For as long as I live, I know I’ll never forget that night, it made such a horrifying impact on me that the events of that night are etched into my brain. I believe I was 17 and it was still light outside; it was a warm, beautiful sunny day that summer, and I can’t remember why, but I decided to lay down for a nap. I was awoken, some time later, when there was a loud rumbling sound that shook the house; suddenly, a light shot through the window in my living room (I had been sleeping on the couch) and it pulled me up off of the couch and out the window. I was then pulled up into a giant saucer-type spaceship, and then I found myself in a dark room.
I can’t remember everything, but what I remember is still horrifying enough; the alien that came and got me was the same height as me and had very human eyes and hands, but his skull was elongated, and his skin was a greenish brown.
The alien explained to me that I had been abducted for a reason and that they wanted something from me, he said he wanted me to come with him and that if I didn’t comply, it would mean my end. This alien explained that he was going to show me some things that I needed to see, things that were important for me to understand, and the first thing he showed me was a pile of human bodies, explaining that this was what happened to people who disobeyed them and didn’t comply when they were abducted. The alien said that this is where the majority of missing people ended up that had been reported missing and where never found: their cases never solved. He explained to me that the reason for him showing me this was that he knew that I was a rebellious person and that I was prone to fight: this was an intimidation tactic to get me to comply with whatever they asked me to do.
More things happened that night than I have time to write in this story, but I found myself in a room, four of the aliens forcing me down onto a table on my back. They told me that they wanted a muscle out of my stomach which I protested profusely; I can remember an alien walking down the hallway, just outside my room, and I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and snapped a picture. They explained to me that the reason there are no pictures of aliens is that they have a cloaking mechanism that’s almost automatic and can almost detect when a picture is being taken, but that alien didn’t trigger his in time, and I knew I had gotten a good picture of, at least, part of him.
I lay on the table, as all of the aliens exited the room, letting me know that they were going to be back soon to perform the operation on me. I waited until they were all out of the room; one stayed in the room with me, preparing things for the operation, and I looked to my left and saw a pair of sharp silver scissors. I seized the opportunity while I could (I knew I had to get out of there) and I leaped up from the table, grabbed the scissors, and shoved them down into the top of the alien’s head with all the power I could muster, easily killing it.
The other aliens all rushed into the room and ordered me back onto the table, reminding me of the pile of bodies that I had seen earlier, and through my tears, I went back onto the table, knowing that I wouldn’t make it out of there alive if I didn’t.
They kept assuring me that I would be ok, but I wouldn’t stop protesting the idea of an operation, and the last thing I remember is them telling me that they were about to start performing the operation and had to keep me awake while they did it.
“We can wipe your memory after the surgery.” One of the aliens told me. “If you don’t want to remember any of this, we can make it happen for you.”
“Yes!” I demanded. “And if you ever abduct me again, always wipe my memory! I don’t want to have to live with any of these memories!”
The alien nodded his understanding and then put his hands on my head.
“Ok, we’re going to start now: this is going to hurt a lot, but you won’t die.”
I simply nodded and braced for the pain, but all of a sudden, I woke up on the couch in my house. It was the next morning, and I lived a year or two telling people that this was something that actually happened. I had a scar on my side, and I used to tell people that, when I saw that scar, it’s when everything got a little too real for me.
The truth of the matter is that I always knew it was a dream, I just thought it made a good campfire story, and I told it like it was real. The scar was from a bicycle wreck from back when I was 9 or 10; the rest of the events of that dream I think was inspired by old YouTube videos that I watched back then; YouTube wasn’t as big as it is now, but it was still around, and I can remember that, everything from the pile of bodies to the table, unwanted surgeries, and everything else: I heard all of that from people on YouTube that claimed to have been abducted by aliens.
So, I can account for everything that happened, and I am convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was undeniably a dream.
But that doesn’t change the fact that the events of that dream still haunt me, and sometimes on a dark nights, when I stare up at the stares, I remember the events of that dream: the worst I’ve ever had.
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