“Okay,” I said, en route to the kitchen to get us spoons for the gelato. I knew she’d be calling her mother later that evening.
11: The Group
The abductee group meeting was held in a corporate building in downtown Seattle. I sat in a circle of about a dozen people. Dr. Jeff Swanson, a thin, tall, middle-aged man in jeans and untucked button down introduced me.
“Everyone, this is Ben Davenport. Please welcome Ben.”
“Hello,” I muttered flatly, making eye contact with an overweight woman with oversized black-rimmed glasses and blood-red lipstick.
“Ben, what we do here,” Swanson continued, “is share our experiences, talk about how they have affected us, how they have changed us. We explore them together in the safety of our group. We have just three rules: share what we believe is truthful, show respect for each other, and keep what we discuss in group private.”
“What’s said in group, stays in group,” proclaimed the woman with the giant glasses.
“That’s right,” clamored several other members of the group.
I nodded. “Okay.” I sat back to listen, thinking, Jesus, what am I doing here? Am I like these people? The entire set-up reminded me of the support group scene in the Communion movie where Christopher Walken, playing an apprehensive Whitley Strieber, arouses paranoia in the group because he’s a writer.
Swanson looked about the group. “Who wants to start?” His eyes came to rest on an overweight man in his thirties with a dark beard, polo-shirt and jeans. “Mark, why don’t you lead us off?”
“Well, I have something new to report. I was in Belltown this last Tuesday at like two in the morning. I noticed a light in the sky, green, trailing behind me. I walked faster but the light kept up. When I got to my apartment building, I saw a grey in the alleyway just standing there, peering out from behind a dumpster, like it was waiting for me. I attempted to speak to it, it raised its three-fingered hand as if greeting me back, then was gone. I looked back up into the sky and saw the light again, darting off fast. That was it.”
“They didn’t speak to you telepathically?” asked a woman in the group.
“No. I think it was just saying hello. You know, like, I’m here, still keeping an eye on you.”
I raised my hand and Swanson called on me. “What did it look like?”
“He was a grey, you know, the ones from Proxima Centauri b, just like the ones Daniel Byrne communicates with.”
“Can we not use gendered language?” said the woman in glasses. “We don’t know them to have a sex.”
“The ones I’ve seen were definitely male. Definitely,” said the man next to me.
“There are the male and female Nordic Whites too, let’s not forget,” said another group member.
Swanson reminded the group to keep gender pronouns neutral. To stay out of trouble, It was okay, but EBE or visitor were better. “Please continue,” he said to Mark.
“So yeah, that was it. I don’t know if I’ll see them again tonight or not.”
“Were there any witnesses?” I asked. “I mean, did anyone else see the light in the sky? Film it?”
“Maybe someone did. I don’t know. But I can tell you that it was there.”
“How can you be sure?” I asked.
Mark was irritated by my question. “I know what I saw was real because I experienced it.”
“Me, too, I know what I saw,” said the woman across from me.
“And me, too,” another attendee insisted.
The woman in the lipstick took a turn. “I learned this at the Proxima Foundation ranch last year. Daniel Byrne says they are intra-dimensional and can slip in and out of this plane of existence. If you are tuned in, then you can see them.”
I recalled hearing Daniel say that, but I wasn’t satisfied. “So you are saying you see them in your mind? They’re not here in the physical world?”
“No, that’s not quite right,” the lipstick woman said in irritated tone. “I don’t know how else to explain it to you. Can someone else explain it to him?”
“Let’s not rush things, we’ll get to that,” Swanson interrupted. “What about you, Ben? Do you want to share your experience?”
Reluctantly, I told my story, starting from the lights in the sky to waking up on the side of road naked.
“How are you coping?” said the older woman next to me.
“Fine. It’s just the ringing in my ears and the sleep problems that are bothering me.”
“Ringing in your ears? Tell us more,” Swanson said.
“It’s a buzzing sound, sounds like cicadas. I don’t know what it is.”
“Ever heard of The Worldwide Hum?” asked Mark.
“You mean the Schumann’s resonance, the Earth’s natural vibration?” I said.
“No, this is different. A small percentage of people from around the world hear a persistent oscillating low-frequency hum from an unknown source. It’s louder at night and while indoors. Some think it’s caused by vibration in the inner ear, others think the source is environmental, far-off radar or microwave stations, industrial equipment or something.”
“What does the Worldwide Hum sound like?” I asked him.
“Low frequency rumbling sound, like a street sweeper or engine idling in the distance.”
“I think the hum is caused by HAARP,” added a middle-aged man sitting across from me, “you know, the High-frequency Active Auroral Research Program. It’s an array of high frequency radio transmitters and antennas in Alaska. It’s not to study the ionosphere—it’s for mind control experiments. I saw it on an episode of Conspiracy Theory With Jesse Ventura.”
“Here we go again with the mind control conspiracies,” said the lipstick woman in glasses. “Can we stay on topic, please?”
