The CE4 Research Group
Testimony – 56
Hear the testimony of Marshall on “The Curs~ed Net” Radio Program
The Testimony of Marshall
I was a quiet baby that rarely cried or complained until it was time to eat; then, I would complain loudly until I was fed. My speech did not develop in my first year like normal, and then it did not develop in my second year. I was slow to potty train. Some doctors began to suspect that I had mental retardation, but changed their mind when I finally did open my mouth in my third year.
Things were not right in our home, and the divorce battle that began when I was five was nearly as bad as it gets. My older sister, two younger brothers and I lived with our Mom for one year at Grandpa’s house in Archville, where space was tight but we made do.
It was there that I developed a fear of “ghosts,” and it was assumed that I had seen something on TV that I was too young to see. One night, I woke up in bed feeling as if there was something next to the bed that was invisible, yet there. I up took my trusty flashlight gun with the dead batteries, that my Mom had assured me would still be effective. I tossed that thing into the air at the side of the bed after “firing” it, to make sure I had frightened away the invisible enemy. The flashlight gun froze in mid air, which gave me new reason to cry. I tried to wake up my Mom and siblings, but they were out cold as if drugged. I stared at the floating toy in gaping horror, just continually screaming. You have no idea how scary it is to see something move on its own, until you do. I don’t remember what happened after that, except waking up the next morning and being told that I had a nightmare, which I accepted at that time and for years after that. But deep down, the boundaries of what was and was not possible had been redrawn forever in my five-year-old brain.
I had dreams after that; ones that truly were dreams and you can imagine what those were like. Objects and fixtures came alive, with drawers and cabinets opening and slamming everywhere. The shower head in the bathroom looked like a wide vacuum cleaner attachment, and turned to “look” at me. Sometimes my brother “Eric” would be there and we would barely escape from the house. If you’ve ever seen the movie “Young Sherlock Holmes,” the hallucinations had by those characters that got hit with the blow-gun darts were highly reminiscent of the dreams I had at ages five and six. Child psychiatrists attributed these to the stress of the divorce, but in reality I think it was the ray-gun incident alone.
Later in childhood, I developed a fear of being alone by myself indoors. When I was the first to get home from school, I would feel anxiety when the next sibling would arrive into the house and walk toward the room where I was. Who, or what was really about to appear around the corner? I still don’t know exactly what I was so scared of.
Eventually we four kids went from living with our Mom to living with our Dad and the stepfamily that he already had. Any resemblance to the Brady Bunch ended right there. My father sent us to Catholic school, where they taught us repetitious prayers to saints and not so much of the Bible — sorry to have to tell that one like it is. That was in 1983, and we were living right in the middle of what was about to become one of the biggest UFO hotspots the United States had ever seen: New York’s Hudson Valley in the early eighties. The book Night Siege would eventually be written about it, although our story was not in there; our story has never been recorded.
My sister, brothers and I were riding to my Mom’s cabin in the woods for a regular bi-weekly visitation of the non-alien sort when we noticed some lights over the treetops no more than a hundred feet off the ground. They were in that wedge-shaped arrangement reported by thousands that night, and holding perfectly still as any fixed object would, about thirty feet wide. We all assumed as we breezed by that they were the anti-collision lights at the top of some tower or something, until we passed by and I thought and said out loud to everybody: “What was that?” I suddenly realized that nothing like that had ever been there before, and I turned around in the back seat to look out the dirty back window. It hovered a moment longer and then started to move away from the road and out over the cold, leafless woods. Although slow, it began its motion with a relatively sudden start, like it had been bumped. “It’s moving!” I said.
We all just marveled about it and described it for the ones who hadn’t taken as good a look, and so on. I didn’t realize that my mother knew that it was moving in the direction of her cabin, and she was accelerating to intercept it there.
