I had recently turned 6 years old. It was in the fall of 1963 and I was lying in my bed. I found myself awake and staring straight up since I was lying on my back. It seemed like 1:00 AM or so in the dead of night. So as I came into consciousness I saw an amoeba shaped object floating above my head below the ceiling between a space of no more than 6 feet. It was moving like an amoeba does. It had the colors of fuchsia, orange and yellow but mostly the fuchsia color. As it swarmed above me I suddenly realized I was holding an object in my left hand. It was like an egg shaped object that my hand was closed around. All of this had taken place in perhaps 10 – 15 seconds - seeing the object floating above me and realizing I was holding this strange object in my hand.

As my mind began to realize the event was occurring (and I knew I wasn’t dreaming) I became afraid and tried to release the object in my hand. As I tried to open my hand, a force inside my hand from my wrist area all the way into my hand took over and fought my attempt to release the object. My hand grasped the object even tighter. It was at this moment I became completely consumed with terror.

Suddenly the next thing I knew, my mother entered the room like a mother does sometimes to check on her child. I am uncertain if I blacked out or if she came in as the event was occurring – my gut tells me I had blacked out and that she came in some time after the event had ended. Anyways, I immediately jumped out of my covers, sat on the side of my bed and then she came over and sat beside me. I was crying pretty hysterically and I tried to tell her what happened. She said over and over, “don’t worry it was just a dream,” even though I continually insisted it really happened. I recall being upset with her that she didn’t believe me. It truly was no dream, I well know the difference.

To this day I do not have a close relationship with my mother.

It was when I was 8 or 9 years old that I began to recall and dwell on this event but forgot about it again until I was in my late teens. Then I began to remember it again. I even told my father about it at that time. I recall that when I told my father, he was sitting on his bed and at the moment I told him about it he hung his head down and didn’t say a word. I believe my father had some clue about it but he would never say. He committed suicide when he was 44 years old (or was suicided) – I was 21 years old when this happened.