Barbara: The Story of a UFO Investigator Read online

  I turned and he hit me on the side and on my back. I scooped up my receipt book and that stupid portfolio. As I did so I said, “Oh, that’ll be $130.00, Mrs. Jones, I’ll take your check now.”

  I handed her the receipt and the woman handed me the check. She looked scared to death. Her husband was like a man possessed. He kept trying to beat me but I kept the portfolio between us as much as possible. I put the check in my pocket and kept moving toward the door.

  “I’ll be running right along, now.” I tried to keep my voice level. I clutched my Portfolio and ran toward my car with him hitting my back and shoulders all the way to the door.

  “You’re one of the dark ones,” he shouted and followed me out the door. By now, I had a slightly better car but I still had my stick. I didn’t even try to take it out. I just jumped into my Toyota and gunned that baby down that dirt road.

  When I told my boss about the experience that night at the crew meeting in the motel he was so angry he wanted to go out and get the guy right then and there but I said no, that I wouldn’t show him the place, that I wanted to leave the poor man alone.

  The rancher’s rage probably stemmed from his buried memories of that recent UFO encounter after church. I don’t know, of course but probably his wife and daughter had been ordered telepathically to stay and wait until the husband-father was allowed to come back to them, so they were not so traumatized.

  He, no doubt, was hitting the bottle that evening as a way of dealing with his unconscious anger and I’d given him a reason to vent his confused fury on me. Luckily, our company delivered all our customers’ orders by mail so I was not required to return to that person’s house.

  I’d stumbled upon an interesting farmer and his neighbor near Atoka, Oklahoma. He and his neighbor were friends and both of them had had cows mutilated. They’d both experienced so many sightings of the UFOs that they were totally used to such an occurrence and had even seen and visited with the aliens whom they reported as being what we now think of as the classic small humanoid grays with large eyes.

  The ships would settle in the back pasture of my customer or in the backyard of his friend and someone from the ship would beckon to one or the other. The chosen one would walk out and climb on board as calmly as could be.

  On a recent trip out back to chat with “the boys,” as he called the aliens who had again beckoned him aboard, the aliens told one of the farmers to prepare for a hospital stay and then proceeded to give him a heart attack right there on the ship.

  While he was resting in the local hospital the aliens telepathically instructed him in the skill of using a pencil on a map to find gold, particularly in the Ouachita Mountains. Later I learned that his skill was real. People began to find gold under his pencil/map directions. He was a good old down-to-earth farmer except for the fact that he was connected with the UFOs and he could find gold with a pencil. The ships appeared so often on his place that it was just an everyday thing to him. He and his farmer friend thought the little grays were benevolent. There are, of course, many people who belong to the aliens. I’m sure he belonged to them or was a member of their alien clan. I think the same was true of his friend.

  One night I was leaving his house and found that I had a flat. The farmer was kind enough to come out and fix the tire for me. By the time I left, the deepest dark of a country night had fallen. I knew the way because I’d been there dozens of times to talk to him and his wife about the cows and the UFOs.

  Nevertheless, I somehow took a wrong turn and ended up in the darkest, most desolate place in the world. I just didn’t know where I was. I could see nothing. Then in the blink of an eye I was in a different place. In deep woods. Surrounded by hills. There was an odd sign on the side of the road which offered the numbers 369 on a triangle. When my light flashed on those phosphorescent numbers set in that true blackness of a country night, I knew the numbers were a signal to me.

  “Wow. I’ve got to get out of here.” I spoke the words aloud and then prayed for help. I drove on, and by some miracle, in only seconds I was on the highway. How I found that highway I’ll never know.

  Each new thing I learned about the aliens came from the people I interviewed or chatted with after our business transactions. I was once able to get a major account from a farmer in the Durant, Oklahoma area. After I’d sold him a painting we both relaxed. When I questioned him about UFO activity, he talked about a mysterious red ball of light that zipped around their house then came through the wall of the house to whiz through all the rooms, terrorizing his family.

