Communion: A True Story (24 page)

"Strange orders."

"Well, they weren't orders. You see, they
weren't
. They weren't orders, no."

Budd Hopkins: "Anne, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to — with your eyes closed and very relaxed —"

"I'm not relaxed."

"As relaxed as you can be. I want you to have a little dream. A fantasy. About what all that activity was. What's happening?"

"All right."

"Somehow Whitley's involved. Your boy is involved."

"I'm not involved!"

"Well, you'll dream about it. Tell us about what you remember."

"Whitley's supposed to go. They came for Whitley."

"I'm sorry?"

"They came for Whitley and he's supposed to go. But I'm not supposed to go."

"Who came?"

"Nobody that I know of. He just has a feeling that he's supposed to. And it's like when someone's going off to war or something, they're supposed to go and you're supposed to stay home."

"Now, there has been a shift, though. Because in the early part of the evening when you thought Whitley was out of bed — you say he often goes downstairs and writes."

"Not in the country. Because he writes upstairs in the country. He doesn't write in the country very often. You have to turn on the overhead light to write in the country. No. I just mean at home to the apartment, he gets up. I find out that he's done a lot of things at night. Or I kind of sense it."

"In the city"

"Yeah."

"So his being out of bed that night —"

"No, it wasn't usual for the country, actually. He stays in bed in the country. He really does. And that's why I think he gets more rest there. Because he goes to bed and stays and there's no place to go, there's nothing to write, nothing to tempt him, and I'm the one who gets up early and reads m the country. He even sleeps late."

Budd Hopkins: "Why do you think Jacques and Annie don't get up? They heard screaming from your son. Weren't they concerned?"

"I think they did get up, didn't they?" (No. Neither of them testified that they got up, and both of them were awake enough to remember their own movements and that of the other.)

"Did you hear them?"

"I think I remember hearing . . . Annie speaking to him. I think Annie went to him first.

And I remember feeling . . , feeling jealous that I couldn't go. I'm his mother. It wasn't right.

It made me look bad. It made me look like I didn't care." (Annie Gottlieb did not leave her room, and did not speak to our son.)

Budd Hopkins: "When you hear him calling, do you feel your legs tensing?"

"Yes! Usually Whitley goes but this one sounded bad and I wanted to go. It sounded different and I wanted to go too. Wha — I thought there was something in there?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. It's like there was a friend or something. It's just a memory." (Afterward, she said that this referred to our bedroom, that she thought she had seen "a friend." She would not elaborate. When questioned again about it two weeks later she had nothing to add at all.)

"What was restraining you?"

"I didn't feel restrained. I just felt like I wasn't supposed to go."

Budd Hopkins: "Have you obeyed other things like that in your life?"

"I wonder if I have."

"Is it a familiar feeling?"

"No . . . no . . . But I used to always do it, you know."

"Do what?"

"If there was choice, I'd do it. Because if you do it at least you've done it, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"I just mean that I don't think I was a person who didn't do thins. That's not true."

"So this is a variant."

"It's not though, because Whitley's the one that gets up at night."

"OK, so can we shift now to morning?"

"I don't remember it specifically. I don't. I'm trying to remember. I don't remember what we had for breakfast. I remember going swimming. Wanting to see if Jacques could do it. It was cold. I couldn't do it. Or did I? I don't think I even tried. I put on my bathing suit but I couldn't even get my feet in. I felt bad because Whitley got in. But nobody but Jacques got in.

Not even Whitley got in. If he did it was only for a short period. Annie did, I thought just to stay even with Jacques because she's smaller than I am. We all wanted to see if Jacques could; it's kind of a joke."

"You don't remember what you had for breakfast. Do you remember the atmosphere around the table?"

"It was pleasant, I think. Pleasant."

"How was your son?"

"I don't remember. He was fine."

"All right. Is there anything else you want to say about that October fourth night. October fifth morning."

"Well, I found it funny when I woke up that the roof wasn't burned."

"You found it funny that the roof wasn't burned?"

"Yeah. 'Cause I thought it was gonna be."

Budd Hopkins: "What about the bang?"

