It was definitely fully dark - though I forget what time - when an object came into view, travelling left to right along Park Drive and in full illumination of the street lights. I estimate our distance from the road to be no more than 30 yards (27m) - I frequently revisit this spot so I am pretty sure of the distance - yet for some strange reason, we could not make optical sense of the object we both turned to look at.
Firstly, it was luminous white and its edges were blurred, while it travelled about walking speed along the centre of the road. The main body of the object resembled a large pram without wheels. At each end of the ‘pram’ was seated a figure, featureless and white; in fact they were hardly figures at all, but more like skittles or milk bottles with rounded ‘heads’ [see accompanying sketch].
The most alarming aspect of the object and occupants was the way they rocked up and down in see-saw fashion, in unison with the carriage. There was no one pushing this object, and it was devoid of superstructure (handle, hood, wheels, etc). It did not hover above the ground, but seemed to blur into the ground where the wheels should be.
We watched it for around two minutes before it disappeared behind trees - it may have turned into a driveway at that point - and never reappeared.
Strangely, and I still can’t understand why, we never gave chase for a closer look - we just gazed at the object in bemused acceptance.
Art Wetherell, Stallingborough, South Humerside, 1992
TAPPING THE HEAD FIELD
In the early 1960s, I was at a special boarding school for the deaf at Bolton near Manchester. Sometime between 1964 and 1966, on a summer evening around 4.30pm, I was standing alone in the school’s washroom. Because I was small, I was standing on a wooden chair so that I could look in the mirror to brush my hair. As I turned the cold water tap on to wet my hair, a horrible vibrating noise made me think there must be an airlock in the pipes. I ran the comb under the water and raised it towards my hair, but it hit something solid above my head. I looked up to see what it was and was frightened to find nothing there. The ceiling was about 15ft (4.6m) high, so I tried once more to comb my hair. Again it hit something a few inches above my head, and again when I looked there was nothing there. I raised my hand and pressed against what felt like glass or an invisible force field.
I ran into the corridor trying to find someone to witness this phenomenon - but there was no one around. I was excited as well as scared and so I returned to the chair, stood on it again and hit the barrier as hard as I could with the hope of smashing it, but all it did was make a dull thud that echoed around the washroom. I then became frightened that it would crush me to death, so I turned off the running tap and was about to leave when I realised that the barrier had vanished. I turned the tap on again but it did not come back. I tried numerous ‘settings’ on the tap for the rest of my time at the school, but the barrier never happened again.
Karl Liggett, Newton-le-Willows, Merseyside, 1997
AIDA AND THE ROLLING STONES
In 1970 I was an eight-year-old girl in a family of four, and together with my parents, an aunt, an uncle, and a servant girl called Aida, lived in a big wooden house in the Philippines with my maternal grandparents.
One evening around Easter, we were all invited over by my paternal grandparents who lived nearby. As grandpa was having bouts of sinusitis he stayed behind, along with his wife and Aida. After a while, grandpa came over, panting and visibly shaken. He told us to come home at once as something strange was happening to Aida.
We hurried back amid a slight shower. Aida and my grandmother were huddled in the middle of the house, hugging each other. Our 17-year-old servant girl was crying hysterically. She came from a poor family in a faraway village and had been with us for about three years. She was tough and very determined, not easily scared. All of us children adored her.
Grandpa pointed to the stones forming a circle around the two women. He said it all started half an hour earlier when, out of nowhere, stones came rolling towards Aida. Black and smooth, mostly about one inch (2.5cm) in diameter and with varying oval shapes, they stopped a few inches from her feet. Just then, Aida screamed as another stone came rolling across the shiny wooden floor. All of us children became equally frightened and some started crying. All the doors were closed and all the windows screened. Behind the house were tropical trees and acres of paddy fields. There was no possible entry.
The stones kept rolling, following Aida wherever she went. They came from different directions and at different time intervals, as if the thrower was playing with us. I will never forget the sound of them rolling on the wooden floor. Gradually overcoming our fright, we children started to collect the stones in a vase. There were none like them in our neighbourhood. They were warm to the touch, and dry. Had they been thrown from the street outside, they would have been wet from the rain. The adults checked the house meticulously, and a neighbour let one of his hired hands go up into the ceiling to investigate, but he came back empty-handed.
That night, Aida slept on the floor of my grandparents’ room, too scared to stay on her own. All through the night, we could hear the stones rolling and Aida’s occasional whimper. In the morning, the mosquito net under which she slept was surrounded by stones. Nothing happened during the day, but the stones resumed rolling at sunset, as they did for the next two weeks.
