They’ve been with me all my life, there at the back of my mind, like dreams that become real. Dreams? Did I say dreams? More like nightmares. You may ridicule me if you wish, call me deluded, it doesn’t matter, I don’t care. I know what I know. You can listen, perhaps take stock, make plans to live your lives to the utmost. You haven’t that long, none of us have, but what you do in this life reverberates across time and space. Fill as many waking moments with things that truly matter. I’m not some new age guru, but I know things that I maybe wish I didn’t…
In the darkest recesses of my mind I remember their first visit when I was a child. Of all those long distant memories it is the one most clear. It was in the first house that I remember living in so I must have been perhaps three or four years old. My parents always kept the landing light on, even when they retired for the night. It was always there reassuring me through the darkest hours. My elder siblings were in rooms further down the hall, but on my side of the house. I remember the layout; my brother’s room next to me and then my sister’s. Opposite, across the hall from us was our parent’s room. I liked my room it was on the corner of the house; I could look out from my window and see the harbour and the wide sea beyond. Back then, over forty years ago now, there were foghorns sounding out, I used to love their mournful wailing. Now I think their voices would be telling of savage rocks and treacherous cliffs, but at the time I found them strangely reassuring, perhaps because of that first time that they came. If ever they stopped…
I can remember it, I was having trouble sleeping but I was listening to the foghorns as I usually did and thinking of the fishing smacks tethered at the quayside and whether the fishermen would brave the seas as the fog rolled in. The horn sounded again but stopped suddenly, mid wail, as the landing light stuttered and went out. All was unnervingly still as if smothered, the moment frozen. My eyes adjusted to the gloom and I saw the spindly figures, as dark as shadows, enter from the hall. I thought their movement comical and went to giggle at my strange visitors but a strange pulsing sound took hold over me. My laughter turned to childhood terror as I realised I could not move as if an invisible force pinned me down. I tried to call out to my parents but no sound came out. The figures stood over me, these strange beings, their eyes huge and so dark. Dark, emotionless and soulless. I felt myself being lifted but knew no more as unconsciousness stole mercifully upon me.
As the dawn broke I woke from the nightmare, the hall light was on as ever, the distant foghorns wailed in the far distance. My voice returned and my mother rushed in. Her touch and kisses assured me, “It was just a bad dream.” Who was I to question her?
We moved from the coast and lived in a new estate on the edge of town. Occasionally I would dream of that night. The spindly men would enter my room and I would always wake with a start, fearful, yet thankful, that the dream had ended. The dream never progressed, that was until I entered puberty and the dreams became more frequent.
I awoke feeling the pressure holding me down onto my bed. I tried to move but was paralysed. There was dreadful pulsing sound that I realised I had heard before. On the periphery of my vision I saw them again, the spindly beings, but they weren’t shadows as my childhood memory described them; these were grey and pallid, their eyes too big for their hairless heads. Their mouths were small and their nose was mere slits. They were humanoid but thoroughly inhuman. A voice inside my head, that was not my own, urged me to be calm. I felt my body being lifted into a warm light and I was somewhere else. No longer in my room, although I couldn’t move my head and barely move my eyes side to side. One of inhuman creatures stood over me it held a device in my face, there was a flash of light and I awoke from the dream, back in my room, more tired than when I went to bed.
And so it was every year from then on but it could never be predicted. They tracked me, I was sure of it. I could be at home, away on holiday in a tent or staying at a friend’s house. Whenever I felt the constricting pressure and heard the infernal throbbing sound I knew I was being visited and each time the light that flashed in my eyes would rob me of memory beyond the initial events, that was until I learned a technique and it was easy as pie, or Pi, as I should really say.
Pi is a magical number. We know it as 3.14.perhaps 3.14159265, yet it goes on and on, up to 1 million digits, perhaps more – maybe 5 trillion. Out of boredom, perhaps a latent nerdiness, I endeavoured to memorise as many as I could. I gained nothing from it, certainly not an enhanced understanding of maths, that was until I discovered it let me hide my consciousness. It’s almost a meditation to me I can see the numbers as I recite them in my mind and use it as a way to hide inside myself and relax.
So it was that I awoke once more, feeling weak, with a vague memory of the throbbing sound and the paralysis. I felt the rising panic that accompanies the morning after these dreams. I began reciting Pi, but far from finding comfort I saw flashes of memory and the further I went into the number chain the more joined up became the recollections, perhaps I should have stopped sooner…
Woken suddenly from sleep, I was encased in an invisible force. I was in a panic, subconsciously I knew what was about to happen. My ears filled with an unpleasant pulsing sound and paralysed I sensed the presence of them. Around 4 feet tall they stood, humanoid, devoid of clothes and seemingly genderless. Their skin was grey, their heads were larger, out of proportion to the rest of their bipedal form. But those large eyes, soulless, emotionless, as black and unforgiving as a shark’s.
A voice, an old voice, one that wasn’t my own urged me to be calm. I felt myself lift, accompanied by these odd beings, as we pass through the ceiling and roof, in a beam which pulsed in time with the hateful sound. Once more I am urged to be calm. We travel up to where the light emanates from, into the ship that hums as if at an accelerated frequency. The light inside is strange making all seem monochromatic. I am on a table, the creatures are around me I attempt to speak, but cannot, I try to move to, tense myself but my body is lifeless. Tubes worm from me, as if I’m being drained. Once more I am urged by one to be calm by one whose eyes hold mine in their lidless stare. How can I be calm? Who are you? What are they doing, why do you keep doing this to me?
“Very well,” the one tells me, in tones that you would use to calm a frightened dog. It’s mouth is as still as mine as it talks to me telepathically. “I will tell you. You won’t remember this anyway. We are gifting you life, although you do not know it. What you know as reality is a facade, it hides the greater truth, as does your history, for if you look hard enough that to which humanity clings to is false, an agreed upon story.”
Gifting you life? How can that be? What do you aliens take from me?
“Aliens? Yes that is what you are programmed to think, yet we are humans far from the future. We are mere servants of ancient aliens, the gods that shaped the earth and our evolution. We have long served them and were gifted their DNA after the great harvest. Throughout our lower form we had selectively bred, keeping bloodlines pure so we could follow their technological path. We evolved yet at the end we are faced with extinction so we travel back in time, to when humanity was its most numerous, to choose certain individuals with which we have no genetic link to help restore us. You are such an individual, through us you live in the far future; an essence of you, at least. All is vibration and energy, we use a mixture of synthetic and organic technology to traverse the stars and dimensions of the multiverse to come back and see our primitive beginnings. I‘ve told you this each time and you will ask me again at our next meeting.”
This cant be true…
“You need your primitive ignorance, to feed the gods. You act surprised yet it shames us to think we are partly descended from you savages, so easily manipulated by our forebears into hate and war. I will take your memories of this and you can grub in the dirt as you ever do.”
Wait, you said something about a great harvest?
“Yes, do you think the gods are altruistic. Cattle you are to them… and us. Stay ignorant.”
It held up the device to my eyes. Deep inside my mind I recited 3.1415926535897932384626433...
The great harvest? Vibration and energy? If the words of the great Serbian-American scientist Nikola Tesla are true then “If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration.” It all things are energy we have to change the way we are. Change our energy from hate and fear to higher things. If we are in a multiverse we can change; there is a multitude of possibilities. We can deny these creatures their future and build a greater one for ourselves. But we must be quick, the great harvest is coming. I will see if I can find out more, but we must all do this I can feel the pressure on me once more, can feel the rising panic as the paralysing sound throbs and pulses over me. I must stay focused.
3.1415926535897932384626433...