I’d learned everything I knew about UFOs from watching Spielberg movies. I stepped out of the car minutes later feeling pretty lucky to have seen one, and looking up for the slightest possibility of seeing one again. Sure enough, the lights were visible though the leafless branches of the trees, approaching slowly and silently. I shared the news, and my mother and sister were just as ecstatic as I was. My mother flashed “SOS” in Morse code to see what the craft would do. My brothers Eric and Neal stayed in the car because (as I’d say in hindsight) they were smarter.
I remember our neighbor Mert coming out to see what the fuss was, and becoming terrified when she found out. “They’re coming!” she screamed to her husband as she ran back inside.
I thought her reaction was strange.
I was wrong.
My brothers who remained in the car remember a different version of the events than the three of us who stood outside. Whereas it seemed to us like the craft passed by not quite over the house without ever changing speed, both of my brothers agree that it stopped and hovered over the house for aboutthirty seconds before resuming.
We went inside and mixed up some shakes in the blender with ice cream and chocolate milk powder. I don’t think any of us realized how scared we really were until a cat jumped at my Mom’s window and we all screamed. Then, we laughed at ourselves about how we must have thought the cat was an alien or something. Meanwhile, the cat was inexplicably terrified about something and was turning its head to look as it hung from the window by its claws. We just kept laughing because it was kind of funny, but I think it was to reassure ourselves too in a way — like the opposite of that mass hysteria that skeptics talk about. We were laughing to reassure ourselves that nothing was amiss; that the “truth out there” was “coming in here” no faster than we could handle it.
None of us remember any more strange things from that night. But some time after that night, I began to have night terrors when it was time to sleep in my Mom’s loft where my brothers and I retired for the night on those weekend visits. I had this idea that the field mice that were getting in were going to crawl on me when I slept, and they were going to do something. My rational mind could ask the obvious all it wanted: “Do what? They’re just mice. Those things never scared you before.” But, conscious rationality had nothing to do with it. I imagined a cup of my Mom’s herb tea as having the power to change my crazy mind. It was all power of suggestion; the herbs really had nothing to do with it. My Dad heard about it one day and jumped on my ass, going into a long anti-drug speech that was actually very good. It was one of the most valuable speeches he ever gave us, if not the most valuable. Thanks, Dad.
I developed some paranormal abilities at this time. I was able to stare at frogs at the edge of a pond and incapacitate them. I could pick them up in my flat hand, and even bare my teeth and pretend like I would bite their little heads off without impelling them to escape. I could have eaten their legs, and I know they wouldn’t have fled. When I chose to release them with a thought, off they’d go.
After only two years of living with our father, he bought an awesome Victorian farm house in another town. This was the last in what had been a series of moves for us four kids: the sixth in eight years. Fortunately we stayed put after that. So what if the house turned out to be haunted? It wasn’t like the Amityville horror or anything.
The worst ghost-type incident is worth mentioning, not that I’m sure where the alien thing really ends and other paranormal stuff picks up.
There was one particular week in which I woke up every night a minute or two after 3am, and there would be footsteps up and down the hallway outside my bedroom. According to the siblings, the same creaky wooden footfalls would occur some nights even after the hallway was carpeted. Anyway, I lay in bed terrified while every time my mind was able to drift off and think of something else, another thump would snap me back to the scariness at hand. I remember that the way I prayed the “Our Father” was more like recitation than prayer, and the “Hail Mary’s” I prayed were definitely recited. In hindsight, I should have stuck with the “Our Father” and meditated on every word. Even better, I should have called on God in my own words, or allowed the adversarial spirit to show itself so I could declare the Lord’s rebuke at it directly. Oh well, you live and learn.
I was accepted to Purdue University where I pursued an evolutionary biology major. I began to take a side interest in the alien abduction phenomenon for the first time, and read some well-known titles by Strieber, Hopkins, and Fowler. Then, Martin Luther King weekend came around and the entire campus went home to mommy and daddy for the three or four-day weekend. That was when the aliens abducted me for the first time in such a way that I remembered seeing one of them. I began to sit up in my upper bunk after having a dream about being abducted in some faraway place I’ve never been. I looked over to the middle of the dorm room and began to see the top of a hairless head. My memory goes black just at the point where I would have begun to see the eyes.
