06:42
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In my last post, I said that I had accepted an assignment to investigate an "entity encounter" case, largely because there was a chance it would involve the use of a Faraday Cage, and what could be cooler than that? So, yesterday afternoon, the "Experiencer" and I spoke on the phone to set up a night this week to do our interview. I already knew from his initial report that he claimed to have been in contact with "alien greys" and "reptoids" over the course of 20 years, and that they were now threatening him, so I knew it would be an involved interview and I needed some time to prepare myself mentally.
But five minutes after we set an appointment for tonight -- Monday -- and hung up, the Experiencer's wife called me and said, "What he didn't tell you is that last Tuesday they gave him one week to live, and that's this Tuesday, so if you don't do the interview until tomorrow that doesn't help us much."
I'm still not sure what was weirder: the news of the death deadline or the fact that Mrs. Experiencer delivered the news to me with such an utter lack of affect and concern. She gave me the news as if she was telling me that her husband had an appointment to take the car in for an oil change on Tuesday, so could we please schedule around that?
I didn't know what to make of it, but since it was the first time I had ever been asked to reschedule an interview so as to not interfere with a death curse, I thought it best to go ahead and move up the interview. So, twenty minutes later I'm on the phone with Mr. Experiencer, and I'm trying to keep him focused on the most recent, pertinent events, because I know if I let him go over the last 20 years of encounters with no filtering I'm going to be on the phone all day, and it's a nice day. Things started out well, my focusing strategy was working, but then Mrs. Experiencer got on the line and my worst nightmares all came true...
The woman kept telling her husband what to tell me, and how, and he meekly complied. And when he didn't explain things to her satisfaction, she took over the conversation. It quickly turned into her interview, and I realized that Mrs. Experiencer seemed much more convinced that her husband was going to die in two days than he was.
But there was way more... Turns out all the trouble started a year ago when the husband and the wife had a huge blowout fight over his career aspirations. It's the same fight every married couple has ever had since the beginning of time: He wants to be a musician. She does not want him to be a musician.
Guess who wins that fight? Mrs. Experiencer prevails, and Mr. Experiecer hangs up the Stratocaster. He decides to be a painter instead; not a house painter, but a Rembrandt painter. Because that's so much more promising. But then the alien greys get pissed. Really pissed. They claim that he has somehow broken his agreement with them by giving up on his music career, and they start with the death threats. This suggests to me that the alien greys don't like earth music and had hoped that Mr. Experiencer would develop a whole new sound that would take the human race by storm and that they could tolerate. Either that or they had plans to take over the music business, using Mr. Experience as their avatar, as it were. Pretty chilling, if you ask me.
Anyway, shortly after this fight, Mr. Experiencer hits the bottle -- but only for a week -- and starts to have mysterious medical emergencies for a stretch of many months, with lots more threatening appearances and messages from the alien greys, followed by an encounter with a Reptoid creature that seemed determined to protect him from the greys but still managed to cover his entire abdomen with bruises. Startling stuff, but, sadly, they did not take a picture of the bruises, and every time I tried to clarify the sequence of events, times and events kept switching around willy-nilly.
After 45 minutes of this, my brain had turned to stewed prunes. I just couldn't take any more. And to be clear, it was Mrs. Experiencer I was fed up with, and myself. She contaminated the whole interview, and it was my mistake allowing her to take part. Still, hoping I could salvage even a scrap of my Sunday, not to mention my sanity, I got off the phone, wrote up a quick report and sent it to Vxxxx, my State Director.
Become a musician or die! This matters to aliens.
Vxxx quickly sent it off to the MUFON National Abduction Research Director, who -- thank God -- said this could be a case of schizophrenia, that we were in way over our heads, and all we could do was advise Mr. Experiencer that if he feels genuinely threatened on Tuesday, he could go to the Emergency Room and wait it out there. All in all, some pretty reasonable advice. The Director also said that from her experience, alien greys are not likely to go around killing people over their career choices, so we got that issue settled.
I passed her information to Mr. Experiencer today and hoped it was all behind me. But then, just a short time ago, I got an email from him, saying the hasn't even begun to tell me the whole story, and saying, "I'd love to speak with you in person if you would be willing to schedule something"
My question is, when does he suggest we schedule this? Cause, tomorrow is Tuesday...
Origin: mystery-sky-lights.blogspot.com
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