. I almost
hoped that he was imaginary. That would've been less threatening somehow, but he wasn't imagined. He was a cold,
solid form and he was watching me. I jerked my hand back beneath the covers and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that
he, it, WHATEVER would forgive my doubt and spare me an unspeakable death. I was determined not to reopen my eyes,
though the urge was intense, until daylight. Sleep finally rescued me after what seemed like hours. I don't remember
if they ever reappeared to me after that night, but to this day I'll swear the little black men were real. Since
that experience, I've always slept with some type of light on or available at night. When my husband and I first
married, he attached a string from the lightswitch to the bedpost above my head. I was able to reach up and turn
the light on in an instant if necessary, and it was--many times. My husband quickly grew weary of this practice,
however, so now I'm content with the glow of a small lamp in the next room. Occasionally I'll even wake up and
turn that light off, which proves I'm making some progress in overcoming my phobia.
There are other tactics I practice that have aided in controlling my phobia. I no longer rent or watch supernatural
thrillers before retiring to bed. I know that seems like a logical practice, but I rebelled against doing it for
almost fifteen years. I've also quit reading supernatural novels, which means I don't see much of an old favorite--Stephen
King. I've decided that I'm not going to read anything that may haunt me later when the sun goes down.
As an adult, I can't help but wonder sometimes who those strange little men were. Will my children ever be harassed
by such creatures in the darkness? In order to prevent my fear from becoming infectious to my sons, I make sure
that I spend at least five or ten minutes with each of my boys making light conversation and holding them at bedtime.
I believe that feeling of security helps immensely when the light goes off. This closeness also helps me feel more
relaxed and secure and I'm able to drift off without watching the shadows or worrying about what's in the closet.
Their bedroom door is left open at night, and when I hear them sleeping restlessly, I go in and comfort them--in
the darkness.
As I mentioned earlier, this was written many years ago; however it is a true account. I just thought it may be
of interest to others, or perhaps others have experienced something similar and would like to share it with me.
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