The next thing I knew, it was morning.
I left Purdue in the middle of my second semester due to extreme difficulties concentrating, making friends and avoiding harassment by dorm-mates. I did not realize that my unusual personality was due to autism spectrum disorder, and that the new food I was eating in the mess hall was inflaming my brain and exacerbating it.
I went back to New York and lived like a fugitive in the cabin-style apartment my Mom had at that time. I was unable to face the wrath of those relatives who were even more disappointed in me than she was. I took a fast-food job; it was what I knew from my high school days. I wanted to be around working people; they were more to my liking than students. They seemed so much more mature. At my job I met “Jodi”, my first girlfriend. I conversed with her mostly by phone, as we were both transportationally challenged. Our conversations lasted over an hour, or as our schedules allowed. During one such conversation, the subject turned to the paranormal.
“Close your eyes,” I said to Jodi, “and try to picture what I’m thinking.”
“I see someone,” she said. “He doesn’t look like us.”
I had been trying to picture some random physical object. “Huh,” I said. “Well, what does ‘he’ look like?”
She would only say that he was “basically like a human,” but you could tell that he wasn’t.
The thing told Beth not to describe its appearance any further until I “got to know them better.” Unlike me at that time, Jodi had only vaguely remembered hearing something in the media about the beings associated with UFO’s and abductions. She was not versed in the subject at all. She believed in God, and she was not sure that what she was seeing could possibly be an alien – until it told her that yes, that was indeed what “he” was.
“He can talk to you?” I asked.
“Yes.” And so, a Menger-like telepathic contactee experience commenced and would last the course of a year or so.
“What’s his name?” I asked. Before Jodi could answer, I had what seemed to be a passing thought that the name was going to sound similar to a certain human name: Alfred.
The alien’s name did sound like Alfred, but it would serve no purpose to report the exact name for the wider audience. The alien also claimed to be from a planet by a name that matches a brand of common consumer products. I thought there was no correlation at that time, but New-Age slogans recently added to the product packages implies that the products are in fact named after this planet or principality. It is advertised openly, and everybody buys the products without thinking anything of it.
I went on to ask Jodi many questions to relay to the aliens, drawing upon all that I knew in biological science. In high school I graduated at the top of my class in science, and I was absolutely prodigious in it even though I hadn’t completed my degree. Jodi was average in science if that, and the answers she gave me indicated that she was in no way making up the information herself. I understand that Christians who stay on top of this topic are generally of the thinking that the aliens are not truly alien, do not come from a planet, and do not possess nuts-and-bolts advanced technology. Although I’m sorry to report that what came out of this experience did not really support that point of view, I can assure that the power of Christian prayer against them would later be confirmed. If they land a physical craft on the White House lawn tomorrow, I can explain how the Bible has this covered and I will stand up to the aliens. In fact, the continued presence of people like me on Earth is a physical restraint against any such thing taking place, and God’s impending abduction — commonly referred to as the rapture — is the drain stopper which (once yanked) will allow an unprecedented mass deception to begin over the humans that remain. The average Christian has read the relevant scriptures.
Another noteworthy thing that came up was the aliens’ endorsement of Bill Clinton, who was running against Bush Senior at that time. The tabloid article with the famous hand-shake picture came out not long after that. While the alien in that picture did not resemble the ones in Jodi’s visions and appeared fake, the endorsement was not and I feel that Jodi may have been a confidential source. Another possibility is that our calls were monitored by the government and leaked by someone trusted with our national security.
I am told by others who have reviewed my notes in their entirety that there are similarities to the experiences of author Howard Menger, and the alien species described in the movie K-Pax. I plan to examine both of these leads after my own work is complete, to avoid undue influence.
