When I was eleven, a chicken farmer in our small town claimed he’d been visited by extraterrestrials. Through pantomime they asked for water and in return gifted him with three burned pancakes, one of which he ate and claimed it “tasted like cardboard”. It was a huge event, this visitation by an alien spaceship and it scared me for months. With my vivid imagination and my sister’s encouragement, I became convinced that alien abduction was more than a distinct possibility. This was before science had decided that other planets in our solar system were pretty much uninhabitable by life as we know it and I believed Martians to be a definite threat. I spent hours looking up at the night sky, imagining them making plans to invade and turn us into zombies. I’m happy that science has progressed yet I miss — a teensy bit — the mysteries.
I remember that! Do you remember his name?
Paul Simonton was his name. But I cheated — I read the story in the link. Pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to come up with it otherwise. I remember the event, though — big time!