Here, Stephen Erdmann introduces his latest creation, Homosapien for the reader's enjoyment.


Homosapien is written by Stephen Erdmann. His writing style is unique and engaging. He has captured the day-to-day life of those who are part of the human condition. Enjoy.


It was the quiet little chirp of the wren somewhere outside the house that first caught his attention. Like some vague feeling pricking the top of his body hairs ever so lightly, the incessant chirp from that little brown feathery body perched on the tree limb outside the bedroom window kept infiltrating his mind.


Peaceful. Yes, it was very, very peaceful, restful, and gracious. He lay motionless underneath the linen sheet he used as a blanket. His face, a smooth line-less continence of tranquility, and his mind somewhere between the darkness of his dream-world and the dawning of the first rays of daylight beaming through his bedroom window and bathing him in a brilliant white.

A fly lazily buzzed to and fro about the man’s face. Like a miniature household servant come to wake its master, the fly landed on the man’s head. When it crawled from his head onto his arm skin, the man instantly perceived it was there. He squirmed beneath the sheet. The insect took to flight, circled about, and gently, very, very gently, landed near its previous landing spot, urging the master to arise.

This time the man stretched his arms, turning slowly about in the bed. He blinked for a moment, glancing out the window, realizing that it was time to once again start a daily routine. He momentarily closed his eyes, allowing the caressing sunshine to rest upon his features.

He was amused at the melodious singing of the little bird outside. He smiled. Then he lazily moved his legs to the edge of the bed, and like a mighty Zeus emerging out of the surface of the sea, he slowly vacated the bed, pushing himself like a bear just awaken from hibernation.

The housecoat felt warm and comforting about him, but the floor was ice cold, making him give out a sigh of relief as he put on his slippers. He pulled the strings to his robe tight, secure, and shuffled off into the kitchen; there he perked the coffee till short puffs of steam came out of the spout. Every now and then, a few drops would sputter out of the spout and dribble down into the flames below, making a hissing sound. From the range a warm radiance spread out into the kitchen in ever-widening ripples. The small old-fashioned clock hung over the hovel of the sink and pantry, and the sweeps of its stubbly pendulum seemed to say ‘hello, hello.’

It took some effort to control his memory of those frightening nights in the dark bedroom with no sound, no children noise, no words, just the flashbacks of the divorce courtroom and the horrid masquerade of reality that came true before his eyes when the so-called legal system turned black into white and the memories of brighter days into dank dark desertion. Many following nights he fought the dysgeusia and copper taste of fear and flight anxiety attacks until those more stable moments when they would disappear now and then. This morning seemed to be one of those.

Next came the sizzling bacon and the crackle of the frying breakfast sausage, slowly, slowly making the morning whole as bits of reality, as churning mechanisms seen in household appliances, flashes of electricity through the grey matter of the human brain, all going into operation as one coordinated, smooth picture. He thoughtfully meanders through his breakfast.

Socks; warm; skin-fitting; the latest pair bought. New trousers; freshly creased. A leather belt with sleek sheen; followed by a white shirt; high collar to cover his long neck. Soon followed were pearl cuff-links; the tie; a nice charcoal color to match his pants. No wrinkles in pants: new.

Like a sculptor of marble, his personal appearance began to take shape. Each movement of his hand brought with it a snug packing of the clay in the imaginary statue. Shirt tail whipped in, straight and even; tie-knot, tight and in place. His short hair groomed and styled.

The man tapped the top of his dresser to show pride in his creation, another accomplishment in the early morning serenade of awakening.

Click, clack, click, clack, click, clack: the rhythm of someone’s shoe taps could be heard faintly outside in their hurried walk down the sidewalk. Too industrious, thought the man, but still permissible; the announcer on the radio spoke in serene, low monosyllables; short, musical statements in a base voice; evenly pronounced and not harsh. The announcer was saying that it was going to be a beautiful autumn day, and the temperatures might reach a pleasant 75-80 degrees this Halloween. Don’t put away all your summer clothes, the announcer is saying; you might want to wear them still today. The man smiled to himself and nodded in agreement. Let’s see, wallet? Money? Credit cards? Notebook? Bus pass? Handkerchief in pocket? All here.

The early morning sunlight covered the kitchen as if the radiance were bathing the room in a baptism of rejuvenation. The strong aroma of fresh coffee intermingled with the brisk, mystic smell of men’s cologne, and he further imagines a bathed lady that equally had sensually dabbed her body with perfume. He grabbed his well-blocked hat out of the closet, sitting it on his head: no, he suddenly decides, he would not wear it today. He finally reached for the knob of the front door and summoned his courage to leave his day-dream environment behind. It was a Halloween holiday and one that he hoped would not be matched.

Bright morning sunlight still shone through the door Venetian blinds reminding him of similar recollections of himself as a little boy playing with neighbor children on sun coated sidewalks back on Castleman Avenue.

Opening the front door, he is slightly taken aback by the heavy drone of a big truck that seemed to emerge out of nowhere, blocking his view of his direct neighborhood. Its big red letters seemed to immobilize him until the heavy vibration of the truck was gone.

The man collected his thoughts, shifting his chin as to try to straighten his collar, dislocated by the sudden appearance of the truck. Instead, he fidgeted the knot of his tie with his fingers; smoothed his coat along its sides. As he headed for the sidewalk, he briefly glanced back to his house, bathed in the golden hues of the morning sunlight. A sparrow landed on the steps before him, twisting its head side to side, ogling the on coming giant beside him. Then it darted away, blended into the glare of the sun.

At the bus stop he tasted the fresh, crisp air with its underbelly of autumn decay. The acrid smell of the chemicals at a nearby paint factory seemed disjointed from the smell of the close evergreen shrubbery. The bus stop was attended by two talkative ladies, both projecting their respective, strong perfumes. They wait for the bus too, he thought to himself; such staunch, middle-class ladies; the salt of the traditional America; Conservatives dressed in their placid best; such a no-nonsense color for an overcoat; PTA, Ladies’ Solidarity, and Bible-reading grandmothers. See how they chatter, gossip, the man thought to himself, tending to the world of everyday events?

“That’s what she told me, yes indeed…” The one lady spoke energetically.

The bus is coming. The doors hiss open.

“I’ll be, Marriene, she didn’t?” the other exclaims as they climb aboard.

“Yes, yes she did…the bitch!”

“No,” the man thinks, and slumps his head to look at their shoes, “I didn’t hear that remark on this quiet morning of autumn.” There is a lullaby of barking dogs and teenage laughter in the background. No, he thinks to himself, it was not our all-American grandmothers who said that.

As the door hissed shut, the voices of the two quarreling grade school kids fighting over a bicycle could be heard on the steps of the nearby church.

“Get your god-damned foot off the peddle or I’ll break your god-damned, son-of-a bitch….”

The back seat of the bus is warm, almost hot from the rays of the sun. He nestles in the bough as if a cold bird into its nest. He glances out the heavily smudged window, looking beyond the lip-stick smears and obscenities drawn there sometime last night. He blinks hard, pretending that it is only a momentary obstruction. He can see the expressions on the motorists below the window, which is all that matters to him.

When the bus reached Elm Street at the intersection of Genevieve, he had counted some twenty ‘families’ driving in autos. He instinctively knew they were families because of the three or four children between the back and front seats. Mom sat almost statuesque by her “daddy” at the wheel: he, holding a cigarette so very authoritatively in his fingers, or her placing one hand on her husband’s knee, as if to signify her claim to ownership. Sometimes, the pose would change from car to car, and when it was a car that carried adolescent boys and girls, the scene sometimes changed dramatically; the teenagers would hug tightly, entwining their limbs as if to squeeze every drop of intimacy into each other. Her hair would lie on his shoulder; another’s hair would lie on his chest. But when he saw nothing but a blanket of smooth, flowing velvet, the strains of which made a shining blanket across the boy’s lap, his face went flush, and then red. He turns his gaze quickly away from the window, his pulse racing higher.

At the intersection of Sydney and Spring the bus jerked to a stop. Four fuzzy-headed teenagers bang at the door, rudely with impact, not waiting for the driver to release the door hydraulic-pressure. The man noticed the bus driver’s face was mysteriously nonplussed and emotionless to the outburst.

“Thanks Pop!” said the tallest boy; he had to bend his neck to keep from scraping his head on the bus ceiling. All but one paid their fares; the last stood momentarily defiant before the driver, his fists clenched straight down to his sides. Not a word said, just a stone-cold stare between the two. Without paying his fare, the shortest of the four swaggered his way back through the aisle, much like a bully burst through the saloon-house door. The four arranged themselves along two larger side-seats; they extended their legs out into the aisle, punching each other with furious deviltry, revealing gaping holes in the sides of their jeans. Squeals of hysterical laughter riveted the bus, but no one looked except the man who manufactured a prolonged gaze that eventually contracted a wall of hateful wonderment from the gang of boys.

“Anything wrong with you, Pop?” the tallest queried.

The man just gazed on. Slowly, oh so slowly, his lips moved in a quiver. “No,” he spoke softly, “no,” he said again even softer. He turned back to the window, gazing on the churning smoke from a chemical factory’s chimney. He tries to mentally close his ears to their obscenities; instead, he concentrates on those long, thick vapors that churned in and around themselves as they circled upwards, higher and higher. He will keep his gaze on this until the factory falls from his range of vision, hoping that peace and tranquility will be restored and this invasion of civility would be over.

The crowd builds on the bus as they near the downtown area; so filled that the man can barely see the “No Smoking” sign towards the front of the bus. It has become laden with the cigarette smoke from unconcerned passengers. The aisle has become jammed with men, women, and children, each holding tightly on some nearby artifact, such as a pocket of a mother’s coat, or the sweat-lubricated chrome seat handle.

Splat! Splat! Splat! Three shaggy-haired grade schoolers race out towards the middle of the street, bogging down traffic which nearly brought about their injury: from their dirt-stained hands are thrown three MacDonald’s restaurant hamburger sandwiches. The guts of these missiles ooze down the glass panes in a sickening avalanche of garbage….as sickening as the vulgar retorts off the lips of the three boys rambling back to the curb. Motorists impatiently honk at them. The youths signal obscenities at them and rush off laughing wildly and indifferent. No one looks, other than the drivers who nearly hit them; everyone seems unconcerned.

