An East Texas man and his brother are fishing in a pond when they encounter a UFO. They get in the truck and race away from the craft, having a severe accident. More details are described.
I received the following account:
"My grandfather has a story that goes like this. Back in the 80s, he and his brother Jon were setting up to go fishing out in the boondocks. It was early morning, about 6:30 or so, and they were draining their coffee thermos on the bank of the pond. It was a new fishing spot for them to explore. At the time, they were living in East Texas, with humid breezes and mosquito bites that boiled in the heat. The sun was just beginning to break over the stretch of the trees as they pushed their rowboat into the water.
My grandfather - we call him James - turned to Jon to remark on the brilliant yellow of the sunrise. It was blinding, he said. When he tells this story to our grandkids, he cannot stress this point enough. The sky was barely pink from the dawn, but the sun itself was shining like the quarter of an eclipse. Jon looked up, noticing the anomaly mere seconds before.
James shielded his eyes and fumbled for the sunglasses clipped around his shirt collar. He started to tell Jon that they should leave, that he had a bad feeling about being there when the wind began to wail and the dirt picked up around them. Jon shouted to James, the words lost in the disturbed darkness.
My grandfather tells us it was about this time he reckoned they should get going. He and Jon abandoned their poles and boat and scrambled to their truck. He figured they would be back for them later. Amid all the ruckus, Jon ran that poor Chevy C/K over a tree trunk, steering them into a tree a little off the trail.
The truck was totaled. At the hospital, when the nurse asked how fast they were going, Jon offered 35, maybe 40 MPH. He had been pinned between the seat and steering wheel, sustaining a few bruised ribs but otherwise relatively unharmed. James had gone through the windshield.
Victims of head-on collisions usually suffer crush injuries and severe internal trauma, including but not limited to lower body fractures, traumatic brain injuries, flail chest, abdominal, and upper body impact injuries. Even at low speeds, James’ accident should have been fatal.
However, my grandfather arrived at the hospital with minor cuts and bruises. He had a concussion the doctors wanted to keep an eye on, but other than that, both brothers were fine. Neither was able to say how long they were unconscious waiting for help to arrive because neither remembered anything after the accident or the next few days. They were, in short, miracles. Survivors of the impossible - or at least highly unlikely.
My grandmother said the most alarming thing she experienced when visiting my grandfather in the hospital was his sudden ability to speak other languages. She said as she sat by his bedside table, he would switch tongues amid their conversation, then not remember a thing he had said. My sweet Nan accused Jon and him of drinking. The doctors assured her that amnesia and a little confusion were common in trauma victims, especially ones who were unable to mentally process the events that had transpired. The accident had shaken their brains, that’s all, a nurse told her.
Nan insisted, though. You have to understand. My grandfather is a pure-blooded American redneck, a high school dropout. While he means well, he couldn’t remember a lick of any foreign language while he was in school, let alone during his recovery. Nan investigated for herself. She cornered Jon in his rest bed. He wasn’t any help. He had been unable to sleep, replaying the moment of the crash over and over again in his head until the memory stressed his conscience, and he was admitted for psychiatric observation.
Nan maintains to this day wasn’t the sight of her husband stumbling over his sentences, bleeding from the stitches on his forehead. No, instead the memory that haunts her is Jon bolting upright every time he closes his eyes, screaming that it was too bright to see.
My grandfather and Jon don’t like to talk about what happened that day. They will talk about the pond, the sight of what they liked to believe was a UFO, and the terror of realizing they were about to crash in the middle of the woods where no one was likely to find them. They won’t talk about the experiences that came after, how they were found, or what happened between the moment of impact and their release from the hospital.
What my grandfather will say, if prompted, is that he holds one proud scar from that crash. He’ll point to the folds in his forehead that collapse around the raised skin, and he’ll tell you: “That’s where they probed me.” W
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