"Maybe that's why it seemed so active that night."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe it was noisy."

"What kind of noises?"

"[Long pause.] Don't remember."

"Can you describe them in any ways

"Just our son. Seems like there were a lot of noises, you know. Doesn't seem like it was a quiet night. I bet the impression — it wasn't a quiet night. I get the impression that someone was there but it wasn't Jacques and Annie, because they were in their room and they stayed in their room. But — and then I remember Annie comforting our boy . . . it was a woman. . . . I thought it was Annie. It
was
Annie."

"You recognized her voice?"

"Yeah. I think I did. I think I did. Oh, I just get the impression ... it's general and vague ...

my memory is just no good. But I get the vague impression that they were in there like a cocoon. Locked in that room."

"Jacques and Annie?"

"Yeah."

"How did that happen?"

"Well, it's just because they were. It's like they couldn't get out, you know."

"You think they were paralyzed or something?"

"Well, I just knew they were in there. And they just weren't going to come out. And it was kind of odd because one of the things about sleeping upstairs is that you think the people who are downstairs might get up and walk around and you might hear them and they would hear you, but I 'knew that wasn't going to be the case. The feeling is very vague. I just remember feeling that. That they weren't going to come out. They shut the door and they weren't going to come out. I remember the morning, I came down and the door was still shut and I thought,
Oh, they're still in there and I wonder if they can't come out, or if they will come out
. I knew they still had to be in there, but it was almost as if they weren't."

Budd Hopkins: "Do you feel, at this point, that she was talking —"

"She was trying to comfort him."

Budd Hopkins: "So she did come out."

"Yeah, if it was Annie. It must have been Annie."

Budd Hopkins: "Did you hear words?"

"I think I did, but vaguely, like 'What's the matter?' I'm not that sure, though. I just remember it vaguely. But I remember thinking that everybody else got there first."

"I want to jump ahead to December twenty-sixth of 1985. What do you remember of that day, as you concentrate very hard."

"Day after .. . I don't remember anything."

"Think hard. Who was there?"

"Just us."

"The three of you."

"Oh, yeah."

"That was the day of the owl?"

"Well, that's what I'm told. I remember the owl. I remember Whitley talking about a crystal, too."

"About a what?"

"A crystal in the sky. But that was before the owl."

"What does that mean, a crystal in the sky?"

"A bright crystal in the sky."

"Did you see it?"

"Oh, no."

"Why do you say 'Oh, no' as if —?"

"Whitley saw a lot of things that I didn't see at that time."

"Did you look for it?"

"Oh, no. Because I knew it wasn't real."

"How did you know it wasn't real? Whitley's a fairly down-to-earth guy —"

"No, he isn't."

"He's not?"

"No. Because there couldn't be a crystal in the sky. He said it had a point that touched the earth."

"It didn't surprise you hearing Whitley, that he sees things like that?"

"No."

"It's an old story?"

"No, not like that. No."

"Why didn't it surprise you?"

"Well — I guess I dust thought he'd explain it later. Whitley, you know, said he'd flown around the room. What do you say to something like that?"

"When was that?"

"Oh, he was saying that last year."

"You'll think Whitley should go to a psychiatrist?"

"No.

"No?"

"No. Because he — I think he can deal with these problems."

Budd Hopkins: "Back to that night. It was so restless —"

"It was like a party. [Nervous laughter.] There are lots of things going on here now. It was like a party and not being invited."

Budd Hopkins: "A fun party?"

"Oh, no."

"What kind of party was it?"

"Well, you know, Jacques and Annie weren't invited either. It was all going on downstairs. And I had to wait for them to come back." (Because this question about the night of October fourth was asked during hypnotic regression to December twenty-sixth, she is now confused about events on the two dates, and it is not possible to tell whether she means that things were going on downstairs on the fourth or the twenty-sixth.) "It was like your mother says, 'No, you can't go. You have to wait for us to come upstairs."'

Budd Hopkins: "What I wanted to ask is, do you think that feeling may have ever happened to you before?"

"What feeling?"

"That feeling that there's something going on that you're not allowed to see, some kind of activity like that at night."