The bus begins to stop and start in aggravating jerks, descending deeper into the city traffic. The heights of buildings begin to grow taller as the bus creeps deeper into the interior of the city metropolitan jungle. Peculiar taps and nudges are felt by the man as the mass of humanity closes upon him. The rock-like bulge in the pocket of a grey-haired, well-groomed man next to him is suddenly removed by that man, revealing itself as a bottle of Johnny Walker whiskey. He watches as the imbiber caresses the bottle containing the putrid-smelling liquid to his quivering lips, small drops travel down his chin and dangle from his cracks in his face. No one stares at the swigged performance and the bottle is quickly replaced unconcerned back in a coat pocket.

The man begins to feel suffocated. He sees his destination two stoplights away. Suddenly the surroundings don’t seem the same. It looks peculiar, almost as if a scene in a dream where quasi-shapes and half-familiar sights appear. But its strangeness might seem like some sort of ‘home,’ only if he could safely make his way through the limbs, human bosoms, and torsos to the exit.

Slowly he begins to nudge his way through the “meat factory,” and he begins to visualize racks of butchered meat hanging from hooks. Bad breath followed next by a sweet candy-smelling perfume. The smell of mothballs from a jacket recently removed from summer hibernation. He steps on someone’s shoe; he gets cursed. A newspaper flares up into his face as a pedestrian turns a page during the person’s transit-reading.

The plunging, hissing sound of the air compression of the door appears as a welcoming gateway into cool, fresh air. He bounds out into a conveyor of sidewalk pedestrians that, even here, nudge and shuffle him; but he doesn’t mind, as he hopes he has obtained new freedom.

He bustles through the revolving door, shoulder to shoulder with customers, into a drone of sounds, clanking coffee cups, and incessant monkey-like chatter of the crowd. The smell of the latest perfumes, colognes, and sweet milk chocolate are from the nearby counters. Perfumes that drip off of dark, lovely skins that zip by in micro-mini-skirts and colorful pantsuits; meaty scents that one could almost be tempted to bite into.

Towards the middle of the department store floor he is held back by a swarm of people gushing from the escalator. They branch off in all directions, leaving him huddled in one spot. He timidly walks towards the ‘up’ escalator. “Can’t do it,” he sneers at himself, feeling the latest pangs of motion sickness from the gasoline smells that escorted his bus ride. He couldn’t stand that fight at the top of the escalator steps. Resigning himself to the task of getting more fresh air, he wipes the perspiration of his forehead and bounds through the crowd to the farthest exit.

“What the hell?” indignantly queries a husky man who attempted to crowd the same revolving door with the man, who, in the growing depths of nausea, smiles back at him in apology, allowing the husky person to command the door. The man waits patiently until no one wants to use the portal, then he ventures outside.

“Daddy, daddy, be so good to me,” blurts the large Walkman radio swinging from the hip of a Negro with shinning leather boots and a large sombrero hat. “Baby! Baby, do it to me now! Baby…..”

“Chick, com’on, doll, cause you the biggest love bun in the block, dat why,” giggles a sleek, sensuous Negress secured lustfully to her boy-friend’s arm. Metallic loops dangle from earlobes beneath bleached, blonde hair; her buttocks brazenly protrude from the rim of her skin-tight red ‘hot pants.’ On they stumble – “Daddy, you won’t make a move on me, doll….”

“Gum? Anybody buy gum?” churns the words from a twisted mouth of a para-paretic, cane in hand, tin cup in the other, limping along at a snail’s pace. “Gum?” He pleads to around him careening by him in a river of flesh, “Want to buy some gum?” He shakes the battered tin cup, the coins forlornly jangle. One man instantly searches his pocket for loose change. The crippled man nears him, only a few feet away, “Gum?” “Here you are,” the pedestrian reassures the cripple, reaching for the tin cup.

Down the cripple goes! The earth turns about him and he suddenly finds himself being scuffled by boots, shoes, and sandaled and nearly bare feet. Someone leaps over him as the crowd momentarily rearranges itself to make room. A blur of bodies – one, two, three young girls in hipster garb race down the street into the maze of humanity onto the next block. A few feet away from the girls moving on in express, the cripple churns his neck about, searching the passing crowd, looking for a helping hand. His cup with money is now a lost companion. He is unable to say anything but the words he has memorized, drilled, and forced him to learn in month over months of repetition: “Gum?” He extends his hand pleadingly to the astonished and indifferent people that pass on by. The cripple slowly, painfully, arches his back and uses the cane to resurrect an upright stance. The atmosphere about the para-paretic becomes a cubicle of woman’s nylon against nylon and feminine deodorant, pierced by cigar smoke blown in his face.

“Move on! Move on, damn ya!” A group of jelly-bellied conventioneers have flanked the sidewalk, almost arm in arm, as if the front line of an infantry sweeping the battlefield. Racing backwards in faltering steps, the cripple extends one hand over his head, waving it to keep balance and also seeking Samaritan assistance, only to find him in the animal-like huddle at the “No walk” sign at the corner.

The sweet and putrid smells of perfumes and after-shave fragrances cascade over our traveler, as he finds himself hurdled into the mass of flesh, clothing, and the gut of the mob. Perspiration begins to trickle down his cheek, his nose itches from the threads of sprayed hair belonging to a fat, chunky female shadowing him. If only he could turn around and attempt to see the fate of the crippled man.

“Go!” instructs a skinny boy, knees black with dirt glaring below the rim of his stained shorts. The boy’s hair flops about his eyes like the mane of a St. Bernard dog. He drags his mother by the hand into the crowd of street-crossing pedestrians unfortunately blocked by a negro boy and white girl standing immobile in the middle of the traffic: the boy is passionately kissing the girl, holding her back into the cradle of his arm, and with the other fondles her breasts, and then, in snake-like fashion, rushes his hand under her short-shorts seeking the crease in your buttocks. No one stares; no one looks. They gush around the two like foaming water around jagged rocks in the middle of racing water in a stream.

The man is carried along, stumbling; stepping on feet, careening through ‘out-flung’ newspaper pages, till he locates the curb and with a heave, lifts him onto the sidewalk.

He has come to rest near a restaurant; he presses his radiant face on the cold panes of air-conditioned glass and closes his eyes to decide as to if he should go inside and find a seat. The smell of gasoline has found him again, like a phantom from bus to sidewalk, sidewalk to sidewalk, and like a developing nightmare, nausea is created in his stomach. He notices a scratch on his hand and he reaches into his pocket fumbling for a handkerchief and he dabs his wound.

“Get your Raw World News here!” shouts a tall, thin boy, his hair draped over his head and shoulders from the rank humidity as if someone poured a bucket of water on it, and continued to soak every strand, progressing down his cloths as if to pull them to his feet. The man expected to see this happen but was suddenly alarmed to see the boy’s bare feet. Instead, the boy’s clothes stubbornly hung on to him as he shouts, “Raw World News, here. The only original people’s militant-pagan review in the city! Raw World, here! Raw World!”

A lady with two cardboard boxes under each arm and a bag lodged underneath her chin, stops to examine the front page of the newspaper: it is a photograph of Lillian Swan, number one militant libertine giving a close-up of her middle finger extended upward in protest; the headline reads: “Country Must Change, or Else Die!”

The lady wants to maneuver herself so she can turn the page of the newspaper, but –wham! – knocked from her under the barrage of street-people, the swarm carries her parcels, being kicked heedlessly, down the sidewalk, some people divided in attention by a commotion back up the street where the para-paretic had been knocked down, others intent on seeing the colored boy and white girl, now engaged in actual fondling on the corner of the street, both laying prostrate to one side of the nearby trash container as a ring of people jealously guard their sensuous privacy.

“Hey! My boxes!” shouts the lady, trying to fight into the swarm. “Out of the way, damn it! My boxes! Oh!”

Pressed into this incongruous activity, the man slides nervously along the cold glass store front till he meets the end of the building. The side of his face is caressed by a gentle breeze flowing out of the nearby alley across from him and just a few feet away.

“Take it, damn it! Take my purse!” cries a whimpering voice from a mascara-streaked face of an old whore held at gun point. The man leans to one side to get a better view. He barfs slightly, swallowing back the vomit as he fights the sickness of carbon monoxide poisoning. From the record shop across the street, through its overhead loudspeakers, booms the beginning of Schubert’s Symphony No. 8, the Unfinished Symphony.

“Here! Take it!” The whore holds out a fist of money and jewels that drip from the sides of her hand. Her watered eyes plead to the snub-nosed revolver held directly at her face. “Oh, God! Take it!”

Why no one investigates the alley, the man wonders as Schubert’s symphony progresses into the allegro moderato. He notices the prostitute staggers towards the gunman, moaning, “…no, no….”

Bam! Bam! Bam!

The symphony hits a peak as everyone crossing the alley stops and stares as if an unfortunate ‘intrusion’ was forced upon them. And like cattle turned out of a gate, they stampede into the narrow passageway. Symphony No. 8 begins its slow dirge, its whining andante con moto, and as if synchronized with the pulse of actions comes the sirens of police cars that burst around the street corner: revolving lights flashing, brakes squealing, as squad cars nearly careen into the middle of the people in the alley. The people dash to the sides of the buildings to keep from being hit. The crowd immediately closes back in about the officers slinking out of their cars and into the murder scene.

The man barfs again. He realizes he must move to a clearing near the bus stop area. He staggers to the bus sign, leans his head on a cold metal pole and shuts his eyes as he focuses on nothing but the low dirge of Schubert’s No. 8. “Bus, come on, please, come on!” he begs inwardly. “I want to go back home,” he mumbles to him, “back, back home.”