I developed unprecedented paranormal abilities at this time which I care not to attempt again for any reason, except the healing ability. And that one I will perform in the Lord’s name only. These included remote viewing, telepathy, and psychic prediction. The potential to perform any of these might seem alluring enough for third parties (be they corporations or governments) to tempt me with money or even by force. But I will not be tempted.
The aliens seemed to want more in the way of my loyalty and trust just as any demon wants from a potential host, and despite my continued religious indifference at that time they were not pleased with how the contact was going. They broke it off in anger as they seemed to think that I was ultimately going to betray them. I had no idea at the time that they were right, as I discovered how loud, overt and sudden their telepathic communication could be. I was alone at home when an angry male voice shouted “Hey!” and I responded with what I knew they wanted to hear. “I will never go to reporters or book authors and tell it as it happened.” I promised.
“Never?” asked the voice.
“No, never,” I said. They are mightily upset at both this account and the analogous fiction I’m working on, but I am now on the side of the Lord and backing down at absolutely nothing.
I first started the fiction story shortly after that, because the aliens said that approach “might be okay.” So, part of my original plan was to obtain their approval before seeking to publish anything. I finished the first draft of a novel in 1994, but it was neither good enough nor was it in any way clear as to what the point of the whole story was. Indeed, I had no idea what I wanted to say except that I envied published New Age authors like Strieber, and wanted to be successful like them. If my efforts had continued according to the aliens’ wishes, my relationship with them would have become more close over time and probably resulted in a work similar to Howard Menger’s or K-Pax, which I believe are works of genuine alien propaganda. This is conjecture based on what others have said who read my notes on my contactee experience and those particular works. I do not intend to review them myself until my own work is done.
I continued to have major visitations every four years or so (on average), including one from a tractor-trailer where I pulled over on the side of the road to sleep. That was in the town of Point Pleasant, West Virginia which is associated with a supernatural entity known as Mothman. The year must have been 1996, five years before the copyright date of the movie Mothman Prophesies. The intention of “Mothman” in that particular work seems to be to use his precognitive ability to lend the illusion of having the power to decide the life or death of human beings. I don’t remember meeting anything like “Indrid Cold” or Mothman — only the craft, and my levitating up into it.
I eventually changed trucking companies and the state of my residence to Florida, where I was visited as I lay in my bunk facing the back of the sleeper berth. A bluish light source seemed to drop down through the glass sky light as I felt paralyzed all over, while two alien voices seemed to argue in what sounded like “ke-pshsh, ka-pshsh, ke-pshsh.” It lasted about ten seconds before ascending back up. I turned around to see that it was gone, whatever it was.
The trucking profession did not offer much in the way of exercise, and I still did not know about my autism or the mitigative regimen that was indicated for me. I began to make mistakes in my driving; finally resulting in a property damage accident and my admission to my company that a pattern of driving errors was indicating that something was going wrong with me. They forced me to go on medical leave only a month after I moved into the house I just bought. This timing made it appear like I was bilking the company in order to get the time off to work on my house, and the tone of my company was not friendly in all of my phone calls with the occupational health department.
Working on my property did offer a way to get much-needed exercise, and I was repairing my fence one day when some neighbors pulled up to offer a hello. It was a German immigrant lady named “Gretchen” and her husband, a decorated American WWII veteran. I accepted their invitation to come over for coffee.
We all took a liking to one another, and I found out that they were both born-again Christians. I had never heard the message of Christ like Gretchen told it, and for some reason found myself more willing to listen to her than anyone else previously. In subsequent visits, we learned one another’s life stories and that we were all similarly acquainted with the paranormal. One story of Gretchen’s in particular caught my attention.
“I woke up one night at our house in Lake City,” she told me. “I could see three tall soldiers — fallen angels — eight, nine, ten feet tall. Huge.”
