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A Million Little Pieces Of My Mind

The Fifth Pill

By: Paul S. Cilwa Viewed: 4/15/2024
Posted: 3/13/2006
Page Views: 9353
Topics: #AlienAbductions
All about the time my eyeball was removed.

I had now been conscious for two abductions, or at least part of them; and I could only wonder how many times I'd been taken when I didn't remember any of it. Even now, I could only recall the beginning and end of two such occasions.

But there were dents in my walls from where I'd kicked alien butt—well, alien head—and even though I couldn't prove to anyone else I hadn't dented the walls myself, I knew I hadn't. Or—I was insane, so far gone there was no hope for me anyhow. I saw no point in dwelling on that possibility, since if that were the case there was nothing I could do about it, anyway. Better to consider possibilities that I could at least work with.

First of all: I didn't know for a fact that these guys were extraterrestrials. What I did know was that they were not human, not Homo sapiens, not even in costumes. I could tell this from the way they walked; their joints didn't move like ours.

Giraffs and humans have the same number of neck bones.

All vertebrates on Earth have the same basic skeletal design. Giraffes have no more neck bones than we do; dogs, humans and horses have the same number of ribs. On a bone-by-bone basis, you might find this bone thicker, thinner, longer, shorter; it might be so short it's vestigial. Take the middle toe of the right foot. In a human, it helps balance while standing or walking. In a horse, it has become the horse's rear hoof; the other toes have shrunk almost to nothingness. In a dolphin, it's inside the rear fin. We understand how other vertebrates move because it's basically the same way we move. Cockroach Cockroaches give us the willies because they aren't vertebrates; they don't move "right." We can't predict where they'll go or what they'll do next because their physical structure is so different than ours.

The aliens I'd seen were like that. They didn't move "right." They almost seemed to skitter rather than walk. And from what I had felt, the little grays had moved in lock step, as if they were robots or members of some interstellar precision dance team.

Even their hands were "wrong." I hadn't been paying close attention, but it seemed like they had just four fingers. Two of the fingers were very long and—again, the bones were "wrong"—could wrap around something, obviating the need for an opposable thumb.

With a chill, I realized the bruises I'd been finding on my arms were the same size as a visitor fingertip, and almost always came in sets of four.

But still: I didn't know these guys were from another planet. Cockroaches come from Earth. New, previously unknown species are discovered all the time. These guys might simply live in the ocean, or underground, or a particularly inbred section of Arkansas. I knew that, if I were to have any chance of solving this mystery, I would have to avoid the temptation of assuming anything.

For example, I had no memory of being on a spaceship or, in fact, anywhere other than my home. I didn't even know I'd been "abducted;" I might have just been molested in bed. Okay, they were taking me somewhere downstairs; but maybe it was just downstairs. The point is, I didn't know, and I was going to work with only what I knew.

And that was: That on two occasions, I'd awakened being taken from my bed, by non-human beings that seemed to be more than animals, and that had the power to hypnotize me and give me suggestions of paralysis.

So the first question I could ask myself was: Could I stop it from happening again? And should I stop it if I could?

I was not being facetious. That I didn't know what was going on or why, didn't necessarily mean these abductions were a bad thing.

When I was six years old, our family had a doctor who made house calls, and always did so with a hypodermic needle. When she arrived, my sisters and I got shots. It was so reliable that we would hide under the bed when we saw her car pull up.

As an adult, I understand that she was vaccinating us against polio, whooping cough, smallpox, and so on. But as a child, I only knew that Doctor Flory meant pain. If I could have stopped her from coming to the house I would have; and then possibly contracted a fatal case of polio, as happened to so many other kids my age.

Compared to the visitors, I might have the mentality of a child. Or I might not; I was not making that assumption, but just testing it as a hypothesis. It was possible that they had my best interests at heart; or, if not, the best interests of humankind. The fact was, I didn't know. It seemed, though, that that would be the first thing I should try to ascertain. Because if I knew the visits were for a good reason I would permit them; if not, I would figure out a way to make them stop.

I took the third sleeping pill (of the five my doctor had given me) the next night and the fourth the night after that. During the day I prepared for a class I was to teach the next week in San Jose, California. Thanks to the pills, I slept at night.

Finally, I realized that on the nights they were coming for me, I would be very sleepy and fall asleep without the pill (presumably, due to some kind of post-hypnotic suggestion). On nights they weren't coming, I wouldn't be so tired, but since I thus knew they weren't coming I didn't need the pill anyway. So I made it through the next few days without having to use that last pill. I kept it "just in case" and there was at least one other visit in the interim, but I didn't take the fifth pill and felt proud of myself because of it.