Hiss! As if by his direct command, a miracle, the smell of bus rubber surprises him, and the bus doors open before his face. Pushing, lunging people force him up the steps, the driver oblivious that the man did not attempt to show his pass as he was nearly knocked to the floor. The man quickly grabs a chrome seat handle and pulls himself into a nearby seat of the bus. Thankfully, he lodges his head on the pane-seal of an open window that someone created despite the air-conditioning. Schubert has gone into his dramatic allegro con brio. Once again, a police officer squad car careens around another corner. The bus driver impatiently honks for the crowded street to clear so he can be on his way. The bus inches a few feet….stops….inches a few more….stops….to ward off his stomach sickness, the man holds his handkerchief over his mouth. “I must concentrate!” he pleads to himself. “Concentrate on that glorious ending of the 8th, that allegro con brio.”

“Out of the way, you bastards!” commands the bus driver, his voice barely discernible in the zombie-like rows of people compressing the aisle of the bus. Finally, the jerks of the bus combine into longer, smoother flows, lasting at least the length of a block. “Oh, the pain!” The insufferable ache in the pit of the man’s stomach fights an epitome battle against a world of the intertwined smells of perfume, cigar smoke, gasoline fumes, bubble gun and whiskey breath. “Move! Please, move bus!”

Bam! Bam! Bam! The man again visualizes the smoking tip of the revolver in the murder scene, and that blank stare that appeared on the prostitute’s face, her pupils suddenly becoming dilated, and her mouth suddenly twisted and contorted. The contents in her hand dripping out onto the ground, much like the spreading blood from her stomach.

og: homosapien

At Spruce and Murdoc, the man opened his eyes and peered out the window to discern a row of broken-down tenements, the small front yards with foot-high weeds and grass and a barely visible walkway. In front of the paint less fence were two toddlers, caked with mud and crying profusely. Once again, the man laid his head on the sill of the window, feeling the violent vibrations of the bus through his skull; rough, yet comforting enough by providing some distraction to his physical displeasure.

Broadway and Juanita: large beads of sweat drip down his check. He dabs them gently with his handkerchief. “Just a few more minutes,” he assures himself.

Ahead, he sees his bus stop creeping up. Painfully, he lifts himself up and pushes forward around a rather obese woman who looks at him rather amusingly. When the bus jerks to a stop, the man practically falls out of the door, but catches a low tree limb to steady him.

After dodging the reckless, perusing traffic, he glances over to the nearby church steps, only to see the broken, bent body of the bicycle the two boys had argued over earlier. In the distance, he could hear the ferocious barking of his next-door neighbor’s dog. Only minutes away; he prays for strength.

Agitated, he jabs the key into his front-door lock; drops of perspiration fall upon his fist, only to be shaken off by the tremble of his hand. The door crashes back against the vestibule wall as the man feverishly staggers into the kitchen, slips to his knees, but stands once again and staggers to the bathroom.

For a moment, it was as if the explosion of the revolver had also become the pounding of the divorce court judge’s gavel: Bam! Bam! Bam! He remembers the firing of the revolver again to the back-ground music of Schubert’s Unfinished 8th, crescendo to a loud ending: he falls before the commode and lets out a heavy heave of vomit into the bowl.

As an accessory to this bizarre symphony, comes the very real chirp of a wren outside the bathroom window, not unlike the one that the man began his morning with: A peaceful chirp, very, very peaceful.

og: image
Here, Stephen Erdmann introduces his latest creation, Homosapien for the reader’s enjoyment.

The Grand Quantum Being is aware of this man’s events, and the Spark Streaming of His grandiose Mind, beyond any Positronic Computer, greater than any Quantum Algorithm, that Mind knew for eons the next stage of atomic arrangement that will take place in this man’s life. He constantly told men and humankind that they had ‘freedom,’ but it was a lie! That life will continue instantaneously, more keenly scrutinized as microbes in water would be by some ethereal microscope, hiding and masked in some infinite complacency, behind the shadows of time, across the gulfs of space, beyond the blending of colors, vibrations, any singing of the Strings, any Logic Gates, as it was performed in the beginning (and ever will be) since It called Itself the “The Word.”

Written By: Stephen Erdmann

UNIVERSAL DIGEST is pleased to be a conduit for our contributing authors. We do not claim credit; we simply want to make it more available to the general public. And, the opinions of the authors are not necessarily the opinion or stance of this website.

Pass it On:
Pass it On:


A skeptic all his life regarding life elsewhere, James watched as the extraterrestrial female waved her hand and the 'roof' of the craft opened up to reveal the moon, close up!


Skeptic by self-admission is one of the first things James Thompson told me during our initial interview. How we met is in itself interesting. What you are about to read is what James wanted to get out to the world. He has lived with this for over twenty-seven years.

The last two years have been especially difficult for him because he now has almost complete recall of this event that lasted over four hours. We have spent over 100 hours interviewing on a number of occasions.

Readers please be forewarned, some of the language is graphic in nature. Skeptic or not, you will find this to be most interesting.


James Thompson doesn’t really care if he is believed. He states is telling the truth. He leaves it at that. Jim was a skeptic. After our time working together on this exclusive, he says has had a huge weight lifted from him. He claims the fact that he lives in the ‘buckle’ of the Bible belt precludes him from being believed from friends, acquaintances, and even some family. James wanted the title of this article to be one of a skeptic broken from his past beliefs.

og: skeptic
James Thompson, a lifelong skeptic regarding extraterrestrial life, conducts his initial interview in an exclusive with Universal Digest.

After the first of three interviews, he finally rested for fifteen hours and woke up fully refreshed. Jim mentioned a previous interview on the subject had ended badly. At that point, a few years ago he thought perhaps his story would not get out. Universal Digest is honored to have met James to help to finish the task he had wanted to do for so long. To this end, we both decided, he had not been abducted, he had been invited. He was only compelled without his knowledge to divert from his original journey to the point of contact. To date, he is no longer a skeptic.


There are similarities here regarding other cases I have conducted where telepathic contact often contains forms of suggestive thought towards the human subject. From experience, this can be not only disconcerting, it can be nerve-rattling. It is assuring there are people like James Thompson who wants his message published to help others. Edward James Thompson created the article title of ‘Skeptic Broken’.


Outside of the Universal Digest website, I enjoy helping others with social media administration. Further, on Facebook, Twitter, Google, LinkedIn and Pinterest, I have completed a network to make more of what Universal Digest provides to the public available. Had it not been for such activity and association with many friends and fellow administrators, this article may not have been published. A social media friend alerted me who felt this person, Edward James Thompson was worthy of contact. He was deliberating on his experience.

So, Tom contacted me saying that there seemed to be a credible abduction encounter posting. I listened. It seemed to be from someone believable. He further claimed the person’s comments were quite deep in nature. I contacted James Thompson. He was eager to communicate his experiences. I was impressed with Jim’s candor after a few chats on Skype and Messenger.


To date, we have spent numerous hours communicating the history, as well as, his previous attempts to get out to the world what had happened to him. To properly set up this amazing encounter, a brief history of some crucial points to know are in order. He and his girl friend used to argue about faith and extraterrestrials. She believed it all; however, he was the consummate skeptic. After the experience, they parted company. He doesn’t know her present whereabouts, so there was no way to interview with her. James informed me that later on he had heard she appeared on one or more radio shows. His ex-girlfriend makes claims about daughter abductions.

Jim told me that a previous interviewer claimed his story was false without reason. I have taken this case seriously after many hours of interviews and cross-referencing of information submitted. He has passed every test I could throw at him. Although, this is a personal accounting, I consider it to be important to publish for everyone to see. Jim agrees.


Over 100 pages of notes and other written items were taken and reviewed in this article. Jim and I decided to culminate the investigation with an audio interview to recount the events that occurred on June 30, 1992. Because James Thompson explicitly recalled the evening was a new moon and was completely dark in a cloudless sky, as well as, the month and year, I was able to determine the day.

Jim recounts the series of events in the following transcription from an audio interview recording from July 25, 2019:

I’am James Thompson, I am 53 years old and this is my experience during a new moon of 1992.


Me and my girl friend, Laura had been visiting her folks in Cummings, Georgia. We were heading home. It was late in the afternoon. It was between 6 to 7 pm and we got into a fight. You see, she believes in Wicca, witchcraft, demons, the Loch Ness Monster, ghosts, UFO’s, aliens, and really, the whole shebang.

She was telling me she was going to light some candles and cast a spell to get money coming in to us. And, I’d had enough. If I can see it, smell it, or touch it, I’ll believe it. If I don’t, it’s all bullshit, okay? That was the way I was raised. And, I’d had my fill so I told her to shut the fuck up. None of this is real. There are no ghosts, no aliens, no Bigfoot and you can’t prove any of this bullshit to me and I’m tired of hearing it. You are not a witch. You are no more a witch than I am a frigging goat. Okay? Just shut the fuck up and let me drive.


Laura drifts off to sleep. Excuse me. She starts crying and she cries herself to sleep in the seat next to me. I’m driving down through there and my thoughts are I have got me a nut job, a loon, a real basket case. She needs some real ‘I love you, meds’ and ‘I love myself jacket.’ That is what I was thinking.  And, I’m driving and we are about mid-way through Tennessee on I-40 when this occurs. The sun was still out and everything so I was driving about an hour-and-half or about two hours.


The sun has set. It’s dark and it was a new moon and when I say it was black it was black. Like a flashlight would not work well. But, we’d come through Memphis, crossing the Mississippi River in Memphis on 40 and I know I was to stay to the left. I didn’t. So, I went to the right-hand lane and went north. I couldn’t tell you the Interstate, I hadn’t traveled this before. I figured I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, must be tired so I’ll get off the next off ramp, flip a turn around and go back on into Little Rock.


When I get to that off ramp I see a sign, Searcy (Arkansas) 200 miles. Okay, I’ll take that this. Never mind. It’s a black night and a two-lane tape trail or in other words, a back road. It is a back road in the middle of nowhere and I take it. I can’t explain to you why. I can now, but we’ll get to that. We’re driving down this, it’s getting darker and later. And, way off in the distance you can see little flashes, you know, like a storm that is going to roll in, but it hadn’t reached the horizon, yet. We driving on down through there and I had been driving about an hour or and hour, maybe an hour and fifteen minutes and off to my right something catches my eye. And, it’s something out of place.