I asked, and got her to explain some more about why she thought they were fallen angels. While I can’t remember exactly what she said I remember concluding that we had seen the same manner of beings, but that she had interpreted what she had seen through a religious filter of sorts; interpreting what she saw to comport with her pre-established belief system. I listened to the rest as she spoke it in her German-American accent.
“I could see them beyond the surface of the wall, like they were in another dimension and I was still able to see. I heard a voice, a strong voice tell me, ‘Plead the Blood of Christ against them!'” and I did. I shouted, ‘I plead the Blood of Christ against you!’ and they disappeared.
“The next night, the same thing. Except there must have been thirty of them. The same voice told me what to say, and I did… ‘I plead the Blood of Christ against you to stay away! And I never saw them no more.”
I drove home after visiting her that evening and thought to myself that she had to be wrong about the aliens being fallen angels. Was there a rule in the universe (an interplanetary law, perhaps?) that certain religious-sounding utterances had some kind of legally binding power to them, so that humans were not as defenseless against the aliens as one might suspect? If I was really as open-minded as what I purported myself to be, then how did I know she was wrong?
As I went around my property on subsequent days, I thought silently to myself as I constantly do. One day, I remembered some of my worst sins as far as some bad things I had wished on everyone for the way the world treated me. That’s when I went down on my knees right where I was, which happened to be my living room floor. “Oh God,” I prayed, “I acknowledge that I would not know what to do with the power over life and death if I ever had it. That is why I need a Lord, and who did I ever think I was by wanting more and more supernatural power? Thank you for being who you are and making me who I am, and keeping me as far below you as you have.”
I regularly started praying, reading the Bible Gretchen gave me, and going to a small nearby church that was excellent. My faith was tested according to a “Book of Job” pattern familiar to some prodigal returners to Christianity. At some point the trucking company fired me, and I was using my unemployment benefits nearly to the end as nobody would hire me anew. Even if I had been hired, I would have lost the job again because the head gasket of my ’95 neon went out. I had never made an automotive repair requiring a torque wrench before, but I bought the instruction manual and prayed myself through that three-week ordeal, with the parts of that imported engine compartment laid out all over the place. I lost count of the number of times I had to pull things apart and put them back together to make everything exactly right. But finally, I turned the key on a car that was as good as new right before getting my new job at a home improvement retailer.
The new job was dirty, strenuous, and rough. Yet, the exercise did me nothing but good. I was getting continually better. One thing I kept reminding myself was that when I saw the aliens again, I would remember “Gretchen’s prayer” — and I was going to let those aliens have it!
One night, I found myself sitting on a metal floor in a hallway with metal walls lined with two layers of giant rectangular cabinets the right size for holding human bodies. It looked like I had blown or torn my way out of one of them. I know that doesn’t make any sense; I am not Superman. I don’t think I remember the way that happened because God restrains my memory of it, because my ego doesn’t need that. I suppose the fact that I was wearing what a baby wears is also helpful in that regard. It didn’t seem funny or important at that time, and it wouldn’t have to you either. It is one of those embarrassing details that I’m sure most witnesses skip over for the obvious reason, or forego telling anyone anything. So…
There was a messy pile of translucent index cards sitting on the floor. These were data storage devices for the mind-interfacing computer that was hooked up to me while I was in the metal drawer. The cards were like compact discs or DVDs in the sense that information flowed in and out of them by laser light, but the aliens’ computers are entirely optic as opposed to electronic, and as faster and superior as one might imagine. Now, these cards were dumped at my feet, which to me suggest that an entity of God was involved in my liberation. I can explain further.
The “dream-simulator” (as I call it) is a testing device. Different people have varying degrees to which they are “right with God” or “gone away from God,” though Christians will agree there is a threshold that hinges on true belief. The dream simulator is for indicating the most accurate, reliable degree to which a human is capable of calling on God’s power before the aliens initiate direct being-to-being interaction. A person could theoretically convert even as they are being abducted, in that moment of extreme fear while being faced with supernatural adversaries.
