Years after a UFO camping encounter, Terry Lovelace discovered a possible alien implant in a routine x-ray

9-minute reading time

Terry Lovelace. (n.d.). About Me.

I’ve been a devoted runner for most of my life. I began running in earnest when I left the military in late 1979. I didn’t run marathons, but I was devoted to three or four miles a day. Soon I noticed something odd. At about the two-mile mark in my run a spot on my right leg went completely numb. It was just above my knee and only about an inch in diameter. With a pin I could define its edges as perfectly round. Less than an hour after my run the sensation returned. I mentioned it to my doctor who blew it off and suggested I do the same. I dubbed it my “numb spot” and never gave it a second thought. That was until October 22, 2012 when a fall landed me in an emergency room. An X-ray of my leg above the knee discovered an anomalous bit of metal.

The radiologist was sure it was a manmade object about the size of a fingernail with two wires attached. He pointed out it resembled an “RIFD compute device.” He also noticed a collection of foreign objects below in my calf muscle. He insisted on examining my leg for scar tissue, insisting the only way these objects could become embedded in my leg would have required an incision. He said, “It’s impossible to breach the integrity of the skin without leaving a scar.” There is no scar. I asked, “Doctor, how often do you find a foreign body underneath the skin without a corresponding scar?”

He thought for a moment. “Never,” he replied. “I’ve been a radiologist for 23 years and I’ve never seen it before.” He said it was “disturbing.”

A day or two later I made the connection. The foreign object in my knee lay just below my “numb spot.” In early 2013 the nightmares returned and reopened a chapter of my life I hoped had ended in 1978. I had no intention of ever disclosing what happened to my friend and I back in 1977.

September of 2017, I was a guest speaker at a UFO event in Houston. It was my first public appearance and opportunity to speak candidly on the topic of alien abduction. This was the time when I decided to write a book. It’s an important topic. We deserve to be informed and not mislead. I fear we’ve been desensitized about the UFO phenomena by the media especially the motion picture industry. Close Encounters of the Third Kind was released in November 1977. my experience happened in June that same year. Now, YouTube provides a flood of valid information mixed with confabulation and deception. Know the truth. Alien’s really exist and some live and walk among us without so much as a second look. There are probably many species from different worlds or different dimensions here on Earth today.

Some aliens may actually be our “benign space brothers” as some have claimed. Here to join hands and walk mankind into a new era of peace and higher consciousness. Maybe so, but not the ones we met.

The beings we met were monsters. They kidnap people and subject them to terror and brutality in pursuit of their agenda. They are 100% purpose-driven and void of empathy for human or animal suffering. We are their lab rats. Once you’re tagged as their specimen you’re tagged for a lifetime. Like a wild animal on the Serengeti Plane.

When I finished speaking, about a dozen people stayed and formed a queue to ask questions. Some folks just wanted to know a few more details and a few others told me about their own abduction experiences. I noticed a young college student growing impatient for his turn. A few minutes later he came forward and excitedly asked, “How can I get them to take me?” I was stunned. “Were you not paying attention?” I asked.

I guess not.

Look closely at the x-ray images. What makes these images remarkable is the absence of scar tissue over or near the objects.

Look closely at the x-ray images. What makes these images remarkable is the absence of scar tissue over or near the objects. If you’re curious about my abduction and what qualifies me to speak with authority about such an esoteric topic, it began on a camping trip. In 1977, I was a 22-year-old staff sergeant in the United States Air Force. My friend Toby and I went on a two-night camping trip to an Arkansas State park known as Devils Den. We planned the trip as a wilderness adventure. Instead of a wilderness adventure, we experienced an encounter with something unimaginable. We became unwilling participants to events that shaped our futures in ways we could never have imagined. It’s caused me four decades of disturbed sleep. It cost my dear friend his life.

After my enlistment I made my profession in the law, first as an attorney in private practice and then as a civil servant. The question I’m most often asked is, “Why didn’t you come forward sooner?” There are several reasons. I enjoyed the respect of my peers and a good reputation in the legal community. Had I come forward with my story 30 or even 10 years ago, it would not have been well received. It would have meant the end of my legal career.

In certain professions the subject of UFOs is taboo. To name just a few: the law, academia, medicine, and the commercial airline industry. Being overheard discussing the UFO topic in the lunchroom can carry negative consequences.

YouTube provides a flood of valid information mixed with confabulation and deception.
My wife and I kept this topic to ourselves. We learned to avoid the subject because of the nightmares that always returned after the event was discussed. Horrific dreams that disturbed our sleep. Over time we discovered these night-terrors were punitive. If we avoided the subject matter the nightmares would cease … for a time. They never completely abated. In later years I would experience one or two a year. They persist to this day.

I’m asked how I can recall these things with such clarity when they occurred so long ago? As soon as I learned I was being investigated by the USAF’s Office of Special Investigations or “OSI,” I prepared a written chronology of everything that happened. I had been threatened with a court-martial for trespass onto federal land and it seemed wise to record all I could remember while it was fresh in my mind.

I began keeping a written journal of my nightmares. It required some discipline, but I forced myself to record as much on paper as I could remember before the memories vanished. I found it helped me to better understand what happened. I learned to cope with the terror.