I mean, it’s pitch black and there is a white spot so hold up. That was a house. Okay, (car slow down sound effect) so I slowed up the car without waking her (Laura), I put it in reverse, I gently back up and I’m sitting there at the end of the driveway of this house looking down a little valley to what I can only describe as a ‘Walton’s type of house’. If you are old enough to remember that guard light, okay. But, it’s lit up like broad daylight in the middle of darkness and the only other light is a night light behind the house from my vantage point on the right-hand side.

There was a car and there’s a truck in the driveway at the bottom. But, this house both inside and out was as bright as daylight and it is white and this ain’t right. And, it is bugging me so I slip out the car without waking Laura up and I start down the driveway. And, all the sudden I get this feeling, uh uh, hold up. So I squat down and I start taking note what’s going on. The lightning bugs are lightning, the tree frogs are calling, the crickets are chirping, and everything is going on and saying everything is normal, but it’s not.


James Thompson, the skeptic continues:

Because, everything I’m looking at this this house, and it’s like every light in the house is on and underneath the porch it is lit up that bright, too. And, I mean it’s not light white, it is white light. And, I can’t explain it any better than that, and like, uh uh this is wrong. Well, at this point, in my mind, I hear a female voice go, ‘Look up.’ (Hesitation – emotion) And, at that point, in my mind, it didn’t come out my mouth, I was like, ‘Fuck me.’ I thought my cheese had slipped off my cracker. I really did. I mean, I’m like, ah shit, okay, fuck me, hmm, they are real.

Okay, I’m good. And, I looked down and in my head I hear, ‘You’re okay.’ There again, there is this female voice and I’m going hmm, and instantly, hmm, I’m calm. I’m like, okay, and I hear, ‘Look up.’ And, I look up and there is six pinkish-green guys, three on each side, a woman, I couldn’t tell you the color of her hair, I couldn’t tell you her size, but they come floating out of the light on the bottom of this ship. I’m going, okay. They float through the upstairs wall and window and I mean, this is impossible, I know this is impossible; they did it any damn how.


Okay, my mind is racing. I’m like okay, hold up, hold up, up. I look up and it’s a big open area where the house and land is where they live, so I’m trying to find in the outline of this ship around this like light because it can’t just be this white light, this many people coming out of it and at an angle over me and kind of behind me I see at an angle and at across from me I see it again and this thing is huge! Okay? And, it goes back behind the trees.

Well, at this point, Laura joins me. And, she’s coming down the driveway bitching, ‘What the hell you doing stopping the car in the middle of the damn road leaving the engine running, me in leaving the lights on and, duh, duh, duh, duh…’ I’m saying just shut the fuck up and look up! And, she, ‘What?’ I said, ‘Just look up, please?’ Well, she does. Now, Laura is six feet tall and at least 240 pounds, at least. She is not a small woman. She looks up and a screech, scream, yell, whatever combination; I’ve never heard anything like it, but in the middle of this, she freezes solid.


This is the only way I can put it, she just stops. And, I’m like, I put two fingers together, put it on her forehead and push. I’m like, ‘Ah shit.’ And again, I hear the female voice going, ‘You’re fine. She’s safe. She won’t hurt herself this way.’ Take their hands and, ‘Everything is alright.’ At this point, I realize they are all around us. Now, these guys are three feet tall. I mean their heads come on my waist to about right here and I’m six foot tall.

The one I look down at, he looks up and he kinda gives a smile or a smirk and takes my hand. And, the one on the other side takes my other hand. Well, what I didn’t realize at the time the ship had moved. It was across the highway, the two-lane ‘pig-trail’, up the hill and across the way, over the fence, in a field and over the field. And, we started up the driveway, all six of them and me and Laura. And, I couldn’t tell you if we floated through the fence, over the fence.


All I can tell you is I heard, ‘Look up.’ I didn’t know what was going on until I did look up and at an angle from me was the craft or ship setting there with the white light underneath. We floated up to it and through it and we got into this white room. It was the whitest room. You couldn’t find a corner, you couldn’t find dust, I mean it was white. And I remember her sitting there and them just walking across this gigantic room and disappearing, what I assumed is a wall. They just were there and kinda faded through it.

And, I’m looking back at her and I’m looking down and you know this room was white as white can be. I could look out, look down and I could see the ground in color. I knew we were above the ground. And, I looked back (in time) and I remember thinking because I had seen one of those TV shows because my dad liked them about alien abductions, probing, and in my mind that is what hit me. I squatted down. I started scooting back on my feet and hands until I hit something solid.


All I could think about was you are not going to probe me. That is not going to happen. I’m going to fight. And, never mind my girl friend is not three feet from me (still) frozen in place. What I was doing (experiencing) made no sense. But, to me at the time it was fight or flight and I gonna fight. And then, the ‘Nordic-looking’ lady that had svet blond hair, blue eyes six-foot (to) six-foot three in a dress that uh, her shoulders weren’t exposed, it was kind of a robe dress. All I could say is it had every color of the rainbow that you could imagine and it had to have its own power supply by the way it was shimmering.

And, she floated in and she goes, ‘You’re fine, you’re safe.’ Nothing is going to happen. And, immediately, again, I relaxed and I stood up and I’m like um, okay, I’m never going to get this chance again so I’m just going to go ahead and ask. ‘Can I have the key to free energy, can I a cure for cancer, can I have a child’s toy? Something? And she like she kinda chuckled and she’s like, ‘Why?’ And, she spoke this. It wasn’t a thought, she spoke this and she went, ‘Why?’


James, the skeptic broken continues:

And, in my mind the only reason I could think of was I wanted to help everybody. And, she laughed. She actually, physically mouthed (a) laugh and went, ‘No. Why a child’s toy?’ And, I went, ‘Nobody is ever going to believe I was here, okay? I’m a skeptic.’ I don’t ah, if this hadn’t happened to me, I wouldn’t believe it! Okay, I want something I can give somebody and say, ‘Here you go, explain this!’ And, she laughed and she looked at me and got real serious with her eyes ah, even though she was still smiling, she got real serious with her eyes and goes,’You really should be careful what you ask for.’

Okay, but that’s not answering my question, but I didn’t get to say anything because it dawned on me she’s speaking in better English than I am. Because, at that time I talk like this, okay? I was born in Florida, I was raised in Arkansas in the country and I talk like this. (Skeptic James in Messenger video-cannot transcribe to text the nuances)


And, she’s sitting here speaking perfect English and I went ah, before I could get the words out of my mouth, apparently, she knew what was coming. Because she goes, ‘Yes, I’m speaking English. Why? Because she speaks English. She (Laura) thinks in English.’ And, I’m going, ‘So, if you were in China…’ she said, I’d speak perfect Chinese.’ I’m like, ‘Okay.’ At that point, James lost his train of thought.


Then, James stops his narrative to mention he had forgotten something. He restarted his recollection. I was, uh, we were going home. I (Ed) interjected comment to help James recall what he’d forgotten. James recalled it was about how he and Laura got there. It was about how he was compelled to be in the middle of nowhere without knowing why. James thought it was him that had caused them to get lost. It was a random chance so he asked the being in the ship.

She chuckled and said, ‘No.’ James was told he was compelled to be there. (telepathic suggestion) So, to him it brought up the whole religion thing. He was brought up a Baptist and free will is number one, foremost in the Bible. Period. You have the right to choose God or choose whatever the hell you want, but you have to live by that choice. And, she had compelled us to be in the middle of nowhere.

When Jim asked about if there is a God, she responded they believe this, but have not seen it.


James the past skeptic continues:

No, no, no, no, no…James states, no one can override free will. And, you can’t do that. She just smiled and chuckled, ‘Really? You’re here.’ James hesitates and then states, ‘Okay, we’re here. Why didn’t you choose a police officer, or why not a lawyer, or why not a congressman? Somebody, you know important that people will listen to? I’m Billy-Joe hick-boy over here and here we are. And, you’re having a conversation with me.’ She goes, ‘You didn’t believe.’ I said, ‘Well…’ You believe in a god you cannot see his son from 2,000 years ago, but, we are not real.’

She just looked at me, as if that sly look that people will give you when they overplayed their hand, and made their point, you know, heavily? I’m sure you’ve done that yourself. I just thought, okay. So, that started my faith crisis, to say the least, okay.


She goes, ‘Look, I’m just like you.’ I said, ‘Okay.’ And, she goes, ‘Look, you want to understand here’s how it goes?’ Then, she pulled me. She grabbed me by the arm and turned me to face her. She goes, ‘You’re a male, I’m a female.’ She turned me and physically grabbed my arm and you know, how you guide someone around one-handed. There she was, there I was, but I looked at her and said, ‘This is a hologram, a projection, I don’t know what the hell you’d call it, but I’m there in 3D in real time.

She said, ‘Now. Watch.’ And, her clothes fell away, my clothes fell away. Of course, she is a female and she goes, ‘Do you see?’ James states, ‘Um, yeah?’ Then, the skin fell away. And, it’s the muscles, it’s all the external stuff, okay? Do you see? I said, ‘Yes.’ Then the muscles fell away, then the ribs, then lungs, then there’s all the rest. What I can say is her lungs were longer than mine. Then the skeleton falls away and the organs fall away. And, now you’re left with the brain and the nerves and all of that. Then, here is another difference. Her brain is one brain. My brain was two brains, one over here, one over here. I don’t know what it’s called. I’m not a doctor, okay? Every time she says, ‘Do you see? Do you see?’


And, I’m like, yes and like at the time I guess I was just saying yes, but I didn’t know what she was getting at. I do now, but not then. Here it is twenty-six, twenty-seven years later where I was putting all this together that didn’t dawn on me, then. Okay, I can see we are the same, you’re more advanced of course. You can cure cancer. That is when she brought up the ladder looking thing the spiral thing you see in um, libraries, you know, that you go up, it has to do with our bodies. You know what I’m talking about?