As Easter approached, only about 10 stones appeared nightly, compared to 20 or 30 previously. Many people came and asked for a stone or two, thinking they were from out of this world and would bring them luck. Being Catholic, my family held daily prayer meetings and the local parish priest blessed the house. He was convinced that evil spirits were at work.
Then my mother met an old wise man in the market place, and told him of the phenomenon. He said that Aida was being befriended by a playful gnome who wanted to attract her attention. Such creatures were invisible and usually harmless. To stop the stones, he advised that salt be spread outside around the house at sunset. Reasoning that she had nothing to lose, my mother followed his instructions. She and my aunt started at the bottom of the front stairs and spread salt in opposite directions until they met at the back of the house. Much to everyone’s relief, the stones stopped appearing.
Aida stayed with us for another two years and then moved to the city, taking with her a few of the stones that for two weeks had made her life something to be remembered by all who knew her.
Darcy Frederiksen, Tripoli, Libya, 1999
Thanks
Fortean Times would like to thank all those who have written to us to share their experiences over the past 35 years. A particular thank you goes to those writers whose letters appear in this volume:
Amos ––, SJ Adams, Colin Ayling, Tony Baldwin, J Bardet, Joseph E Barnes, Andrew Beattie, Mary Behrens, John Billingsley, John Birch, Alex Brattell, Peter Brown, Julia Burns, Deborah Cameron, Emma Cannell, Mrs M Carroll, Simon Clabby, Sheila Clark, Amanda-Jayne Clayden, Darren E Companion, Graham Conway, Roy C Cotterill, Andrew Cray, Donald Crighton, Kes Cross, Kirsten Cross, Alun Cureton, AG Russell-Dallamore, Jamie Davis, Simon Day, Ian Deakin, Eileen Denham, Alison Derrick, Mario Dias, Rob Dickinson, Malcolm Dickson, David Doughty, Ken Doughty, Gunnar Th Eggertsson, Phillip A Ellis, Phillip Evans, Joy Ferguson, Christopher Fowler, Darcy Frederiksen, Rob Gandy, Cyrus Ganjavi, Martin Garcia, Judith Gee, Derek Gibson, Jerry Glover, Derek Gosling, Rose-Mary Gower, Darren Green, Mrs JM Green, Norman Green, Doreen Greenwood, Ed Griffiths, Kevin Groves, DA Haines, Mike Harding, Linda Hardy, Matt Hatton, Margaret Hickey, Dustin Hiles, Graham Hill, Philip Hoare, Viv Hobbs, Andy Hinkinson-Hodnett, Rebecca Hough, Nic Johnson, Alex Jones, Mr J Keen, Chris Kershaw, Ms KJ Kimberly, Rob Kirbyson, John Knifton, Mrs E Knight, Patricia Law, Karl Liggett, Peter Lloyd, Francis Lowe, Tracey Maclean, John MacLeod, Keith Manies, Sharon Mason, Lily Mayhew, Christopher McDermott, Michael Mcquate, Neil Fielder-Mennell, Alan Moore, Tania Morgan, Paul Moss, Robert Moyes, Mazda Munn, Elias Paul Mutwira, Martin Nield, Mervyn FW Nightingale, Mark Novell, Kayti Ooi, Mike Ow
ens, Ron Parker, Brian Perryman, Colby Pope, Wayne Poulsen, Anthony Purcell, Brenda Ray, Valerie Redgrave, Valerie A Riddell, John D Ritchie, John Robinson, Jack Romano, Ron Rosenblatt, AT Ryland, Matthew Salt, CN Satterthwaite, Nicola Savage, Darren R Scothern, Chris Shilling, Stanley Shoop, Mrs DJ Singleton, Ian Skinner, SA Skinner, Anna Smith, Anthony Smith, Euan Smith, Jacqueline L Spriggs, Lee Stansfield, Peter Sutherland, Robin Swope, Josephine Taylor, Karl Thornley, Pam Thornton, Clive Thrower, Patricia
Tyrrell, LU, Steve Uzzell, David Le Vay, SW, Art Wetherell, Russ Williams, Travis Wolfe, James XXX, Rod York, Dr P Young, David Zanotti, Peter Zolli
For more real-life stories of the unexplained, sign up to the Fortean Times message board at www.forteantimes.com/forum and visit the ‘It Happened to Me!’ forum.
If you have your own bizarre stories to tell and would like to share them with us, then send your letters to P.O. BOX 2409 London NW5 4NP or email [email protected]
Fortean Times: It Happened to Me vol.1 Page 15