While I was hooked up and still in deep REM sleep, the computer simulated a supernatural enemy and faced me with it. I don’t remember the details of that, I only remember that was what it was. I rebuked the entity that was no more real than a pixellated Pac-man ghost drifting across a TV screen, and so all that I destroyed was the TV and the Atari, not the house the equipment was sitting in or its owners. That is how the “dream simulator” serves as a safety device.
“Now what should I do?” I thought. There could have been other humans in the other metal cabinets. Would I put them at physical risk by invoking more destructive power? Was the craft I was on even residing in the breathable atmosphere? Why didn’t God put me back where I go while he was rescuing me from the dream simulator? Then again, it had already been demonstrated that the aliens were not allowed to do whatever they want. In order to be put back, it stood to reason that I only had to “play my cards right” — so to speak.
I picked up the cards and held them upwards to read the alien hieroglyphics. There was a light source above which enabled this, and I had to hold them close to my eyes because I didn’t have my glasses. For some reason I knew the alphanumeric sequence of the alien characters as I was looking at them, but I couldn’t even re-draw them now. I knew a lot of things while I was there that I cannot recall outside of that environment. Anyway, I started putting the cards in some kind of sequence, as if to actually help the aliens to sort through the mess later. This was my way of letting the aliens know that I was done destroying things and ready to be put back on Earth.
A sound from down the hallway caught my attention. A gurney of sorts came into view, but capable of holding up to six people. It was like some kind of hospital cart. The humanoid pushing it came into view, and casually stopped to look at me. It was not the standard type of “gray.” It could have passed for a thin, sixty-something male human except for the lipless mouth and black eyes. It – he – was wearing a gray one-piece coverall such as a janitor might wear.
I dropped what I was doing with the cards and walked over, and populated the upper deck of the people-cart. I hoped I was correctly walking the fine line between resistance and complicity as I lay down and allowed the alien to cover me with a blanket up to my chest.
The cart got moving again, and went some sixty feet before making a turn to the right, and then another quick one to the left. A female voice could be heard bossing some other beings around. The voice was exactly that of one of my female supervisors from one of my employers. I sat up because I understood the psychological reason why they were choosing to do that, and I wasn’t going for it. There would be no more submission. My life was more expendable than my soul if it came down to it.
I could see her: a “head nurse” sort of a figure, ordering other beings like the one pushing my cart. She was ordering them around like a sergeant, as if to convey that she had responsibility and should be listened to, or whatever. She turned to me, and I saw her enormous black eyes. “It’s one of them,” I thought.
“And you,” she said to me, “Like it would kill you to go along with the simplest thing, and you know that our right to do our thing on you seems clear enough to us…”
I was steadfastly refusing to speak as she went on for a few more sentences like that, saying things that I technically dared not agree with. Gradually, the composition of her nagging changed.
“Seeing as how we don’t need anything going off like that again we will have to put you back where you go…”
“Okay,” I said.
She said some other nagging thing that was progressively less soul-endangering than the first thing she said.
“Okay,” I replied.
“And [something something something], to say nothing of what you did to the testing equipment which we will surely re-calibrate to be able to contain you.”
“Okay,” I said a third time, resolving privately that if this ever happened again I would rebuke/destroy all that I saw no matter what the consequences.
“Until then,” she said, and she leaned closer to my face. “Consider yourself spanked!”
I thought, “What?!” I think one of the other aliens reached up behind me with one of their silvery wands and stunned me right then. I’m just guessing, because my memory ends abruptly there. I woke up in my bed, recalled the abduction, and thanked the Lord.
I kept working at the home improvement store, and at one point had to quit for six months to negotiate for a better salary and position. It was right about the time that I succeeded at that in December of ’05 when I had another idea: to start the novel over again. I’m working on getting that done now, and I believe it is going very well.