I stated from the description he gave it was the DNA strand (spiral). James said, ‘Thank you.’ Okay, she shows me that. I stated it’s called the double helix. Okay. What he said. But, it’s hovering there. Um, okay yeah, that is what we’re made of. She goes in a single bar of that. Now, on that bar, it looks like something larger than the United States, okay. And, there’s hieroglyphics in each one of them that just disappear. Like the squares, the circles, and the squiggly things, the areas that remain.


All these other ones, in a line across the top that doesn’t have any hieroglyphics and she says, ‘You see that oblong square-looking one there?’ I go, yeah. She said, ‘Touch that.’ I said, ‘Okay.’ She said that is part of your genetic code. Yours. I said, ‘Yes, ma’am.’ She goes, ‘Touch it.’ And, I could actually, physically touch it. It went up. When I moved it with my finger it moved with it right off the end of it. She goes, ‘There is another one just like it there.’ I said, ‘yeah.’ She said, ‘it’s just a little bit different, right?’ ‘Yeah.’ She said, ‘Okay. Put that one above it and touch that one.’

I did and it put me back in the spot where that had came from. Well, then it zooms out to me, you know, naked me, and when it does, naked me just kind of dissolves and starts to melt and fall apart. I look at her and she goes that you cannot replace anything else with what is there. Of course, she was talking to me like I was a student, but was the stupidest student she ever had. She was making it simplistic where I could understand, but she did not make me feel stupid about it. And, she was very patient. She was very kind. Sometimes she’s speaking to me, but sometimes she was thinking it. Okay, I get all this, but why?


She asked, ‘Why are you here?’ I said, ‘Yes, ma’am. I’m nobody. I surely am no one.’ This is where James caught up what he temporarily forgot. Now, we are up to the statement where he asked her why she didn’t pick a policeman, lawyer, or congressman.

Then, she said, ‘It is because I can read her mind (Laura), I can read her thoughts. So, I can compel you, but I can’t read your mind. I went, ‘Ah, shit.’ Okay, this is where I’m thinking shit going to go south, i really do. She said, ‘No, you are fine. There is not going to be any probing.’ She was not reading my mind, she was reading my facial expressions. It was my ah shit moment. She stated that there was not going to be any probing; you are not going to be on a table, no surgical instruments. James asked her about any kind of instrumentation or equipment that may be used on him.


The female being told James that when he entered her ship, it began scanning him. She said we will figure out what is going on. It is not typical. James responded with a ‘yay me’ She said, ‘Let me show you.’ I was turned to look at the gene (genetic DNA structure) where it had been and she told him the one on the left is my mind and the one on the right is your mind.

When James viewed the structures he could see some ‘sparks’ coming off his, but there were a bunch of them coming off here mind structure in her head. And, she said, ‘I want you to look at me.’ I said, ‘Okay.’


Okay, she claimed. She turned me to her and she said, ‘I want you to read my mind and I’m going to try to read yours. I want you to try to stop me.’ I said, ‘How do I try to stop you?’ She said, ‘Think about nothing, stop me.’ After a couple of seconds, she said, ‘Stop. Now, look back.’ Well, her mind (view) was lit up like the fourth of July on steroids on the outline of her mind. Well, my outline of my mind was going off, too, but nothing like hers.

So, she turns me back to her and asks for me to read her mind. I asked exactly how would I do that. I was asked to think about what I’m thinking. James responded with an incredulous, okay. James told me it was like giving a kid a lighter and a firecracker and telling him not to close his fist around it, now. I will state that Jim’s sense of humor is sometimes off the charts. So, that may beat his telepathic and mind-reading talent; however, it is no less funny as shit.


Compliant, James faces her and tries. He states with alacrity that he’s got nothing. She turns me back around and she shows me our minds again. Hers was lit up like before, but mine was lit up a little more. She claimed that I shouldn’t be able to do either of those. That is the problem. James then stated is that a bad problem where he must walk around lobotomized or this is something she must figure out what is going on?

She soothed him a bit with noting this is a problem they are going to figure out. He is fine. We are not going to hurt you. We don’t do that. It is a bad reputation that is not true (paraphrased). James felt it was okay. He was trying to figure this out. He asked what the problem would be to getting the key to free energy and the cure to cancer. She said okay.

Then, I can’t remember if we walked or floated, but we started across the room. I didn’t see her legs moving in the dress or whatever, but we kind of faded through a wall. Then there was a corridor and we went to the right. There was nothing flat or cornered that I can remember or could see. It was like a tunnel where everything was curved.


As we continued down the sculpted tunnel it smooths out and I see out of the corner of my mind, um, not my mind, but the corner of my eye I see several circles inside each other. And, it looks like hieroglyphics on one side and then on the other. I didn’t know what it was. Since I remembered all this I think I know what it is, ah, not 100%, but I did see something like it in the Rendlesham stuff. I don’t know who’d seen it or what, but I’ll draw it and send it to you.

The following are two more images Jim sent:

Jim stated further, they were kind of copperish-gold in color. They were not standing out from the wall, they were not inside the wall, they were just smooth with the wall. We proceed on down this hallway and we go through another corridor off to the right. It’s kind of got the ’round corner’ thing going on. I did touch the wall and it was warm, it was comfortable. It was hard, but it was nothing I had touched before. It was similar to glass, but it wasn’t glass. Then, I knew it was a corner because it fell away. I looked down and it went on I don’t know how far, but anyway we continued down the hallway.


She did say, I remember she said or thought, this way. A door to our left, it wasn’t like a door, but it was an outline of where a doorway would be. And, we floated through that. And when we floated through it was another large room. This one had different colors going off. There were colors like green, and blue, and black, and purple, and these were what I could make out. These were intense colors. I asked him, where were they coming from. Jim said they came from the walls, floors, and ceiling. They were everywhere.

Jim didn’t want to use the word, kaleidoscope, but they were there then they were gone. A kaleidoscope you turn it and they shift. These didn’t. They were gone and then something was in its place. In the center, the best way he could describe it was like if you remember the old trash cans with flaps? You open the flap, put the trash in and close it? Well, this thing was black and it was about five feet tall. It was probably four feet wide, but it didn’t have no flap.

He asked what it was and she said here was the key to free energy. When she said that I know it didn’t shed its skin and let us look in. Half of it disappeared.


Then there was a ball, let’s say a soccer ball, had sex with a pineapple and it had points on it, okay? It was like pyramid points, okay? Um, they were like eight-sided and they came up to a point. And, there was electricity coming off them, little lightning bolts coming off them. And (they were) heating the ‘trash can’.

At this point, there is a stand under it, and when I say under it, um, about this far apart from it (Jim gave hand gesture in video approximately a foot or so), okay? It was about (a foot) above it. There was no doubt. It was hovering. She said that this would supply her ship with power for five years or my state of Arkansas for twenty-five years.

This, from here to there, looking at it from this age and what happened was she said then I can not imagine what the power consumption of that craft is. But, it has to be immense.


At the time, I was stunned and I was stupefied. And, it didn’t even dawn on me to ask for more information, at this point. I was mesmerized. I’d never seen little bitty bolts of electricity, you know, lightning bolts I call them because that is what they were. How could Jim claim he was a skeptic, now?

I’m sorry. It did look like a pineapple had sex with a soccer ball. I had to laugh right here. It was soccer ball shaped. So anyway, we come out of there. We walk up, we’re gliding or whatever, but this is what I didn’t remember when I first told you the story. When we went around that corner and we were in that big room, again, guess what was missing? I mentioned the circles inside each other. Jim said, yes, they were gone.

Originally, it was like they were there intentionally for me to see, but not yet to that point, not later. And, I mean, we go back into that big room and it was huge. She (Laura) seemed to be about a foot shorter than what she was, originally.


I said this had answered the questions. But, you had said she had brought Laura (girl friend) on the ship with you. She was frozen in place and you couldn’t push here with your finger on her forehead to make her move. Jim said not at all. She couldn’t move. Jim claimed that if you and I would push like that we’d stumble back, but she didn’t.

I continued with the next question I had. When you saw the little pinkish-green guys, right, you said they came down with the lady through walls and doors? Were you in a building or something? Jim clarified that they came through the second floor of the house through the wall and window (the ship was hovering behind the house). Jim continued to say that we know this is impossible. It happened.

I further stated then that they came down to you while you were in the driveway. Jim said it they had to have done it, but he didn’t recall. He was fixated on Laura’s screams and screeches. I mentioned that I was originally told the craft was about the size of a football field. It moved from the field to stop behind the house? Jim said, correct, but he didn’t remember from where they came originally, but they did come through the wall and window from the front of the house with her (Laura).


There’s electrical cords running through that wall. Glass is solid. Glass holds water, Jim said, glass holds everything. But, they came right through, nonetheless. Again, he was distracted with Laura’s screams, screeches, yowls, whatever you want to call it. And, I was mesmerized with all that and getting scared.

She said you are safe. Take their hands. At that point, I cannot recall exactly how they got there. I stated that all Jim saw was the lights and there were no other people in or at or around the house. He said yes, just the lights.


Picking right back up where he left off after answering my questions, I was amazed at the clarity and detail. Jim continued. We were back in that big room with Laura (frozen). She appears to be about a lot shorter than she was. Jim reiterated it was such a huge room.

Jim said to his host that this is all great and wonderful, I appreciate meeting you, but the child’s toy, well I’d really like it. Nothing really harmful can be made out of a child’s toy. That was my thinking. And, she’s like no. And, he interjected that we’re going to be out there, soon. You know we’re going to be out there, soon. You have to know we’ve been to the moon. We’ve done this, we’ve done that. She goes really?

And, she goes, I want to show me something. Jim says okay. He’s game, at this point. At this point, one of the pinkish-green guys comes back into the room walks up to the wall. And, when he touches it colors of orange, red – oh, he has three fingers not four and a thumb and I want to say a peach color. And, I’m watching him and she goes walk over here by me and look at this.


