By writing this, I’ve brought myself close to tears in frustrating attempts to force this memory forward as vividly as possible. My mind has worked tirelessly over the decades to repress what it couldn’t understand, but I won’t allow it. The people I love, my job, religion, money; they’ve all become anchors that keep me close to this world, yet this story serves as my constant reminder that there is more to this life.
I write in desperate hope that someone may reply. Someone may have met him too, or another like him. I have tried everything to see him again; drugs first, then meditation, and lucid dreaming, but none of it worked, because he was real and I physically met him that day! I was truly naive for the experience, completely. I was only a ten year old facing the most incredible thing I would ever see, and I failed to understand the immense weight of the moment.
Just as I would any other morning that summer, I was stomping through a muck of twigs and leaves with no real destination in mind. The woods seemed to have overslept that morning, they were peacefully quiet aside from the scattered tapping of leftover rain. I’m sure you can’t imagine, but there were no smartphones or internet back then. Getting lost outside was the best toy I had. I’m adding this detail because I want to emphasize that I was alone, deep in the woods, and just a kid in my own world. There was no warning or sign of what I was about to experience.
I only heard him at first, and he was far away. Looking back on the sounds he was making, I am impressed my younger self did not turn around and run home. The first sound was distant, but completely cut through the air. It was a sound that stopped time for a moment. My brain shrunk inward and paused all other processes, scrambling to find some explanation for what it had just heard. The sound was horrible. It reminded me of the screeching, dissonant microphones we had in my school’s auditorium. This sounded like one of those microphones had been broken beyond repair, and someone was blowing air into it.
With a mix of fear and curiosity pulsing through my legs, I continued to walk toward the noise, determined to know the source. I remember worrying that I might stumble upon some older kids, who were listening to weird music I didn’t know. But as I got closer, I was able to discern the intricacies of the noise more clearly. It was rhythmic and breath-like, but still masked by the ringing and distortion. I found myself walking faster, the noise was to my right. There was a thick wall of bushes and brush next to me with the noise booming out from the other side. My heart was pounding and I became dizzy from the pulsation of my temple. Still walking forward, staring towards the plant-wall, waiting for some opening to see through.
Eventually the thickness of the foliage lightened, and through the leaves I could faintly see someone walking with their back to me, the noise blasting out of them in every direction. It was a person, but immediately I could tell they were wearing a very heavy metal suit. From behind, it looked like the old diving suits I had seen in the museum. Again, I can’t believe I didn’t run away at this point. I took a giant step through the bushes and walked straight into the underbrush towards him. I was terrified, but I had to see. I had to know who this person was, walking in my woods, in some ridiculous gear, making all that noise. I cautiously huddled up to a tree far behind him, and he continued uphill, clearly not noticing me.
I watched him intently as I crept from tree to tree, maintaining my distance from him. His movements were slow and labored due to, I assumed, the suit’s weight. Occasionally he would stop and look around; up at the sky, down at the ground, and then continue on his path. He was hiking. It was not much different from what I had been doing earlier that morning. At some point, my fearful curiosity took over and I stormed towards his massive back. The closer I came, the more huge and heavy his presence felt.
“Hello?” I said shakily, my voice completely drowned out by his strange breathing noise.
He continued walking uphill, his back towards me.
I was minuscule and realized how a chipmunk must feel when I walked by.
“Hello?!” I nearly shouted.
The noise cut off in an abrupt crescendo, and simultaneously he stopped in his tracks. He was stiff and rigid as he turned around to face me, rotating his large body all as one unit.
At this moment I got a better look at his clothes, if I may call them that. They were not metal as I first thought, and certainly not fabric or silk. The material was a glassy geometric pattern that flowed like lava, and it glistened with a reflective surface that the entire light spectrum danced on. It covered his whole body, but was not very defined in the limbs. It looked more like a prismatic human body-shaped box. There would have been lots of room inside even for the largest man.
My eyes scanned upwards to his head, but his face met none of my expectations. The strange helmet that concealed his head was mostly transparent. It was like a foggy snowglobe filled with colors and lights that had been shaken up wildly. There was no discernible face inside the helmet, but he was clearly looking down at me. I struggle to remember how I exactly felt in this moment, but I am certain the fear and dread were pushed aside in favor of pure awe and bewilderment at the being before me. There was a moment of silence, until the microphone screeched again, and through its metallic gurgling I distinctly heard him mimic my
“Hello.”
From the hundreds of responses in my mind at the moment, the only one that spilled out was “You’re very loud,” because the sound was overwhelming me. He stared at me, motionless, blasting more noises at me. I realize now that this may have been his speech, but I feared my eardrums would explode from the volume. I couldn’t take it anymore and pressed my hands over my ears, taking a few steps back in discomfort.
His body language was surprisingly expressive, and his cubic limbs jumped in surprise for a moment. He brought his hand to his chest, and this was when I noticed countless knobs and buttons covering the breast of his suit. Nonsensical symbols and glyphs labeled each of the strange adjustable shapes. His fingers spun a pyramidal knob and gradually the overstimulating microphone sounds became quieter. I released my ears and thanked him.
I asked if he was from outer space, but only the static that continuously emitted from his suit buzzed between us.
After a moment of studying one another, he sluggishly raised one of his blocky hands and faced the palm towards me. Something about his gesture filled me with comfort. It was a wave. I raised my hand to match his. We dropped them in unison.
He reached for the largest knob on his suit and slowly turned it in one direction with considerable force. The further the knob turned, the more his physical form dissipated. There were bright flashes of light and ripples in the air around him. He collapsed into himself in a near instant, as if he was only a picture inside a powering off television. Before I could release another word, there was nothing left behind but open air. I put my arms out where he had been standing and felt nothing. My ears were still ringing as they adjusted back to the quiet level of the woods.
I stayed there for a while after that. There were large polygonal indents in the mud where he was standing. It started to rain harder, and I got soaked while I watched his footprints melt away.
I’ve thought about him every day. Of course, I’ve done countless hours of research, but I can tell you after all these years I’ve found nothing of substance. I used to bring this up to the people close to me, but I mostly stopped. Many friends and family will smile and humor me when I talk about it, much like they would with a child at Christmas.
I must say, after all this time, I truly believe he was a visitor. He was not from outer space, possibly much further than that. Perhaps for him, the experience was similar to one of us jumping inside a painting. He was a being from outside; not a planet or place, but a point outside our axes. I believe he had found a way to confine himself to our world, all for a walk in the woods, which I rudely interrupted.
Story Notes
I wanted to write this story after I read about Sam the Sandown Clown. He’s an unsettling urban legend; a weird humanoid creature that some children claimed to meet in the 70s. He apparently talked through a loud microphone-like device. I thought it would be interesting to write my own take on Sam, and I like the dynamic of an oblivious kid stumbling upon some otherworldly entity. I was originally going to have the Radio Man speak to the narrator, but I figured a being from the fourth dimension wouldn’t speak, understand, or be able to translate English, so I settled on him only mimicking the sound of “Hello.”
Thomas Mazzaferro 