On a beautiful June evening in 1977 the event that what would become the Incident at Devils Den unfolded

We arrived at Devils Den State Park in Northwestern Arkansas in the midafternoon. We intentionally dodged the crowded campgrounds and sought somewhere remote. A place better suited to photographing wildlife, particularly eagles. We drove deep into the park seeking out an isolated area on high ground. Our gravel road degraded into twin ruts in a dirt trail. Eventually, we crested the top of the small hill that opened onto a field.

Before us was a small meadow of late blooming wildflowers and knee-high grass. For a moment, we were awestruck by the scene. We nodded to one another and celebrated our good fortune. “This was the place!” The expanse of the high plateau was perfect for wildlife photography. We set up our campsite just as twilight enveloped us. The night was crystal clear, and the stars were amazing.

After a late dinner of some badly burned hot dogs we settled in for an evening around the campfire. Close to 10:00 PM, our conversation came to a lull. After a few moments, I noticed the usual forest sounds of crickets and tree frogs fell quiet. It sounds cliché but it was true. The forest that had been alive with nature sounds earlier in the evening abruptly fell silent. Even the westerly breeze we enjoyed earlier was gone. In the flickering light of our campfire,

I noticed the leaves on the trees were still. The best analogy I can offer is that we were no longer looking at forest scenery, we were looking at an image of the scenery. It was more akin to a three-dimensional hologram.

The stillness unnerved me, but my friend Toby assured me our laughter and chatter had quieted the crickets and they’d soon return. I still felt unsettled. Looking to the west, Toby asked, “Hey, were those lights there before?” I turned to look. Just above the horizon sat a tight triangle of very bright stars. We watched them for a few minutes and argued about what they were. We first thought they were airplane lights but quickly dismissed that notion because of the odd configuration and the fact they were stationary. They sat too high above the horizon to be lights from a roadway or a parking lot. For about fifteen minutes our debate continued.

This was a single solid object. It tumbled at times, rotating end over end as it gained altitude.

Then they moved. The three points turned in perfect unison. They rotated once as if on an axis and began a slow ascent into the night sky. The movements of the three points of light were perfectly synchronized. This was a single solid object. It tumbled at times, rotating end over end as it gained altitude. The lights on each point of the triangle grew brighter and they expanded. The size was difficult to gage. But it was big. Its summersaults were too perfect for movement without a purpose. The points stayed equidistant to one another as it sped up and continued to claw its way higher until it reached its ceiling.

The area inside the triangle was solid black, much darker than the surrounding night sky of dark blue. As it traveled over stars they would blink out for a moment and then blink back on again as it moved past. Much like the phenomena during the “Phoenix Lights.” As it grew larger it eventually devoured entire fields of stars. We watched as the triangle continued a steady trek toward our campsite. Incredibly, it continued to grow exponentially as it approached us.

Oddly, we felt no fear. Soon our excitement ebbed. Our mood bordered on disinterest. I was wrestling with these conflicted emotions but soon just relaxed. About the time it reached the highest point in the sky, I noticed all fear had left me. In its place was a warm sensation of calm bordering on sedation. It washed over me in waves and increased in intensity as the object drew closer. I asked my friend, “Hey Toby, … are you scared?” It was a minute or two before he replied, “Ugh-uh. Man, I’m not scared. Are you … scared?”

 I muttered, “Nope.”

I wonder what will happen if I try to signal it?
Now it was over our heads and it was enormous. It was as if someone had cut a perfect triangle from a sky filled with a billion stars. Left was a void of darkness that ate-up a fourth of the night sky. My disinterest in the thing puzzled me and it baffles me to this day. My friend was equally indifferent. Hardly a word was spoken between us. The crickets and tree frogs had not returned but I no longer felt unnerved by their silence or the stillness in the forest. Picking up a flashlight, Toby said, “I wonder what will happen if I try to signal it?” I was too slow to snatch it from his hand. Holding it over his head, he flashed it three times. We waited to see if anything would happen. We didn’t have long to wait.

From the center of this thing came a beacon of light about the diameter of a softball. It came down as if someone had flipped a switch. The light was centered on our campfire, not much more than embers by now.

The beam of light was almost solid, like a high-power searchlight cutting through dense fog. But there was no fog. Just a visible column of white light. We became more like casual observers. I was curious but at the same time I felt detached. As quickly as it had appeared the white light switched off. In its place came a laser-like beam of blue or violet light no broader than a pencil. It darted quickly and danced about the campsite as if scanning the area, scanning us. The beam struck my chest and head, but I felt nothing.

I recall it struck Toby as well as it continued to flit around the campsite for a few minutes before unexpectedly switching off. We sat in silence for a time while this enormous thing was motionless over our heads. The silence was such that I was aware of my breathing and heartbeat.

After 15 minutes, Toby broke the silence. He calmly announced, “Show’s over,” or words to that effect. In unison, we dragged our air mattresses behind us and crawled into our tent. I dropped my air mattress and fell on top of it fully dressed. I didn’t bother to remove my boots. As I rolled over on my back I recall Toby was already snoring softly. My last thought was he’d been mistaken. The crickets and tree frogs did not return. This wasn’t a dream or sleep paralysis. But it would soon become a nightmare.

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