I walk over there by her and the wall just disappears. The wall is gone. And, I’m looking out and a little down at the planet earth. I’m not scared of heights, at this point in my life. I’m not. I may not like ’em, but I’m not scared of ’em. Okay? And, I’m looking at this and I’m going, ah shit!

And, I’m like where’s the moon? I said, okay, you can do all this stuff. Okay, how quick is your ship? And, she goes watch this and earth went from right in front of me to over here. Then it went over here. And, Jim apologized to me that she had said it was like 5,000 miles, it was like 50,000 miles, in a second. It was like that quick.

And, I was like uh, okay. I was looking at the earth and it was in full view, it was big. It was in full view of the window. There was Australia, there was China, uh, that is what I’m seeing and I asked where was the moon? And, the whole ship, I think she is controlling it by thought, it turned and I’m looking at the moon. And, it’s the biggest moon I’ve ever seen.


And, I’m saying like, okay? She said keep looking out the window. Jim says to me, dude, I’m not shitting you, we went from there to where we were, and it was not a hot two seconds! I’m like, okay, I’m good. I am frigging good!

And, she goes, you know, you have to understand that you are us. We are you. I’m like, you are our cousins, our creators? You know, what are you saying, we’re the same? And, she said, I showed you we are the same. Okay?

Jim said, what are you saying? And then, as far as my memory goes, this is when me and Laura wake up in the car. She’s screaming. She is saying go, go, go! We start pulling away. And, I’m like, please stop. If they want us they got us. There in the space ship, we’re in the car. Where the hell are we gonna go?

Laura says we’ve got to tell somebody. You just shut up. Again, she says we gotta tell somebody. And, the tiniest little bolt of lightning I’ve ever seen, strikes my car antenna and kills my alternator.


Now, I’m not a rocket scientist, but an antenna goes to the radio. It doesn’t go to an alternator or starter, a carburetor, a battery. It goes to a radio.

Jim and I discussed this and what we reflected over the last year of so. Jim stressed that out of all the things the little lightning bolt to destroy, it chose the alternator. It ceased to function. He noted that it didn’t hurt the radio or any other electrical component in the car. To sum it up, this was a strange event, to say the least.


Jim said he’s glad this occurred to him, to have had this experience; but he wants folks to know they are real. If they wanted to fuck us all, we’d be fucked. They are not here to hurt us. They are here to help us. This is a skeptic who has changed.

I said all questions had been answered and the research is spot on. I wanted to bring up a bit more of what happened afterwards. The story ends here, but I asked him a couple of questions about what happened with him and Laura. Jim mentioned they broke up soon after. Start where what happened when the alternator went bad.


When the alternator, well when lightning hit the alternator (antenna), there was a flicker in the lights and the radio, so I knew something had been damaged. The further we got up the road, there was a town that had an Auto Zone. And, the car was dying so I knew it was the alternator and it was about to kill the battery, as well.

As we got to the next town, the lights were dimming. So when we saw the Auto Zone, we pulled in the parking lot right there so I killed it (turn off car), and I knew I wouldn’t be able to start it. And, we were like 3-4 hours from opening. I can borrow the tools, I can switch it out and we’ll be on our way.


Then, Laura starts again that we must tell somebody. I said who are we going to tell? After all, Jim was a skeptic. Then, I said if he could remember the town where he stopped. Jim said that until he can return to the town, as well as, return to the house location, he’d be glad to tell me. However, he’d have to do that.

I must interject here that having spent much time in rural environments, this has happened to me. Including and alternator event in the middle of nowhere. Outside of the lightning bugs, one can be completely lost when it is dark. Remembering a town or off-road location is totally possible. Had I not experienced such events, I might be more skeptical.

Jim continues. He does recall that is was the first major town heading west past Memphis, Tennessee. He just doesn’t recall it. And, it is not important for the purpose of this article. Again, he reviewed his trek home via Searcy, then to Little Rock, Arkansas. He went into detail of some of the roads taken to return home.


When I queried Jim about Laura and what happened in the end of such incredible events, here are his responses.

They did ultimately break up as partners. She has continued on in the public arena with her own renditions. What has occurred since that time is another issue and story.


I queried James about the telepathy and body language interactions between him and the female being during the visitation. The responses were consistent throughout our interviews. There were no variations on the theme during video, audio and written interviews,

Investigation results have yielded no irregularities, misrepresentations or substantive errors of any kind to mention. Outside of the normal aspects of memory recall and human error, the consistency of recall is almost uncanny.

Answers to cross-referenced materials and resultant questions in general were consistent.

However, I do leave it up to the reader for their own scrutiny.


Being a skeptic is one thing. Finding oneself in the midst of an event from a meeting and craft invitation to experience such as written above, is another.

Edward James Thompson has lived most his life as a skeptic of faith, religion, paranormal, and witchcraft. In his life experiences, he was changed soon after June 30, 1992. It was a new moon that enabled me to help determine the exact date.

If it were not for this author having demonstrative experiences in life, another skeptic would be in full swing.

Jim and I maintain a constant friendship born of research to bring to you, the public what is real.

I have met so many people who wanted to be a skeptic after encounters and could not. What made their experiences so negative was they were not believed and even ridiculed. I am honored to bring to the public what has transpired, here.

James Thompson, no longer a skeptic, wants everyone to know the same.

Universal Digest is pleased to present current, as well as, contemporary subject matter in many categories from a global, regional, and local perspective. Content provided is verified to the best of evidence submitted. There is no time table for how long the interview process takes.

Interviews conducted without verification remain circumstantial in nature. No other proof of authenticity may be available. In such cases, it is up to the reader to decide from the information provided. However, after due process in this particular investigation, Edward James Thompson’s world view of being a skeptic has dramatically changed for the rest of his life.

The views and opinions written in the article are not necessarily the views of Universal Digest, its principals, advertisers, or assigns.

Pass it On:
Pass it On:


Moriarty UFO - Wild Night


‘Pow! To the moon, Alice!’ Jackie Gleason acting as Ralph Kramden in The Honeymooners television series.

The humid, limp summer breeze stalked them amidst the body sweat and flamboyant teenage talk. It was the St. Louis summer of a magical 1960: A time and place marked by historical and personal events that permeated Moriarty Wild’s every fiber of flesh and bone and also sank deep into his life-giving soul…

og: moriarty
Suburbs in Wild Night

The USSR had recently launched Sputnik 5, successfully retrieving two dogs, 40 rodents and two rats; the U.S had launched the Tiros 1 weather satellite, while America’s Mercury-Atlas 1 suborbital flight failed.

Three thousand, five hundred American soldiers had been sent to fight in Vietnam. Gary Power’s U-2 spy plane was shot down by Russian Mach 3 surface-to-air SA-2 missiles; Nikita Khrushchev authorized a Soviet military base built in Cuba.

The Federal Reserve voted to cut margin requirements from 90% to 70% allowing easier market investment. Hugh Hefner’s Playboy Penthouse was playing every week on TV, advertising his modern lifestyle of sleek sex and entertainment. The U.S Democratic convention nominated John Fitzgerald Kennedy as its presidential candidate; Vice-President Richard Nixon was nominated for the Republican nominee. Fidel Castro, Cuba, nationalized all U.S owned sugar factories. The Cern particle accelerator in Geneva, Switzerland became operational. France detonated its first atomic bomb. Presidential candidate John Kennedy spoke of America and the world as ‘entering a New Frontier’ of existence.

It was, also, one of Moriarty Wild’s most exciting and vibrant evenings in a long time; walking from up-town St. Louis theaters to south-town Carondelet. Four buddies had been to see a Steve Reeve’s HERCULES UNCHAINED movie at the ‘fabulous’ FOX Theater, amidst a metropolis of ‘The Great White Way’ of thousand-seat fetes: The St. Louis, The Orpheum, The Pageant, The Missouri.; the Theater District, canopied with the magic music and trumpet sounds of nearby ‘World Famous’ Gaslight Square. Moriarty recalled that it was from this very spot that he stood and watched the myriad floats celebrating the yearly Veiled Prophet Falstaffian-style parade.

og: moriarty
Gaslight Square from Wild Night

That might have been, at least, a five mile hike; talking about sundry things like big-time ‘wise guys’: sex, politics and school tripe. Big, burly ex-Marine, and algebra instructor, Mr. Julius, barreled down the school hallway and single-handily pinned an armed high school student against the corridor wall in an excellent judo-hold. Patricia Bowen, they swore, had the biggest and the best breasts they had ever seen; and she was relentless in advertising the fact. They debated as to what was the best part of a female’s anatomy; was it the calves or the butt?

How fast could you recite your phone number without stammering: FL-1-3446, FL-1-34…? Should they divulge the secret ending of the Alfred Hitchcock summer-smash-thriller Psycho? Which was a bigger hit: Puppy Love by Paul Anka, or the Percy Faith orchestra’s Theme From A Summer Place?

og: moriarty
Willoughby Wild Night

Was it true what they heard: that some kid got avalanched and smothered playing in the sand dune at the Sand Company by the edge of the Mississippi River at the foot of Davis Street? Did ‘you guys’ watch the recent Twilight Zone episode ‘A Stop At Willoughby’ where ‘this character steps off a train into a 1880- fantasy world?’ A very unhappy 38-year-old ad agency executive enters a netherworld ‘in a desperate search for survival’: ‘You’re travelling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind, a journey into a wondrous land…’, so on and on, in rapid-fire fashion, awash in adolescent adrenaline…

og: moriarty
Moriarty Wild Night River

One bus came by; they let it go on; another and another, the boys eventually zigzagging from Grand avenue onto Michigan; soon the boys were passing the small business district west of the St. Anthony of Padua Church and passing favorite hang-outs and business sites such as Schaefer’s Hobby Shop and Winkelmann’s Drug store, and encountering the last of a chain of small neighborhood ‘shows’ that doted the community, many on Michigan Avenue: The Dakota, The Michigan, The Virginia.

og: moriarty
Bus in Wild Night

Unrelenting, their healthy teenage skeletal frames hardly seemed phased by robust walking. Two of the boys trailed down Krause Street to their homes. Moriarty began to note the customary fear, the sickening twist and cramps in the pit of his stomach as he neared his destination, but he forbade it from taking control of his attention and he drove himself back into the spasm of jumping about in play-acting and dervish-like flamboyant camaraderie. The time was well after midnight.