Neither of these explanations made any sense to me, nor was it tinnitus from what I could tell. My sound increased in frequency and intensity with time and began after my abduction experience—it had to be related to whatever happened to me.
“You seeing things? Orbs?” asked the woman in glasses.
“Yes, I have. At night.”
“That’s common.”
“What do you think causes them?”
The middle-aged man said, “I think they’re intra-dimensional. Just like the EBEs.”
Another man said, “I think they are projections, caused by signals from satellites, black satellites.”
“Black satellites?” I asked.
“Secret government program,” he replied.
Swanson turned to me. “It’s a good idea to rule out natural causes. Physiological explanations.”
“You might want to see a neurologist and an audiologist, just as a rule out,” said another one of the attendees.”
It seemed like a good idea. My insurance would cover it. I had an annual physical coming up and could see about getting a referral.
Swanson smiled. “We can all agree that we’ve experienced something not ordinary.”
Everyone nodded.
More group members provided their updates in turn, but my mind wandered to my own experience. I wanted answers, but found myself more disillusioned than ever. Then, Swanson made an assertion that grabbed my attention.
“Last time, we talked about the link between experiences in adulthood and during childhood. It’s helpful to trace back your experiences into your childhood, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” more than half the attendees murmured.
I hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps the Phoenix Lights, but hundreds of people saw them, and the experience was far from the horrors of abduction.
“What about Ben? Any abduction experiences as a child?” asked the lipstick woman.
“I don’t see what my childhood has to do with what I experienced. It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever been through.”
“Are you so sure?” she asked.
“I’m not even sure now if what I experienced was real. All I know is what happened to me was physical, but now it all feels
like a dream.”
“It wasn’t a dream,” one of the men said quietly, looking at me.
“Anyone can say they saw anything, can’t they? Who knows what is true?” I said, crossing my arms.
Swanson, sensing the tension in the group, attempted to calm everyone as the meeting time was winding down. “There are levels of truth, Ben.” Sometimes truth has to be viewed from a cultural perspective—through the eyes of our ancestors if you will, not just how we think it to be now in front of us. Does that make sense?”
“You mean truth is relative?”
“In a way. It depends on one’s perspective and on one’s experiences.”
I scoffed. “So, what if someone is crazy or high on LSD? Their perception of reality isn’t the truth, regardless of what their culture is.”
“What we are saying, Ben, is that you can’t view reality without the lens of your experiences.”
I sat back, my arms still crossed. What he was saying wasn’t making a whole lot of sense to me, but I kept on listening until the group’s time was up. Swanson approached at the door. We shook hands as others were leaving in pairs and alone.
“Ben, thanks for coming. Did you find this helpful?”
“I don’t know. I’m just looking for some answers about what’s happened to me.”
“I know you are, just like the rest of us. You might want to take the advice of some of our members and consider reaching out to the Proxima Foundation. They have some good workshops.”
“I’ll consider it,” I said, thinking how ridiculous it would be for me to contact the Byrnes.
“I hope you can work this through. Come back when you are ready.”
“Thanks,” I said and turned toward the door.
12: Jonathan Mahue
I kept thinking about my experience and its possible relationship with my childhood. Jonathan Mahue—what was he doing now? Maybe he’d had weird things happen to him, too, since we were ten. It was worth a try.
Several Jonathan Mahue’s popped up in the online public records search websites. There was one with the right age, and to my surprise, he was in Portland, Oregon and married to Elizabeth Mahue. I found him on LinkedIn, too: a software engineer and developer with a Masters from Stanford in Computer Science. He still looked like the adolescent I remembered, shaggy blond hair and all.
I emailed him, saying nothing other than I was hoping to catch up with him. He replied the following day with his phone number. I called that evening.
“Jonathan, this is Ben Davenport, how are you?”
His voice was soft and distant. “I’m fine. Surprised to hear from you. It’s been what, eighteen years?”
We spent a few minutes catching up. He’d seen my Proxima Foundation UFO hoax article and it had made him think about our time in the Cub Scouts and the Phoenix Lights. I suggested we should get together sometime that week, saying nothing about my abduction experience for fear that it might freak him out. I’d wait until we were in person.
“We’re going out of town to visit Elizabeth’s parents this weekend.”
“I could come down before then.” Could he hear how desperate I felt?
There was a long pause. I could hear the baby crying in the background. Jonathan said something to his wife, his voice muffled by his hand over the phone, then was back.
“Want to come down tomorrow? We can go out for dinner or something.”
“Yes, I can be there tomorrow. That would be great.”
I took the Amtrak down to Portland in the morning. Jonathan picked me up outside the station. We bro-hugged, then he introduced me to his wife, Elizabeth, and daughter. Elizabeth jumped in back and insisted I ride up front. We went to a restaurant called Theo’s On the River, ordered dinner, and started to catch-up.
“So you’re a big-time journalist,” Jonathan said, teasing me.
“So you are a big-time software developer?” I countered.
“Software engineer. I’ve been in a couple start-ups, developing mobile apps, cloud-based applications and stuff. I lived in San Jose for a while after school.” He smiled at his wife. “That’s where Elizabeth and I met.”