While packing for the trip to California, I looked at my container of saline solution, hesitated, and packed it. This was odd because I never needed it. I was a perfect fit for my extended wear contact lenses; I put them in on Sunday and took them out on Saturday. In fact, I'd had such good luck for so long that I never even brought an extra pair of contacts or my glasses with me on these trips. Nevertheless, this time I brought the container of saline solution and thought no more about it.

As I was unpacking in my hotel in San Jose Sunday night, I watched a TV special about alien abductions. There was a live audience, which made the broadcast seem like entertainment rather than enlightenment. A man was being interviewed who explained that, even though he was a traveling salesman, the aliens never seemed to have any problem finding him when they wanted him.

"You mean, you've been abducted from a motel room?" the host, who reminded me of Regis Philbin, asked.

"They got me last night," the guy replied ruefully.

The host stared as if he couldn't believe his subject had handed him such a great straight line. "You're telling me," he said, "that aliens from outer space came to your room at the Howard Johnson's and—"

"That's right," the interviewee agreed, not seeming to grasp the incongruity of the statement or even to hear the growing laughter from the audience. "And they put a probe into my—" Beep!

I felt humiliated for the guest. Somehow he didn't see the humor in being raped by aliens in a two-star motel.

I also looked anew at the television. Just a few years earlier, I hadn't believed in UFOs or alien abductions; and I now realized that TV shows like this one were the reason why. They created a cultural atmosphere in which habit made us laugh when we heard the terms UFO or Flying Saucer. It's hard to take something seriously when everyone is laughing at it.

I wasn't in a Howard Johnson's. I was staying in a Hyatt Regency. I hoped that would be upscale enough that aliens wouldn't be allowed in.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights came and went without incident. The class was going well; it was one I'd taught many times before so I was able to relax afterwards, watch some TV, write a little and get to sleep…without taking that last pill. Soon it was Thursday night; I had one more day of class, after which I would catch a late flight home and be able to spend Friday night in my own bed.

I went to sleep.


The next thing I knew, I was paralyzed. My eyes opened to the blank face and mesmerizing black eyes of one of the tall guys. His four-fingered hand grasped some sort of metal device which he deftly placed against my left eye. It pulled back my eyelids; there was a wrenching pain and then the view from my left eye changed. From my right eye, I could see why: The tall guy had removed my left eye from its socket. I blacked out from sheer terror.

When I awoke in the morning, I didn't remember this at first. However, I had a blinding headache centered behind my left eye, which was throbbing. When I rose from the mattress, I saw a large amount of blood on the sheets. My hand flew to my eye. It wouldn't open; the lids were stuck together. In the bathroom I saw why; the left side of my face was covered with dried blood.

I had to fight down panic to deal with the situation. I wet a washcloth with warm water and proceeded to remove the blood from around my eye, then gently from the eyelids themselves. They were so sore, I couldn't really apply any pressure. Then I remembered the saline solution I'd brought. I squirted the salty water at my eye until the blood dissolved and I could pry my eyelids apart. Remember, I still had my extended wear contacts in. My eyeball was brilliant red. My first thought was that the contact lens had somehow torn and cut my eye, or maybe the inner eyelid, while I slept. I peeled the contact lens out and put it in its case.

I could see out of that eye, albeit in blurry fashion without the contact lens. I don't like wearing just one contact but I had no other choice. When I got to class, I told the students I had torn my contact lens and apologized for the look of my eye, assuring them it no longer hurt.

But the fact was, I was putting two and two together. Why had I brought the saline solution this one time I would need it? And was that dream I remembered of having my eye removed really a dream at all?

It was with great relief that I took my seat on the jet back to New Hampshire. I don't usually drink, but I had a vodka and tonic on that flight. I would have given anything for someone I could hold, who would hug me and tell me everything was going to be all right. Unfortunately, there wasn't a single person like that in my life. This was a burden I had to carry alone.

The fifth pill.

As I made the short drive from Manchester Airport to Wellington Hill, I kept saying to myself, "Just four more miles…hang on…you can fall apart at home…just three more miles…"

I got to the house, took my luggage inside, removed the vial with that last pill, washed it down with water. Went up the stairs, threw my clothes on the floor, and collapsed onto the bed, shaking until the pill took effect and I went to sleep.