Moriarty eventually said ‘good night’ to his next-door pal and suddenly stopped dead in his steps as other thoughts came cascading into his brain and he almost surprisingly found himself facing from across the street the Siamese duplex hidden away from street lamps in the dark of night. Like a brooding giant bull dog resting in the black night on dog’s paws, the front windows as menacing, starring eyes, the house challenged Moriarty’s demeanor and his ambiance changed from friendly excitement into the reality that stood before him; a heavy dark fog like apparition of thought psychically enveloped him; the terror, the fear, the hurt. He allowed his Adams-apple to grip his neck and it squeezed and pained his throat. Would it be different tonight, the screaming, the hysteria, and the threats?

The Bowers, who lived in the south duplex, contributed their share of family turbulence when their daughter, the sweetheart of Moriarty’s brother, announced she was pregnant. And how could they have tolerated: the firing of a German Luger gun into the bedroom floor, the routine deep thuds and bangs of bodies slamming against furniture; or the sickening sound of the blunt blow of a human skull of a living-being violently smashed onto the sturdy boards of a kitchen floor; the incessant and weekly alcoholic brawls just a thin wall away?

Behind him were the mesmerizing clickety-clacks of the folding apparatus and the crank linkages of the cardboard folding machines in a nearby ‘box factory’; almost as entrenching and hypnotic as some thousand crickets of a dense forest. Taking his chances, Moriarty stepped off into the darkness, mustering what courage and foolish heroism he could, heading across the cobblestone bricks into the ancient street and into the deeper darkness of the front lawn, his mind racing over past events of the last ten years or so. ‘Maybe you’d like to jump me?’ the drunken swaying image of his mother invaded his thoughts as she stood in the doorway of his room; or it was: ‘Maybe we should beat you till you die! How about that!? You want to die?’ Moriarty wanted to scream at the images: ‘Stop it Mom, stop it, for God’s sakes – stop it!’

But it was too late: he had nowhere to go, and it was far too late to dillydally outside the house. It was not the first time that unusual political hauntings ravished his thinking. I mean, it was not like it was actually taking place then and there. It may not happen again, maybe not this night. And thoughts are just thoughts, right?

He entered the front of the gangway leading to the back of the house. To Moriarty it was as if Ichabod Crane was slinking into the thicket of Sleepy Hollow on some macabre Halloween night; the low, rote cricket-chanting of the not-too-distant box assembling devices having become second-nature to him. But there was no real Sleepy Hollow forest sounds this time. It was deadlier than dead. Not a dog barking; not the neighbors’ animals. Sparky surely would be whimpering in happiness on the other side of the gate at the end of the gangway to welcome his master. But nothing came from the family dog; or any noise from inside the house, and this was a Saturday night, thought Moriarty, a tavern night, and how he had hoped the routine sadism and fear would not appear again on cue. But this night something possibly sardonic —- something —- was trying to appear but was purposefully, though nebulously, being somehow warded off.

Once or twice, someone’s drunken laughter peaked loud enough from the corner tavern to stab the black night, but it would instantaneously disappear and the lake of life would be completely sullen and still again. As a courage-builder, Moriarty accompanied the soft squall of the box factory crank rocker linkage ‘crickets’ and began to sing in his head the Walt Disney weekend TV favorite and theme song by Jiminy Cricket, ‘When you wish upon a Star, makes no difference who you are…’

Halfway down the gangway, at its darkest, pitch black point of possible night light between the walls of houses, Moriarty looked towards the tree just about three feet on the east side of the gangway gate: the defined, yet almost brilliant light of the moon shining through the branches of the tree. It certainly and sententiously added to the bizarre atmosphere. Not being an astronomy student, Moriarty had not analyzed that this was not a night scheduled for a full moon, nor was he studied enough to account for the fact that the moon would have been higher in the sky at that time, almost directly above.

Oh well, here goes, thought Moriarty, unlatching and then quickly latching the gate and dutifully striding towards the back steps. ‘One look at the moon,’ he thought to himself and he turned to examine the light in the open area of sky…

Moriarty became gripped with what he could only later describe as Tremendum Mysterium* …Miraculum Keuthonymos# …His heart seemed to fall into his stomach

He stood transfixed to the bright, blue-white glowing manifestation that appeared slightly sweptback in appearance, completely silent and motionless. He could not be sure how long he was paralyzed in a somewhat hypnotic stare; seconds, couldn’t have been a minute? A sense of time disappeared. And the light began to move picking up speed with every millisecond. It moved too fast for Moriarty to assimilate the reality of the moment: A huge snow-white ‘dove’? Was this a gigantic white dove? But it was illuminated! And then it began to change shape, a spinning blue-white mass of energy as it became oval and ascending up into the clear night sky until it was far out of visibility.

Moriarty sat on the back porch steps; stunned. He listened for sound, any noise to snap him out of the stupor that possessed him. No noise from within the house. No noise from without. After almost an hour of curiously blissful but eerie silence, Moriarty used his back door key and quietly slipped into bed in his room without interruption, harassment or waylay. That lack of parental attack seemed awfully mysterious. It continued to be mysterious the following day, on the same back steps; he explained to his mother what had happened. His mother only casually and equally mysterious gave a ‘My poor problem child’ expression and went on her way without being on the attack in her full battle agglomeration.

og: moriarty
Bakery in Wild NIght

He seemed to float as if out-of-the-body for the rest of the day, Sunday. And then he heard the jukebox playing from the corner tavern – that very tavern, drenched insistently in the smell of fermented beer, hops and barley and Loretta Lynn’s wail about the Honky Tonk Girl – in that horror-hall-of-mirrors place laced with metaphorical, societal clown paraphernalia, outfits. Suddenly someone played Ferlin Husky’s recording of Wings of a Dove and Moriarty’s mind raced back to the apparition of the night earlier and he quivered and thought about how coincidental situations could appear.

Author and originator of Wings of a Dove, Robert Bruce Ferguson, and alias Eli Possumtrot, not unlike Moriarty’s imagined gangway Ichabod Crane’s Sleepy Hollow, was born in a rustic Ozark commune of Willow Springs, not far from a Thick Hollow; the Ozark Mountains rift with stories of hauntings, even in nearby Mountain View and West Plains.  Events continued to be surrealistic when Moriarty discovered the diary notes he had hidden in his desk telling of his heavenly apparition, notes that also included telling of the barbaric fist fights that mother and step-father conducted in the past week – fights that almost resulted in death – were mysteriously missing — but no threats or reprimands came from their discovery. Was the apparition, he thought to himself again and again in those subsequent hours, somehow connected with his grandmother’s passing at the start of this weekend that last Friday? They had all stood about her death-bed at the hospital and watched her slowly and peacefully sink into the netherworld. Did her death intervene as a nighttime apparition allowing a peaceful night?

And, then it struck him how synchronistic and miraculous life was at times; those little interconnected ‘ins’ and ‘outs.’ The invigorating dinner aromas from roast beef and butter and mashed potatoes had filled the house earlier, fallout from a family gathering of aunts, uncles, children, brothers and family; mom, despite her crimes, was always an old-fashioned chef educated in classic Scrubby-Dutch lifestyle, ihrhaus ist sehr sauber und gemutlichkeit (her house is very clean and comfortable); unfortunately, a lie and illusory at times, this Germanic-style was not a normal, natural or pleasant trait taught her, rather she felt it as the searing and sadomasochistic beauty of a branding mark on some heifer by a rugged cow-poke, as taunt as a German sieg heil (victory), or kommen sie hier (come here)!

Such cloaked, lonely, forlorn and frustrating emotions would be passed down for many generations. But, she came through ‘big time’ this weekend. The Honeymooners and Jackie Gleason played on TV in a syndicated rerun the night before, unrealized and unaware, almost in Rod Serling fashion, of the actual and historical story of paranormal-hobbyist Gleason’s yet-to-happen 1973 midnight adventure with friend Richard Nixon, and their trek to a mysterious morgue at Homestead Air Force Base containing alleged frozen alien creatures.

But, this was a Sunday in 1960; Moriarty, curled into a fetal position, had quietly lain on the freshly laundered and aromatically sweet and clean bed coverings on his bed in his room hugging himself as if lying in the uterine fluid of prenatal comfort, all stress disappearing as ripples on a pond. Moriarty thankfully listened to Gleason’s forlornly haunting orchestration of the Melancholy Serenade…

He then realized that Life, as was concerning everyone, was a mixed bag of good and evil; of endless, Jungian-coincidental events. People were an inured itinerary of love and hate; and he took that insight as a curious comfort in that singular moment and slept peacefully for the first time in weeks.

‘If we stop to gaze upon a star…people talk about how bad we are…ours is not an easy age…we’re like tigers in a cage…what a town without pity can do…how can we keep love alive…how can anything survive…when these little minds tear you in two…what a town without pity can do…’ Town without Pity sung by Gene Pitney, 1961, Musicor Records [1009], Aaron Schroeder Publishing.
‘…If every building falls, and all the stars fade…pull me out of the dark…from so far away…I guess were all one phone call from our knees…’ Mat Kearney, Closer To Love, Aware Records, LLC, 2009.

Based on a true story.

og: image
Steve Erdmann

Written By: Steve Erdmann

Translations from above: * (The Secret Awe) # (Miracle Name Card)

UNIVERSAL DIGEST is pleased to be a conduit for our contributing authors. This article was produced being mostly unedited. We do not claim credit, we simply want to make it more available to the general public. The opinions of the authors are not necessarily the opinion or stance of this website.

Pass it On:
Pass it On:


This featured picture is a closeup of Tom O'Donnell's hastily drawn view of UFO as it passed overhead.


Tom O’Donnell has been a good friend and social media colleague for a while now. His work with Trevor Cole’s group, ET and UFO Research Group has grown to 8,000 members in a little over three months. I have the honor of being one of the group administrators and adviser. Of some responsibilities I have is to create announcements and new member posts. The global response has been quite fulfilling and the interest is great. Ongoing work to approve posts and new members is part of administrator work.