"Well, I've often felt that there are things going on with Whitley that I wasn't supposed to know. I'm supposed to kind of help him afterwards to deal with it. That's my role. But I can't stop them, you know. He just has to."

"Do you think these are things that come out of Whitley's head?"

"No, I don't think he has hallucinations, no. But I think they come to him because of his head. He has a very unique head."

Budd Hopkins: "Anne, I'd like to ask you — there was a night on LaGuardia Place."

"On LaGuardia Place, yes."

Budd Hopkins: "That something thumped you."

"Oh, the white thing."

Budd Hopkins: "You have a sense of what that was?"

"Oh, yes!"

Budd Hopkins: "Tell us what that was."

"Like a sharp jab in the stomach, right here. [ Points to area dust below ribs, in center of abdomen.] And it was like four fingers, not just one finger. It was —
oof!
It was like a joke.

But then who would do that? And once and disappear, you know. Woke me right up."

"Did you open your eyes?"

"I don't think so. But I sat up. It woke me up. My son woke up and had a nightmare at the same time and said something poked him in the stomach. And then Whitley — I don't remember when it was, it was the next morning or whatever — and he said something poked him in the stomach. He said he saw a little white thing and our son said he saw a little white thing and the baby-sitter said she saw a little white thing."

Budd Hopkins: "'Try to make a guess about what that little white thing would look like."

"A little ghost. A little white ghost with little feet and kind of running around and getting out of your way quickly. When it pokes you, you know. The baby-sitter said she thought it was some boys with sheets over their heads, but it didn't look like that." (On reading this description of "little feet" in our apartment m 1982. I was reminded of Annie Gottlieb's memory of "scampering" in our country house in 1985. At the time of her hypnosis my wife was unaware of Annie's testimony.)

Budd Hopkins: "Didn't look like what?"

"No, it had a kind of square head and it's white .... I can't see it, Budd. That's just how I imagine it would look."

Budd Hopkins: "Did it have folds?"

"No. Just kind of glowing. Just so you could see it. Otherwise how could you see it in the dark?"

Budd Hopkins: "Did it have any color?"

"No, white."

Budd Hopkins: "Does it speak to you in some way or another?"

"No."

Budd Hopkins: "What do you think it's doing?"

"I don't know. It seems to be kind of a joke, you know."

Budd Hopkins: "It had arms and legs?"

"Yeah."

Budd Hopkins: "Fingers?"

"Yeah. Don't think it had toes, though. Kind of pointed feet. But it was like it wasn't wearing anything but it was, because you didn't see any seams or clothing or anything, but a wasn't naked, you know. Little pointed feet."

Budd Hopkins: "How tall was it?"

"Oh, about as tall as a four-year-old. It had little pointed feet."

Budd Hopkins: "Do you think he was in there, to your knowledge, more than once?"

"What do you mean?"

Budd Hopkins: "Did you see it more than once?"

"No, I was just poked once. Trying to remember if I ever saw him before. Back in my childhood. You know something. Now wait a minute. [Pause.] I think I did. But g don't remember where. You know. I had a very lonely childhood. I was always alone, but I wasn't, I don't think, really. But I didn't have imaginary friends. I didn't believe in that. I wonder if he's in that room. The room glows. I wasn't afraid of the little white thing."

Budd Hopkins: "When you were on LaGuardia Place?"

"I thought it was interesting that he would actually show himself to the baby-sitter.

[Laughs.] I thought that was very mischievous of him."

Budd Hopkins: "Anything threatening about him?"

"No." (She apparently does not remember screaming when she was awakened by the prodding. But I remember it as the only nightmare she has ever had.) Budd Hopkins: "Frightening?"

"No."

Budd Hopkins: "A cute, lovable, little —"

"Well, not really, no. Because, you know, he's invading your privacy — he should stay away. Mind his own business. Just felt, now that I think of it — I didn't feel it at the time-but now that I think of it, it seems familiar. And I feel like I knew him when I was a kid, you know, because — but I don't remember anything at all. But I don't think that's true. I don't think it's true. It's just now that I think of him I feel a familiarity coming over me except I really don't. think it was true. No."