Ghost. United States

A woman had just helped haul her somnambulant husband to bed, and he was snoring when he hit the pillow. She crawled in beside him, kissed him goodnight, and rolled over on her side. There standing in her hallway was a being. “He had on a helmet type, clear type helmet. He did not look like one of these weird beings, he looked like we do, kind of I would say ruddy complexion. He had on a gray type spacesuit with zippers down the arms, zippers down the front, zippers down the legs, and he held a glass round—all I could think of was a crystal ball, in his hands. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to hurt us. It was just—I don’t know—like mental telepathy or something, because it was like he would say, ‘I m not going to hurt you. I m just here observing you.’ Our galactic peeping Tom was not all that reassuring, and she was constantly reaching back and trying to get her happily snoring husband to wake up (which he never did). When her coughed in the other bedroom, the astronaut took his eyes from the glass ball and looked that way. That was too much, and maternal instincts took over, and she got up with “Don’t hurt my children!” in her mind. She got as far as the door “and he disappeared. Just like that.”