One Kid Who Didn’t Buy It
by Derrel Sims
(as published in Journal of Abduction Encounter Research, First Quarter 2007)
The very first time I saw the entity, I would not accept his suggestive command, “You will not remember.”
Let me start at the beginning with my first conscious event. The year is 1952. I am between 3½ and 4 years old and lying in my bed at 1005 S. Kay St. in Midland, Texas. An A/C unit not quite fitted to the window allows cold night air into the room. There is a name on the cooler unit, but I can’t read yet so I can’t tell what it says. I can’t read the name on the brown radio either.
My bedroom, at the rear of the house, has a blanket over the doorway to keep the chill from the rest of the house. The light are off. Only the small light from the well house outside comes through my window. Mom has come in to tuck the warm covers snugly around me against the cold night. She always makes sure I have plenty of coverings, and a quilt with square designs lies on top of me so I will sleep nice and warm.
My eyes closed, I am lying there quietly awake when I sense something in my room. Somehow, I know I am to keep my eyes closed, but I don’t. At this point, I am not afraid that he is there. It is as if I know “it” and am familiar with its presence, though I have never seen it in the conscious state as I do now. Not afraid, I am stunned, and wonder why he just stands there not saying a word, not doing anything! He is not tan, olive, black or some other skin color of people I have seen in my home. He is pure bright white with large round eyes. He is not the “Whitley Strieber type of alien” with elliptical eyes. When I first heard that description, I thought someone had made it up!
What Did I Remember?
Later in life, I realized this was the end of the event. I had just been brought back and he is surprised I am awake and aware. In most cases, whenever you remember the event, it is a mistake on their part, or else, what you “remember” isn’t memory at all; it is an “installed memory” for you.
No speech or communication of any kind comes from this “thing,” whatever it is. The arms and legs are long and skinny, the body and neck, thin. The bulbous head, like an upside down teardrop, is cocked slightly to the side. I can see him from head to crotch, and he doesn’t have a “tee tee” or a belly button! Does he have knees? I can’t see them and I want to know what his feet look like too. He had a strange faint smell. It smelled awful. . . .
I think it is a he, though I don’t know exactly why. It sure doesn’t have any mom or lady qualities about it. Suddenly, I realize it has become aware that I am aware and that I am able to move. Horror wraps around my small frame as his eyes seem to move or rotate. He definitely is now in control of me physically.
Suddenly I Am Paralyzed
I cannot understand how I was fine (as I always had been) and now I am paralyzed and overwhelmed with a horrific fear, all while conscious. I wasn’t paralyzed until now! Why? I have never felt fear before. This is the moment in time. . .when I suddenly realize there is something wrong with the perfect world in which I live. For me, that moment was, “Mommy and daddy aren’t coming. He is, or they are!” He convincingly suggests that my parents don’t love me. They are not my parents! I suddenly know there are others like him, and they do other things. . .
I feel the paralysis hit me as he just stands there, emotionless and motionless with those large black, doll-like, shark-like eyes looking at me. Immense fear overwhelms me as he moves toward me. Because of his suggestion, I think I cannot move or make a sound. I fight the paralysis as the entity comes closer, bringing his face right up to mine. I squirm my tiny frame as hard as I can to get away. When the feel of the wall is against my shoulder, I push so hard the old army-styled single bed pulls away from the wall. This seemed to startle the entity (and me!) as with a thud, I hit my shoulder blades against the cold, hard floor. I can protect my head, and do; the paralysis is wearing thin here.
Here is the picture: My arms and chest are wound in the covers. I am wedged between the wall and the bed, and my head is on the floor. The bed is at a sharp angle, offering some space between him and me, except my feet and legs are still on the bed. I am scared he will grab them and pull me back up. He doesn’t. Instead, he has gotten down on his knees (if that’s what they are; they bend so I guess they are knees). I can see those knees now since most of the covers are on my side of the bed near the wall and not on the side where he kneels, looking at me. In can see his paddle/duck-like feet too. He has no shoes or coverings whatsoever and his left hand is supporting him on the floor.
Alien Becomes a Clown
As I consider the situation in my room at age four, one of the amazing things is, I can see the alien almost as well under the bed (where it should be darker) as I can while he is standing in the room. . . .Except for the dim glow from the well house, I have no memory of a light source. I only know from my current conscious memory that there was an even source of light throughout the room. . . .He slowly lifts the remaining small amount of covers and sticks his face under the bed a bit. The only safety I had had was I could not see him. Now I can and I am terrified! I do not feel paralyzed now. I can move my head freely, but my arms and chest are still restrained by covers and wedged between the bed and wall.
Next begins the most horrifying part of the experience for me. As he crawls slowly toward me, he begins making himself look like a pure white clown with large doll-like eyes. I know inside, “He wants me to remember this as a bad dream of a clown.” This is to make clear to me what I am to remember. However, since this hasn’t happened yet, how can I know it is what I will remember? Once again, I wonder, “How does he do that?”
I Will Not Forget—It Is Not a Clown!
He crawls under the bed, his large head next to mine, and makes his eye contact. “I will not believe this clown. I will not forget. It is not a clown. It is not a clown! I will not forget!” It gets very dark as I tell myself for the last time that night, “I will not forget. It is not a clown.”
. . .in the morning, I am back in bed, and cold. Numerous things tell me what I remember from the night before really happened. The soreness on my back where I hit the floor. . .the bed is no longer square against the wall. My covers come only near to my shoulders. (I always had them up to my head to keep me warm.) The sheets are a mess! . . .I definitely freaked in the morning. . . .[My parents] realized something was troubling me greatly and I found myself in bed between them the next night. . . I was grateful. Mom and Dad could protect me now.
Can Mom and Dad Protect Me?
I was soon to find out differently. They could not protect me. . . .I open my eyes to see “him,” the clown from the night before. The difference is he is not in his “clown suit.” He is standing at the end of my parents’ big bed and there is a second one with him. They look a lot alike. I can tell them apart, though. I will never forget this “clown.”
He moves toward me, reaching down with his long, thin arms and hands. He plans to take me from between my sleeping parents. I am not paralyzed at this time and I stiffen to keep him from picking me up. My body tightens, my teeth grind. I want to scream. I cannot. No one can hear my screams. Mom and dad will not wake up. No one can hear my scream! I press against my dad as close as I can and hit him in the back as hard as I can with my little elbow. It hurts my elbow…
Nothing I do makes a difference. They pick me up anyway. My parents cannot help me. There is no one to help me. I black out. I was glad to. . . .
The Family Connection
In December 1980, my wife, two children and I lived. . .in a large ranch home on 4 acres near Huffman, Texas. [One night] I awoke suddenly with a feeling of dread. . . .In the dark, I ran as fast as I could to the living room, where I stood watching in horror: There was my 6-year-old son looking out the window. He was not asleep. He was deep in trance. They had come and, like my own dad, I was not there for him. . . .”Oh God,” I thought, “not my son, too.”
Unknown to me until years later, my son had rigged a crossbow and a sharp broad-head arrow to automatically shoot the next uninvited “intruder” into his room. My son’s act of desperation could easily have killed any of us in that home if we inadvertently opened the door in the night to check up on him. . . .
The fact is you can mess with me or abduct me and I can live with it (I did). You mess with or abduct my son and I will come after you. I will protect and even avenge my children. Now, they — the alien — have my full attention. I am not sure this is what they wanted. It is certainly what they are getting for the trouble. This may have been a serious mistake on their part. Now, I hunt them that hunted me and later hunted my son. . . I am known as the “Alien Hunter.”