The Pop up Kid: Secret Memoirs of the Intentionally Abused

By Noah Jacobson

The Pop-Up Kid is a powerful work that will leave you amazed and full of wonder; at the same time, it inspires the downtrodden to get up and overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles. This book will no doubt compel you to ask yourself, How many of us have gone through this process? Have I been through this process? Is it possible that we all go through this process and are made not to remember? And as you read this work, you will tearfully ask, how could this be? How could one kid experience and survive so much pain and suffering? It may seem that it just couldnt be. But it was so, and it remains so.

The Pop-Up Kid is a must read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491841914

Noah Jacobson

Noah Jacobson provides a deep look behind the hidden doors of the unknown, pulling the reader into the experience and leaving the reader with fears and questions about the many unseen events that are going on around us at all times, many of which he experienced firsthand and personally on numerous occasions. He offers an in-depth perspective on why we are here, who put us here, and how long we are allowed to stay. He leaves the reader with the feeling that we should all take better notice of the things that occur before our very eyes, for many of these happenings may not be what they appear to be. He brings into sharp focus the relationship between man and God by offering biblical verses that parallel miraculous events that occurred in the past and then were repeated, to a degree, in his own life.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Switcheroo

June 25, 1962, was a warm day in Fort Holston, Alaska; even in the summer sometimes it’s not so warm there. Warm days are not a given anywhere in Alaska, so you might say this day was an exception. It was a fine day for a drive, even though our destination was to the hospital to visit our father.

It was my mother at the wheel doing the driving; my older brother Wally was in the passenger seat. My oldest brother, Theodore, was sitting in the passenger-side seat in the back; my younger brother, Malcom (Bro), was next to him in the middle backseat, and I was sitting in the driver’s-side backseat, behind my mother.

My mother, who was and still is a drop-dead knockout of a woman, was also a singer, so it goes without saying she loves music, So naturally, as we were driving along, we were listening to the radio—probably the station where my old man worked, as he was also a DJ for the army. Oftentimes we would catch his broadcast, but not this day, because it’s not easy to DJ while lying in a hospital bed with two broken legs.

After we traveled a few miles down the road, my mother said aloud, It’s warm in this car; one of you boys roll down a window.

Wally was the first volunteer, but Mom declined to let him. She said as warmly and as beautifully as only a mother could, No, it’s Noah’s birthday; let him do it.

Honored and excited, I reached for the window crank and began to turn it; it never occurred to me that what I had in my hand was not turning as a window opener should. It wasn’t that I didn’t know how a window opener functioned; it was, I think, that I was so excited to have been asked by my mother to open the window in the first place, coupled with the fact that it was my birthday, that I really didn’t pay attention to what I was doing. If I had been more careful, and less excited, I would have realized that my hand was on the door handle.

Without giving it a second look, I lifted up the door handle, and the door flew open really fast. As the door swung open, the weight of it pulled me out of the car, as I was still hanging on to the handle. I don’t know why it was that I didn’t let go while the door was opening, but I think it was because things happened so fast that I didn’t have any time to react any differently than I did. In any case, I think that it was fortunate that I was able to hold on to the door handle for as long as I did; if I had let go and fallen directly out of the car, I am sure I wouldn’t be writing this story to you today.

This car was and old DeSoto and was built heavy, so I was really lucky that I was able to even hold on to the door handle at all, for the weight of this door, and the speed with which it opened, could have easily yanked the handle out of my hand; or it could have, and probably should have, thrown me into the middle of the road. But for some strange reason, none of those things occurred. So there I was, being pulled down the road, hanging on to the door of an old DeSoto.

Surprisingly, I didn’t panic. I remember I kept looking around at my situation, thinking of how I might get out of it. As I looked down, I watched as my legs were limply bouncing on the road from right to left; and right was the direction of the tires.

I looked up a few times during what must have been seconds, to see only the side of my mother’s face still smiling, as she had no idea what was going on behind her. The entire time this was happening, I never thought to scream or yell out to my mother or brothers; I guess there was no time for that. There was only time enough to concentrate on trying to stop my legs from being pulled underneath the tires, which was my concern and my major focus.

Everything was so quiet; I never heard a sound through the entire thing and never felt any pain.

I looked over at my brothers who had been sitting next to me, and they could only stare in amazement, for they were equally in far too much shock to scream to my mother as to what was going on behind her.

I looked down again, and my legs were moving closer to the tire; then the tire, with the assistance of gravity, finally caught up with me. I can still remember being pulled under the tire to the point where I could no longer see my feet. About that same moment I was yanked from holding on to the door, and my body slammed against ground. The impact of my head hitting the pavement apparently caused me to black out; I did not feel or hear a thing until I woke up some months later.

When I regained consciousness it was wintertime, but according to my mother, I came around long before then. In fact, according to her, I spent only a few days in the hospital and then went home. But that’s not what I remember, and I don’t believe that was the way things happened. Rather, I know that something else happened to me, but I believe now that my mother and family were not aware of it. I believe that what happened to me was one of those things that cannot be seen from this side of life.

I remember that, for me, there was a long period of blackness, total darkness. I don’t know how I was aware of time, but somehow I was, and this time in darkness felt long and overly peaceful, and it was silent.

I know I was not with my family; I was definitely somewhere else. I can’t be sure where it was, but it seemed I was in a place where one goes when one is between life and death, or when one is dead. It was a dark, quiet place; I saw nothing but blackness. I never heard a sound, but it was never uncomfortable there.