  At the time I had not yet heard anything about the alien spy balls which are basketball sized red luminous objects which are thought to be able to observe everything inside a house and out. The farmer was very concerned. The lucent red ball went through the trees of the back lot, through his yard and through the walls of his house. It had been in his house only the night before we talked. Here, surely, was something new. Something I had not yet heard anything about. His story baffled and frightened me. I knew he was telling a true story. His whole family told of seeing the fiery ball racing through their house.

  When I left their house after hearing about the glowing balls, I put my foot on the accelerator to back out. It felt as if something heavy stomped down on my foot and pressed the pedal to the floor. I backed with great speed toward a ravine that bordered the farmer’s yard. There was a deep drop there and no fence to stop me. I couldn’t move a muscle. I was stopped by a tree stump which caught beneath the center of the car and stopped the vehicle. I was just teetering there on the edge of what was, in essence, a cliff. I was frozen, afraid to move, afraid to draw a deep breath, for what seemed forever. I knew that if I moved there was a chance that the car would slip on over the side to the bottom of the ravine. Finally the farmer came out in his car and he stopped to tell me he was driving for help. Soon he brought back men who helped me out and secured the car. I teetered over that deep ravine for seventeen minutes.

  I could only take that incident as one of the many messages or warnings I’ve received over the years.

  Next day a tornado warning came while I was talking to a neighbor of the family which had experienced the red ball. I had just asked if they had seen UFOs and my host made me and all of his family stand up to go to the cellar on the next farm. We went into a hand-dug hole in the ground, the farmer carrying a lantern and they let the door slam shut behind us. We occupied several chairs and benches and began to talk of their UFO experiences. We were only a few miles from the farm where the red ball’s antics had been experienced. They all had had experiences to share with me. Pen and paper in hand-, I heard and took notes on stories of encounters told by children, teens and adults while a dangerous, and destructive tornado raged overhead. Talk about strange encounters!

  That area was simply a hotbed of activity. The tornado touched down nearby but after an hour underground we were able to resurface.

  The very next day I was talking with yet another neighbor and again heard a story of a strange red ball invading a family’s home. I was sorry that the family had had such an experience but I was glad to hear about it. That was an unwitting confirmation of the original family’s invasion by the spy ball. Confirmations were always welcome because they helped me learn whether my informants were telling the truth or making up stories.

  Sometimes we sales people were able to get rides in the company planes when they were headed home. After the red ball incidents I had such an opportunity. I got onto the little Company-owned Cherokee and placed my portfolio in the area in back of our seats. It was a beautiful day, clear and sunny. Over the city of McAlester, Oklahoma, a freak storm hit us and the plane dipped and began to drop like a rock. All my papers swirled out of the plane’s cabin. The young, confident pilot blanched. For a moment we stared death in the face. We finally escaped the tumultuous clouds and he was able to recover mastery of the plane. That was such a frightening ride that I gave some serious thought to what I was doing. By the time we’d arrive
d in Tulsa I’d made up my mind that the storm had been a sign that I should put this form of investigation to rest.

  Anyway, selling paintings of ranches and farms was the hardest job in the world. I’d had it. My last assignment was in Arkansas and after I’d finished there I resigned. It was time to reunite with my family on a daily basis and settle into what became my real UFO investigative job in my own house in Turley.

  That was the year that the hundreds of UFO abduction cases began to appear in Oklahoma, Texas, Arkansas and Missouri, so I soon had more than enough work to do, most of it in my own house.

  Chapter Twelve

  PUNISHMENT FOR INVESTIGATING

  I’ve made a wide circle of friends all across the U.S.A., most of whom were somehow involved with UFOs. Too many of them are dead or dying. Cancer seems the favorite method of ridding the world of nosy busybodies who want to know who and what the aliens are and where they came from and why they come here. Cancer is the answer to all their questions in far too many cases.

  Puzzling, isn’t it?

  Not to me.

