Wandering Fire. Russia

Here is a letter that came to the editorial office of "Soviet Russia" from E. S. Polkova, who lives in Leningrad:

Dear editorial staff! I read an article in your newspaper "Where have you been, Frank?". I want to tell you what happened to me in July-August 1982.

It was a black, starry night. I woke up to a light knock. The window opened. There was no wind, it was quiet, but the trees outside the window bent almost to the ground, as if in a very strong wind. A bright point of light appeared in the sky, which flew to my window, gradually increasing and shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow… Then a gap in my memory.

Then I clearly remember how glowing orange balls the size of an orange rolled around the room. I stood up. It was hard to move, like in water. The balloons all jumped on the windowsill and rolled out of the window, but I managed to catch one.

Suddenly the lid opened in it, and I heard music, a Chopin waltz.

I asked: "Who are you?“

The answer is: "We are just like you."

Me: "Do you know Chopin?"

The answer is: "Yes. And much more. You, earthlings, are in great trouble."

Me: "But who will believe me if I tell you about all this?“

The answer is: "Probably no one."

I: "Then why are you here?“

Answer: "This misfortune may end in disaster for us as well. Therefore, we are still watching“"

Me: "Can I call my friends now or wake up my mother and sister? They are sleeping in the next room“ "..

The answer is: "There is no need. Electricity and telephone are not working“"

I tried to turn on the light — to no avail. I picked up the phone — silence. I remember well — there was no fear. Then another memory lapse. I woke up, it was a bright sunny morning outside the window. I am sure that this is not a dream.