Elizabeth looked up from wiping the baby’s face and smiled.
“You in a relationship?” said Jonathan.
“Yes. I’m recently engaged.”
Elizabeth smiled “Congratulations.”
“Yeah man, congratulations. So why did you decide to contact me now?” he asked.
“I thought I’d reach out to you because I had something happen recently and, well…I’d like you to tell me what you remember about when we saw the Phoenix Lights.”
His wife looked up, then at Jonathan. The mood definitely shifted. Something happened, I thought.
Jonathan haltingly started. “Okay. Well, I remember we were sent off to get some kindling for the campfire. I think…”
‘Yes,” I said, “that’s my memory.”
“…and we were looking around. It was getting dark, making it difficult to see. We didn’t have flashlights with us, and we were worried about snakes and scorpions. Do you remember that?”
“Yes, I do, but we were determined to have a fire for s’mores.”
“Exactly.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “And the stars were out. We could see the Milky Way, I remember that. Then, I don’t know, it must have been around 8pm or so, we saw lights in a V-shape formation. Seven lights, I think, flying from north to south. Silent. When it flew overhead, I remember ducking down, like I was afraid it might see us or do something to us.”
“Yes,” I said, “I was freaked out, too. We dropped the wood we’d found and ran back to the camp site.”
“We were both freaked out,” Jonathan repeated slowly.
“Did the others see it, too?” asked Elizabeth, now lightly rocking the baby in her arms.
“No, it was just us. For some reason, it was just us,” Jonathan said equally slowly.
I looked at Elizabeth. “Others saw the lights, too, just not in the group we were with. They must not have been looking up or something. A lot of people saw the lights. Thousands, that night…”
Jonathan took a deep breath. “It’s still a mystery. We’ll likely never know what it was. Why are you bringing all of this up now? Are you doing another story or something?”
“I saw something like them again, Jonathan. And I had something else happen to me that I’m trying to understand.” My heart was beginning to race.
They both had their eyes on me, waiting on what I had to say next.
“I was abducted. I think I was abducted by aliens.”
I watched for their reaction. Both stared at me in silence.
“You’re messing with us, right?” Jonathan said.
“No, I’m dead serious. I wouldn’t make this up. I mean, you read my article; I’m a skeptic. I was driving home from an interview I had with Congressman Young. I was coming over the pass, south of Mt. Rainier on Route 12, and I saw these lights behind me. Next thing I know, I’m in a vortex and strapped to a table somewhere, I guess on a ship.”
“And you saw aliens?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, two of them, and they…well, they did stuff to me.”
“You’re shitting us, right?” Jonathan was smiling, more out of uncomfortable shock than anything else.
“No, Scout’s honor. I wanted to catch up with you to see if you’ve had anything strange happen. I know this all sounds crazy. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of it.”
Just then, the waiter brought us our food.
“Have you told anyone else about this?” Jonathan asked.
“Yes, a few people. My fiancée knows. I’m not crazy. I’ve been evaluated by a psychiatrist.”
They both poked at their food, not saying a word.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
“No, not at all,” said Elizabeth. “Are you going to write a story on your experiences, or something?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m not sure what I’m
going to do. I’m just trying to talk to people who I trust. Like I said before, I want to figure this out.”
We dug into our meals, discussing alien abductions for a bit. I eventually brought up the iM4ET mobile app.
“I’d like to see that,” said Jonathan.
“It’s no longer on my phone, I had to get a new phone.”
Then I glanced at my phone screen and saw that the app’s icon was there.
“That’s strange. The app is on this phone.”
“You must have had it on automatic backup and it reloaded,” said Jonathan. “Can I see it?”
“Sure.”
I handed him my phone. He opened the iM4ET app and went through its features.
“This is an interesting design. Looks like its mostly cloud-based, and it has access to lots of your phone’s features, like Bluetooth and GPS.”
“Does it? That’s probably for the geolocator functions. It can tell you where other people are meditating and when ETs are in the area.”
He handed the phone back to me. Just then, my ears began to ring with great intensity, and I felt a migraine coming on. Both Jonathan and Elizabeth noticed something was wrong.
“Are you okay?” Jonathan asked.
“I keep getting these headaches, and I hear this ringing in my head. It started after I had my experience.”
“Did you see someone for that?”
“Yeah, the psychiatrist. She just gave me some medication, but nothing helps.”
Elizabeth looked up again. “Maybe you need to see a neurologist.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said.
The baby began to cry. Elizabeth slid out of the booth. “We’d better get going,” she said to Jonathan.
Outside the restaurant, Jonathan pulled me aside. “Elizabeth hates the UFO stuff. I usually keep it to myself, but I’m actually into this. Ever since we saw those lights, I’ve been fascinated with it. There just so much stigma associated with it. People think you are nuts when you talk about it.”
“I know how that goes,” I said.
He gave me another bro-hug. “Hey man, let’s stay in touch, okay?”
“Sure,” I said.
The Goldilocks Zone Page 10