Пришелец. Соединённые Штаты Америки

Whitley Strieber was alone in his cabin sleeping when suddenly he awoke. He was immediately aware that he was in a very different state from the ordinary. There appeared to be a deep internal vibration taking place, accompanied by a sensation as if static electricity coated his skin. The feeling was not unpleasant at all; on the contrary, there was a much richer sense of his body, as if he was far more than ordinarily alive. He went downstairs, moving so quickly that it was hard to tell if his feet were even on the floor.

He was sailing, almost flying, and he felt he was experiencing yet another physical capability that humans do not have. He was not asleep, but also was not awake in the normal sense. As if being drawn by some magnetic force, he went outside. The air was clear and cold and very still. At the corner of the deck, he was confused to see something solid that was about the size of a car.

He approached it, trying to understand what it was doing there. As he got closer, he saw that it was dark and silent. The next thing he knew, the “car” seemed to be something else. He could not remember a specific shape, except that he had the impression that it was not only a conveyance, that it was a kind of super-machine: a device, but alive.

At that moment, someone might have spoken to him, and he was aware that there were people on the deck around him—a group of young women, in fact, who appeared extraordinarily indifferent to him, and communicated a powerful impression that their interest extended to the job they were doing and not an inch farther. They shoved at him—strange little pushing gestures—and he found himself inside the vehicle. It was cramped, with two seats in front, two immediately behind, and a bay in the back stacked with what he thought were thick black logs.

Between the two front seats was a large object that looked like that had been beaten into the shape of a globe. He was seated in the left front seat. Beside him was a very fair skinned man wearing a white, short-sleeved shirt and white pants. Before them were two windows that faced down and looked like narrow, angrily slanted eyes. When he tried to look at the man beside him, craning to see his face, he turned away. The more he twisted, the more the man avoided him. The man began working his hand across the iron globe.

There was no sense that they were moving. But a low voice behind him began to speak, giving instructions in an oddly stilted, archaic English. He was told that they were going to see a child, and she and her mother would be greatly distressed, so much so that the mother would not be able to help the little girl after we were finished. Another woman, with whom the child had a special relationship, would do this instead.

Still with no sense of motion, Strieber became confused as lights began to pass by; it looked as if they were passing through a vast swarm of enormous fireflies. He was told that it was a city. He recognized the city as Boulder Colorado, and the house he visited was that of a friend Dora Ruffner. At one point he became aware that the man who had brought him there had come up beside him. He was also aware of a presence in back of him, and it was oppressive. When he started to turn around, a gentle hand restrained him from behind and mixed with the sense of predator, came a sort of stern compassion.