  Almost every day since I started my UFO investigations I have suffered strange happenings, sickness, complete lack of privacy, pain, torture to my animals, accidents to my family members, loss of property, threats, and almost every other kind of punishment you could wish upon your worst enemy.

  I’m fairly certain my telephone is bugged. Maybe my house as well, but I have no proof. And of course, I carry an alien communication device around with me. Everywhere my body goes, the homing device my “friends” left behind my ear goes also. I’ve just been too chicken to have the thing surgically removed. Afraid of what “they” would do, maybe. Or afraid of what doctors might find? I’ve had a telepathic message that I mustn’t fool around with this thing so I’m leaving it quite alone, thank you.

  In November of 1997, I was asked to open and close the UFO Conference in Memphis, Tennessee. I agreed to do so with the understanding that my name would not appear in the ads or on the programs for the meetings. My name is already too well known because I have had so many clients and because many of them wrote about their experiences, naming me. Recently, a book by Dr James L. Walden, titled The Ultimate Alien Agenda, told of an ongoing saga of UFO events in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Walden came to me to ask me to help him deal with the situation and he mentions me in the book and he also asked me to write the Foreword. Many writers have displayed my name in their books. That’s always exciting. Nevertheless, nowadays I suppose I should be trying to reclaim anonymity rather than writing about my experiences.

  In Tennessee, I was too frightened for my own safety and for the safety of my family to draw attention to myself by having my name announced or printed in the program at any time. The first night in my hotel room everything went well. I slept soundly and went down to open the conference. Nobody, except the program chairman and a psychology professor at the University in Memphis, knew I would be speaking. Both of them promised secrecy about my identity. I spoke to both from my home telephone so I cannot but think my bugged telephone is the culprit that brought on the frightening events which involved me.

  On the second night of the conference, after I’d made the closing address, nameless to the crowds just as I’d requested, I awakened frightened to death.

  At about 4 a.m., I woke to a voice saying, “You have been infected with cancer.” The words were put into my brain through thought projection. “There is no hope for you. The program has already been installed. Cancer will kill you.” The wordless projection felt human rather than alien. It was much too blunt to have come from alien sources. Too clumsy really to have come from ordinary human sources, I realized I must be hearing from a shadow military group. I went wild with fear.

  “Evergreen!” I shouted aloud. “Evergreen, evergreen, evergreen.” I just kept repeating the word until the thought projection receded. I didn’t know then why I chose the word Evergreen as a word which could protect me but I have since learned that the word is closely connected with the military project of mind control.

  I had also wakened with an excruciating pain in my left breast. I walked to the mirror and looked at myself. My body was just covered with bruises. I have videotapes of all those marks. There were prints of four fingers under my breast. Bruises all over my body, especially between my breast and my groin. Bruises on my neck, my buttocks, my thighs. I was bruised everywhere. My skin under the bruises had blanched so white that when I went down to the lobby, people asked me if I was okay.

  “I’m so tired I don’t know if I can speak,” I answered.

  Also at the Conference were six former military men who had left the military because of messages they’d been given by an ouiji board. Although all six had gone AWOL, they had somehow been able to receive honorable discharges. I spoke to one of the ex military men whom I knew to be psychic, then showed him the hand shaped bruise under my breast.

  With a half smile he said, “They’re giving you cancer, kiddo. Looks like they’re doing away with you, girl. There’s no hope for you.”

  “They who?”

  “The Black Project Intelligence Operation.”

  I then showed him the bruise on my neck which appeared to contain a puncture mark.

  “They don’t want you speaking out any longer, Barbara.” he said. He even seemed pleased to add with a twisted grin, “You’re a goner.”

  Since the day I came home from that conference I’ve been coping with extreme pain, mysterious infections and massive bruisings. I’ve begun to keep a calendar on which I mark the days of my worst pain. Some days I feel wonderful. The pain days seem to follow a pattern. I’ll know better after I’ve followed the pattern by keeping a written record for awhile.

  I’ve checked with other keynote speakers from the conference who also came away with unbearable pains in their arms, legs and other parts of their bodies. For about three weeks several of us spent days just crying aloud in pain. And going to the doctor didn’t seem to help.

