The editor of this newsletter had recently sent me an urgent request for an article. I don’t think it was caused by an outcry from his many readers who missed my column; I doubt many remembered me. In his email he asked if I was still alive; if there was anything wrong; how’s my health; etc.  His note surprised me because I thought he received plenty of stuff from me. I figured that my column could go on for years; if he wasn’t too particular about what he published. I became worried. This column is the only publishing credit I have. After 10 years of writing, he’s the only one in the business who has the guts to put what I’ve written on a page or in a book.  So, I apologize for being neglectful, but offer this excuse:

For many years I’ve had an interest in UFOs and extraterrestrial alien abductions. The thought of a full-body cavity probe by little gray beings with large almond-shaped eyes isn’t a pleasant one, but yet, I thought it would be a small price to pay for a trip across the universe to an alien planet where one could observe and be observed by an unknown culture.  Wow. “What if?” I thought. I was willing to bet the entire world was just as curious. So I decided to write a novel with alien abduction as my central theme.  

As all writers know, crafting a good story requires research. After reading everything I could find on accounts of alien abduction, I got lucky. Not so long ago, I became friends with a woman who worked at my office. Although she presented no credentials, she claimed to be a psychic investigator and a member of a support group for people who had been abducted by extraterrestrial aliens. Wow.

I accepted her invitation to one of their gatherings. It was her turn to host the monthly meeting, and upon arrival at her home, she introduced me to 15 or so people who sat in chairs or on the carpeted floor of her poorly lit family room. From what I could see during the introductions, the group was composed of middle-class women and men in a variety of ages.

Over the next several hours, people took turns reliving their experiences aboard spaceships while the others listened with their eyes closed and nodding their heads. Every presenter believed it really happened to them.  I was filled with fascination and horror.

Not everyone there presented. Later, the lights were turned up. Some people left while others stayed to eat the hostess’s cookies and to chat. I introduced myself to a short, stout young man with thick spectacles. His name was Bernard. He hadn’t talked during the group session, so I asked him if he was an abductee. He had an incredible story.

“I’ve been taken … taken thousands of times,” he said.

“Thousands? Wow.”

Bernard came a little closer and lowered his voice. “It’s not always like you’ve heard here with these other people. Not at all. Sometimes I think that maybe they … well, you know what I mean.”

I returned his whisper. “But they all seem so sincere.”

He silenced me by raising his chubby hand and said, “I have been taken thousands of times. These things have no time dimension. They move faster than light.” He stared at me through those thick glasses to be sure I was following, and continued. “They just come and take me, then bring me back. Sometimes I feel like I’m with them for years, but when they return me it has only been a short time. Sometimes only minutes. They have no time dimension.”

I reassured Bernard by replying, “Sure. No time dimension. I get it. When was the last time they took you?”

His eyes fluttered under those thick lenses before they closed. Bernard stood there for what seemed like minutes with a faint smile on his thick lips. I thought he was trying to remember his last alien encounter.

“When was the last time they took you?” I became impatient and thought of giving him a little shake, but all at once Bernard returned with a jolt. His eyes looked huge. He gripped my arms. His shaking hands dug into my flesh until I shook with him.

And then Bernard screamed, “How long have I been gone?”

I now wonder at times if my encounter with Bernard was somehow infectious. Did his gripping me while terrified send some signal to those extraterrestrial beings without time? I’ve had some strange, intense dreams ever since. My watch batteries never last as long as they used to. I seem to sweat a lot, and have become so paranoid that I’m sitting here at my computer wearing a cap that I’ve fashioned from two rolls of aluminum foil. It helps.

So dear reader, that’s my explanation. This is my first article in a long time, I think. Please forgive me for missing my editor’s publication deadlines. I will begin to write new articles and submit them on schedule, but first, please email me and answer this question:

How long have I been gone?

(Originally published April 30, 2007)