In June of 1954, Thomas Reed’s mother, the former Nancy Burrows, then a 15-year-old schoolgirl, drove from her home in Westport, Conn., to a rental cabin near Moosehead Lake in Maine with her mother, her older brother Robert, and his girlfriend, Kip, for a weekend of relaxation at the end of another school year. Nancy would recall later that the second night she was there, after she had gone to bed, she was awakened by what sounded like a closing door.
“She went to move, and she felt as if she were inside a mannequin,” Thomas recounts. “She felt frozen, but her hands and feet were able to move. She was grabbing what she could to pull herself off the bed.”
She remained in that state for hours, Reed says, and remembered seeing strange images—including a series of figures coming from the end of her bed. She remained awake until morning when, as quickly as the feeling of motionlessness had overtaken her, the room was engulfed in light. Everything suddenly seemed normal again.
At breakfast, Kip, who slept in another room, described a nearly identical experience. Neither girl would reenter the cabin that evening, preferring to sleep on the porch despite a precipitous drop in temperature as the skies darkened.
Some 12 years later, the adult Nancy Burrows found herself raising quarter horses on a farm in rural Massachusetts. She was also raising two sons as a single mother: 6-year-old Thomas and 4-year-old Matt.
Thomas remembers it was a cool night in September the first night it happened. It was early, only 9 p.m., but both boys were already in bed, though still wide awake in their bunks, listening to the lapping of the little brook in back of their home through an open window.
And yet something was off.
“You could feel it on your skin,” Thomas says. “It was a weird feeling; it kind of created its own anxiety, like something is wrong and you feel it.”
The rest of the night is a kaleidoscope of shifting scenes and weird imagery; some of it vividly recalled, some of it half-remembered, some of it a blank. Thomas remembers being at the top of the stairs with his brother, with bright, ghostly figures approaching them from either end of the stair. Then the ground shifted, and the brothers were standing on the cusp of an area of the family property they hadn’t traversed before, walking down a new path toward what looked like “a giant turtle shell, 18 feet high, maybe, and 40 or so yards around. Almost like tarnished pewter with burned gold—charred-looking.”
And then he and his brother were inside, standing in a great hall that “curved off to the right, almost like a giant question mark.” Everything was soft, white, casting off its own seemingly self-generated glow. [more]
Full Article | www.metropulse.com
A video Interview with Reed:
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