Tom has a unique ability to ask pertinent questions to stimulate group interaction and participation. Trevor Cole, the founder is also adept at creating engaging posts that stimulate further group interest and participation.

Before we get into how this event transpired and what was then discussed in the administrator group private chat, Tom has offered a little more information about himself with a brief history. Please note he is an experiencer with seven occurrences since he was a teenager.


Tom O’Donnell born 10th February 1977 Manchester England
Currently living in Shire Green, Sheffield
Area manager for a security company

Interested and believed in ufology since my 1st unexplained sighting in my early teens, 2 tic tac orbs like starlight dancing around the night sky like cheeky stellar willow the wisps.

The sighting which i had tonight comes almost a year after my last sighting in October 2017 to which my other half was witness . She is not a believer but she can’t explain what she saw that night. But, that’s another story.

The account I’m about to give lasted no more than a minute though it has played through my mind for what seems like days since. It was just before twenty to 9 at night when I had gone into the kitchen to get a drink of water. As I stood by the dark kitchen window next to the sink I looked up and out and saw something I have never seen before.

It was a craft that looked like a plane on its side without fuselage and it made no noise. It looked very close overhead. I froze temporarily, but only for a moment. Running to where my phone was on charge in my haste I kicked a table and fell over. I retrieved the phone and ran to the back door already prepping the camera. It was still in sight, but moving away. I held the camera up and recorded what i could until it disappeared behind trees.


The following is the actual transcript of our conversation just after Tom video-taped the UFO after it had passed directly overhead. The featured picture is his drawing of exactly what he saw as it passed over his home. He estimated the craft’s wing-shaped design to be around 25 meters (82 feet) across. It had a flashing white light located underneath in the middle section. There were no navigation lights of any kind on it. Trevor started the question and answer session and I came in during this time.

Pictures and videos will be shown after the conversation.

From Facebook ET and UFO Research Group private administrator chat (Note: Tom’s name is contracted due to keyword frequency):

TOM: Just captured this

T: Went past like a plane on its side. It made no noise

T: 100% not a plane

TREVOR: Not one that I’ve seen before

T: I broke my toe and carpet burned my knee trying to get my phone ????

TREVOR: Hahaha

TREVOR: You broke your toe? I hate carpet burn

T: Kicked a table and it hurt lol

TREVOR: Did you get any more of the footage Tom? There was only white pulsing light no other lights

T: No it went behind trees

TREVOR: I hope your cameras ok

T: I fell trying to get camera off charge

TREVOR: Sorry to hear that Tom I didn’t mean to say that

T: I wish I’d got it closer. Blew my mind

T: Cameras fine it wasn’t filming me ??

TREVOR: Post-it Tom and explain what you said you seen


TREVOR: What do you think Tom it was

T: No idea. It had like wings but on the side with no fuselage. Ufo

TREVOR: I believe you mate don’t worry good catch

T: Not saying It was off world but it was not normal at all. On the video it’s making the cloud brighter as the light pulses. How far out???? Still on a high from seeing it

TREVOR: I know it gets you all worked up and excited I done it ages ago I spotted something in the sky. It’s so surreal

T: 1st time I’ve captured. 7th sighting

TREVOR: Absolutely. It looks quite big Tom there is 3 lights is that the whole craft pulsing. Was pulsing from centre lighting whole thing up

TOM: Was big

TREVOR: Remind me of the Phoenix lights. But not as big

ED: Just finished updating the group announcements. They contain Larry Hollenbeck’s latest video. The other announcements I did are gone.

T: Was like the wingspan of a large ish passenger plane ..

ED: Tom, so, did you try to kill yourself capturing a video of a UFO?

T: Little bit, Ed

ED: Interesting video, Tom. Famous now, you are. Contact Blake Cousins and he’ll make you famous. Lol. So, what do you think it is, really?

T: It was not anything I have seen before so it’s unidentified and was flying

ED: Makes sense to me. agree. Now, how big do you think it was?

T: Moonlight is bright here so I could see the whole thing for a while

ED: Also, there were no other colored flashing lights, like nav lights?

TOM: Correct

ED: What did it look like in shape, then?

T: It was like a giant flying wing with no body on its edge top and bottom maybe a little further back than the middle

ED: With only bright white flashing light it’s interesting. Now, did is continue a straight line to the clouds or did it veer in any other direction?

T: Can’t draw for shit

ED: Or triangle? Wonder if it could be a TR-3B

T: Light pulsing in middle. It was more narrow than triangle

ED: Do you know what that could be?

T: No lol

ED: Much the same as the Phoenix lights depictions I got from some witnesses. You see how I go into question mode (hadn’t noticed Trevor’s questions, yet)? You are answering very well.

T: Was closer at 1st but seemed to go straight but away. And not high at all

ED: Okay, now, how big do you estimate?

TREVOR: Ed no way would be tr3b in my opinion. Neither was the Phoenix lights

ED: Agreed, when you said giant wing, yes.

T: 25 meter span maybe bit more maybe bit less. Was fast and quiet. The noise in the background is distant motorway

TREVOR: So it was silent Tom

T: But I get high planes and low helicopters that I can hear above it in the day

ED:Okay, 25 meter span with no sound at all. I could only see the video from expansion of it on the screen without further analysis. Yes, pretty area where you live in what city, again, please?

T: Sheffield UK. Near M1 motorway. Woolleywood woods

ED: Ah, got it, near M1. Been on that a few times. They drive too slow for me. Yes, nice woods. Are you near any airport? (Have to ask) Miliary base? MoD

T: Doncaster 17 miles north. No bases not RAF

ED: Perfect. What time was it in the evening?

T: Flight path was all wrong for the other planes I see. None go lower than the tree line from my view and all are usually really high and are audible. Finished filming a minute before I posted it in group chat

ED: So, confirming it was not heading to or from the Doncaster field, correct?

TOM: Correct

ED: Yes, I saw that and caught up (earlier conversation in chat). Guess what my friend?

TOM: What?

ED: You have qualified for an exclusive UFO interview. After this, I’d like to see you on Messenger in the next day or so, please?

TOM: Haha. Ok

TREVOR: Tom it looks like you’ve caught yourself a UFO

T: I think so. 7th time and get the capture

ED: It was worth furniture and personal damage, right?

T: Hell yeah! I wasn’t missing it again after the last one

ED: These things most often happen too fast. Well done. I’m serious, not joking. Lord knows I joke around enough. I’m serious.

TREVOR: It’s because you’re working for me Tom the aliens of following you

T: Haha they always followed me. Same trees but earlier.the middle of those are where it goes. As far as the trajectory goes

TREVOR: Oh I see that’s interesting

ED: Hey guys, this is how all this stuff happens. Well done, Tom! We’re on, my friend.

TOM: It’s a reference point if nothing else

ED: Absolutely.

TOM: The trees

ED: Yes, even the video has good reference points…very important!!!

T: Full moon nailed it

ED: Yep, again, well done, seriously, Tom.

T: Thank you sir. Pays to look out and up

ED: Most welcome. Yes, you live in a kind of hilly area, mate. Is it about 10:28 pm there?

T: Yes. Yep Yorkshire sales almost

ED: Okay, I’ll catch this up, get notes together and we’ll talk on Messenger tomorrow? Again, actual time of event, mate?

T: Will have to be around this time then. Long day at work tomorrow. 2138 I would say

ED: Oh crap, doctor’s appointment, so how about Friday or weekend, Saturday?

T: Give or take a min. Sure either or

ED: Perfect! I’ll shove things out of the way to get the article started. Because of the times we can ask around for other activity noticed in your area, as well. Cool, new job going well?

T: Will check the usual places for any other sightings in the morning. It’s all good thanks

ED: This is one I don’t want to sit on and yes, do that. Tom, I mean it, well done. This is how this stuff happens.

T: Thanks Ed

ED: YW and thank you, too. This will get a lot of hits around the world with your name on it, mate. Once James’s article is out this will all blend in. Here is my email, Tom, if you’d like to send the video and image, please? Also, I’ll wait, but when we see each other we’ll figure out the best ‘featured’ pic to place on the website.
If your video is in .avi or .mp4 we will have an easy time of it. I do have Prism video converter software to help us. Also, I can pull great images from it for the article.

T: Ok no problem .It’s just whatever the standard settings are on a s8

ED: No problem S8 is cool. Here is the email, Tom: [email protected] On something like this, I’m going to start the article right now in a question-answer format with a background lead in. It will be ready when we hook up. Yes, I’m putting everything aside, mate.
Your answers were immediate, clear and spot on. Hey, Michael Gerlach, funny how this works out, eh? Remember our first times? ??

TOM:Want me to send the video over email?

WED 4:23 PM

ED:Yes, please. Also, please send any other images (like full moon over woods) and pics of you and/or you with your family. I’m working on this right now as we speak.

End of Conversation


Here is a gallery of images Tom O’Donnell took to compare with the video, as well as, what he took that evening:


Here is the original YouTube video Tom took with his Samsung 8 camera. A special thanks is in order to Charles Lamoureux for helping Tom to brighten the video for more clear viewing:

Here is a brief daytime panoramic video view of the same exact area where Tom caught the UFO:

My friends, you cannot make stuff like this up without gaps in exact accounting. This was transcribed from written text (minor grammar editing). Truth is stranger than fiction in so many cases. We are experiencing a very soft disclosure.

Thank you to the above friends for their approvals and participation to make this a successful, accurate, and on-point article.

Written By: Ed Smith, Tom O’Donnell, and Trevor Cole

Special consideration is given to Larry Hollenbeck, Charles Lamoureux, and Michael Gerlach (in order of appearance in article)

Universal Digest is pleased to present current, as well as, contemporary subject matter in many categories from a global, regional, and local perspective. Content is provided and verified to the best of evidence submitted for research and/or study, as well as, from those of/for whom the article is published.

Pass it On:
Pass it On: