the tower where the radar was positioned to clean off some debris, and that’s when he saw what he thought was another crewman standing on a platform under the radar array. But it wasn’t. It was, instead, exactly the kind of figure that lived in my dreams—or my memory—the same one that Ravenette had described to me. Flat, gray, featureless. Standing on the platform next to the radars. Gilmartin froze, momentarily unable to believe what he was seeing, but as he watched, the shadow figure leaned against one of the radar dishes and pushed it, slightly changing its position. Apparently, without even thinking about what he was doing, Gilmartin moved toward the figure which, finally noticing him, turned toward him and emitted a sound that Gilmartin later described as somewhere between a growl and a high-pitched hiss. Painful to listen to and clearly unfriendly. Dangerously, aggressively unfriendly. The sound somehow emanated from within the shadowy figure that had no face, no eyes or nose or mouth, snaking outward like radio static carried on the damp night air. Shocked, Gilmartin climbed down the tower and ran into the radio shack.
Maybe he was going to tell the other crew members what he saw, maybe not. But when he entered the shack, the other technicians were already dealing with a mystery of their own: the radars were registering strange signals, too faint and on the wrong frequencies to indicate that they were pinging off any real, physical target. Possibly they were echoes or some malfunction of the equipment. They were about to send Gilmartin back up the towers when they suddenly faded away. Having had a few minutes to think about how his fellow crew members would have reacted to him confessing that he had encountered some kind of alien being readjusting the positioning of their radars—and that might be the cause of the weird signals they were receiving—Gilmartin decided to keep quiet. That was the only time in his entire life that Gilmartin ever saw the shadow figure or personally encountered the phenomenon of what later came to be called ghost signals.
“Does any of this sound familiar?” Jack prodded. Well, of course it did. When I admitted as much, Jack said, “So do you want to go on trying to convince me that your friend on the fire escape was a dream?”
My reaction was to try to make light of the idea. “At least he must have liked me better because he didn’t hiss at me.”
That made Jack laugh. “Yes, I’m sure he liked you better. Even an alien could tell that Howard Gilmartin was an asshole from the get-go.”
“You know,” I said to Jack, “I went to a Blue Awareness introduction session when I was . . . well, back in the hippie days, in San Francisco. They explained how Howard Gilmartin had founded the Blue Awareness but they never mentioned anything like the story you just told me.”
“No, of course not,” he agreed. “Because that would make Gilmartin sound like a coward. Instead, when he got out of the service and started writing, he turned the story around. In his version, the alien—whom he describes as looking like a shadow—is hostile to him at first, but Gilmartin is able to create a rapport with him. Apparently, somehow the alien senses that Gilmartin is not your everyday human: he’s a superior being. Smarter, stronger, a highly advanced version of your everyday homo sapiens. Anyway, over the course of the next few days, the shadowy alien returns again and again to Gilmartin’s radar station and has a lot of long conversations with him—only in the stories, the radar installation is somewhere in a remote desert area of the southwest instead of on a navy ship and the Gilmartin character is the lone operator stationed at this post, where he works for a secret government agency. Eventually, he quits because the higher ups at the agency don’t believe him when he reports his particular close encounter with this strange being, or the information that his visitor revealed
Maybe he was going to tell the other crew members what he saw, maybe not. But when he entered the shack, the other technicians were already dealing with a mystery of their own: the radars were registering strange signals, too faint and on the wrong frequencies to indicate that they were pinging off any real, physical target. Possibly they were echoes or some malfunction of the equipment. They were about to send Gilmartin back up the towers when they suddenly faded away. Having had a few minutes to think about how his fellow crew members would have reacted to him confessing that he had encountered some kind of alien being readjusting the positioning of their radars—and that might be the cause of the weird signals they were receiving—Gilmartin decided to keep quiet. That was the only time in his entire life that Gilmartin ever saw the shadow figure or personally encountered the phenomenon of what later came to be called ghost signals.
“Does any of this sound familiar?” Jack prodded. Well, of course it did. When I admitted as much, Jack said, “So do you want to go on trying to convince me that your friend on the fire escape was a dream?”
My reaction was to try to make light of the idea. “At least he must have liked me better because he didn’t hiss at me.”
That made Jack laugh. “Yes, I’m sure he liked you better. Even an alien could tell that Howard Gilmartin was an asshole from the get-go.”
“You know,” I said to Jack, “I went to a Blue Awareness introduction session when I was . . . well, back in the hippie days, in San Francisco. They explained how Howard Gilmartin had founded the Blue Awareness but they never mentioned anything like the story you just told me.”
“No, of course not,” he agreed. “Because that would make Gilmartin sound like a coward. Instead, when he got out of the service and started writing, he turned the story around. In his version, the alien—whom he describes as looking like a shadow—is hostile to him at first, but Gilmartin is able to create a rapport with him. Apparently, somehow the alien senses that Gilmartin is not your everyday human: he’s a superior being. Smarter, stronger, a highly advanced version of your everyday homo sapiens. Anyway, over the course of the next few days, the shadowy alien returns again and again to Gilmartin’s radar station and has a lot of long conversations with him—only in the stories, the radar installation is somewhere in a remote desert area of the southwest instead of on a navy ship and the Gilmartin character is the lone operator stationed at this post, where he works for a secret government agency. Eventually, he quits because the higher ups at the agency don’t believe him when he reports his particular close encounter with this strange being, or the information that his visitor revealed
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