  On April 26, 1998, I woke with a kidney infection. My coach dog who sleeps beside my bed, also woke with urinary distress. When I hobbled to the door to let the big Dalmatian out he couldn’t urinate. He simply howled with anguish. Only courses of broad-spectrum antibiotics brought both of us back from sheer hell.

  Since that day I’ve been diagnosed over and over again with a kidney infection. Sometimes it seems cured. I feel wonderful. There is no pain. Everything is perfect. Then, for no discernible reason the pain returns full force.

  I suspect the Black Project Military Intelligence unit can target you with what I can only call beam-technology, which contains some sort of low frequency wave projection.

  When I walk around the house with my mobile phone I can talk and be heard over most of the house. All around my bed and around my desk (which, even though it is in an adjoining room, is in a direct line with my bed) there is so much static that I cannot be heard and I cannot hear the person on the other end of the line.

  I think the military also monitors people who talk to me on the telephone. When my co-author and I began this chapter, her telephone went dead for two days. The repairman was unable to make his repair call for that length of time. He was also unable to say what had really happened to the instrument when he finally made it to her house. Now her wireless telephone manufactures such static around her bed that she can’t hear or be heard in that area. Her mobile phone now rings endlessly while her conventional telephone instruments sit silently. When she answers the wireless phone there is no one on the line. Her telephone reception has always been perfect up until this week.

  Just today my latest batch of bruises appear on my upper right arm and elsewhere. A cluster of perfectly round pencil eraser shaped and sized bruises have shown up to the right of my navel in a round pattern about three inches in diameter.

  Bruises also decorate my left thigh inside and there are two distinct bruises, one quarter sized and one fifty cent sized on my left buttock.

  My co-a
uthor has also had bruises appear on her stomach. A large perfect circle the size of a fifty cent piece appeared to the left of her navel, with dark blue and purple bruises radiating outward from the yellowish circle, then to the left of that a larger shapeless bruise took up a 3x4 inch area on her stomach. Neither were painful to the touch.

  Two days ago I went for groceries. I returned at about 8:30 at night. When I began to unload the groceries my left eye began to perceive a glow with a silvery, white shimmer, a glow with a spot of fluorescent blue. The brilliant semicircle moved as a series of spoked lines kept getting bigger and bigger, completely clouding my vision in that eye. I waited a few moments until the silver shimmer gradually faded and my vision returned. This strangeness of this sort of thing no longer scares the hell of me. I’ve grown used to through the years. When I told Bob about the “shimmer” that had partially blinded me for almost five minutes. He said that the exact same thing had happened to him about three months earlier. When I asked why he hadn’t said anything he laughed. “I figured this kind of thing is just part of the price I pay for being married to the ’UFO Lady.’”

  I’m not scared anymore; I’d just like to lose the pain when it hits my legs, arms, kidney, bladder or ovary. I’ve always been something of an Amazon who loved both physical and mental labor, especially work that delved into the UFO questions. Now this kind of pain slows me down and slows my work considerably… but I suppose that’s the idea, right?

  I should be used to such goings-on. During the seven years that Jacques Vallee and I were working together I always began to dread what I would find when I got home from working on a case. I was compelled to investigate the UFO phenomena but my family and I always paid some sort of price.

  Early on, I could always expect to find a sick child, animals dead, property damaged, or some other awful thing or other when I arrived at our house in Turley. The small sicknesses that dogged the children created guilt and stress within me. I wanted to be home with them. Why couldn’t I just be happy with the sort of life which brought perfect contentment to other women? Home, sweet kids, a loving husband, a menagerie of animals and an extended family. Why couldn’t I just accept an ordinary job or a stay-at-home position tending to my family? I really wanted to do that but something, something urgent within me, would never allow me to stay away from my UFO investigations. So I kept trudging onward, still studying those flying saucers, still sifting through unexplainable happenings, still looking for some explanation.