I don’t believe that I spent only a few days in the hospital; I think that the memory of this day was so painful for my mother that she would rather not speak of it at all. But when she is pressured to speak of it, she would rather have me think that it wasn’t anything serious, when in actuality it had to have been a life-threatening accident. All the physical evidence supports that fact. I am certain that this was an accident that left me in the hospital or in a guarded place for a very long period of time—a period in time that I had originally thought my mother would rather forget. Or was it so that what I experienced was something totally different from what my family experienced? I have come to believe that this was the case.1

I am also certain that I was in a coma, and my thinking is that after I came out of it, my parents were given a doctor’s opinion of my chances of a normal life, and the information was not good. I think that this is why my mother has refused to tell me the truth about my injuries until today; she doesn’t want me to know that I wasn’t supposed to live after the accident. And she doesn’t want me to know that when it was clear that I was going to live, the prognosis from the doctors was that I probably would not live long, or I would be severely damaged mentally.

Of course I can only assume that, because I have to accept also that it’s possible that my mother told me the entire truth as she saw it, and that all of the things that I know happened to me happened in a way that I alone would be aware of. One thing is for sure: when I look back on my life and think of some of the challenges that I had that others in my family did not have, it is safe for me to assume that these challenges came as a direct result of the accident—an accident that could not have been minor but perhaps was made to appear minor from my family’s perspective, for the sake of their well-being.

The first thing I remember after that accident is being in a large room in a place that I know I had never seen before. I am certain it was not the bedroom that I had before the accident; In fact, it couldn’t have been, because I wouldn’t have had a room by myself; I don’t think we would have been in a house where there was even the possibility of my having a room of my own.

Perhaps my family moved during the time I was in the hospital, or perhaps they moved the house we had been living in around in such a way that it appeared totally unfamiliar to me. Or perhaps all my memories of the six years prior to the day of my accident were erased, so everything seemed new to me. However, somehow I feel certain that I had never been in this house or place before, and I have never been there since.

This room was very comfortable and dimly lit, with a really cool lamp that turned like a carousel. It seemed to have circus figures and balls of red, blue, and yellow painted on the shade, which were projected onto the walls as the shade spun round and round quietly, giving the room a rust-colored tint.

It was very peaceful and unusually quiet, leaving me with the impression that this place was not where the rest of my family lived. Or that it was a place where my family had no idea that I was which might explain why no one from my family came to visit me or came to my aid during the entire time I was in this room.

Outside my window was a howling winter wind; even with the windows closed, the air from the wind’s force was still strong enough that I could feel it passing over my skin from time to time. Winters in Alaska were beautiful but brutally cold, but this winter seemed to be different—somehow colder and more intense. I felt that I was isolated and totally alone.

As I listened to the wind blowing so hard and loud at times, it seemed to me that I was located in a place that was in the middle of an open field, or in an object that was elevated above the trees, so that there was no protection from the gale-force winds. I have often asked myself if it is possible that I was being flown from one location to another.

These were strange days for me. As I remember it, I was bedridden for a very long time, and the days and the hours lying in the bed sometimes felt like an eternity. It seemed that I never had any visitors to keep me company. I don’t remember one time that anyone came to see me, or even to feed me, the entire time that I was in this room.

I only remember that on a few occasions when I was frightened by some of the things that I am about to explain to you, the figure of a person would come in and see to me; but even to this day I can’t say who that was. I don’t remember ever seeing a face; I don’t recall ever having a conversation with this person, or this person ever making any physical contact with me. I only remember that when I screamed from fright, this person would come through a door that was positioned behind the top left side of my bed and about five feet down a small entryway. There this person would stand, by the top left side of my bed—just out of a clear line of sight, with regard to my limited mobility—and he or she would just look down on me without saying a word. Then, after I was calm, the person would just leave. From what I could make out, the figure appeared to have the form of a woman, but what is strange is that her face seemed to be unusually long.

Somehow the presence of that person was enough to ease my fear, yet having all of my concerns controlled from a distance, as it seemed, felt strange to me. It wasn’t that I was aware that I was being taken care of without direct contact; it was more that I was becoming aware that something unusual was happening to me, and that began to feel strange.

Was this a form of telepathy? Was this person communicating with me through my mind? I am not sure, but what is even stranger than that is that I don’t remember ever going to the toilet the entire time that I was in this room, or even requiring the need of a toilet. I don’t remember ever eating, or even having a tray of food offered to me to eat if I wanted or needed to. I only remember lying in a fixed position in a comfortable bed, with unexplainable things going on around me, for a very long time.

Oftentimes while lying there I would wonder what all had happened to me and when and if I was ever going to be normal again. Sometimes I would conduct a self-check to try to figure out what might be broken in me, and though I have never been told the extent of my injuries, I do believe that I sustained a very serious head injury, as well as significant damage to my knees and legs.

The damage to my legs must have been very serious, because the entire time that I was in this room, I experienced many unexplainable things that frightened me to my bones, but I never once attempted to jump out of the bed to try to escape the experience; this was because somehow I knew it was impossible for me to do so. I am certain that naturally I would have if I thought I could have, or if my legs would have allowed me to.

It also seemed that I was fixed in one position in the bed and that I was unable to shift my body in any direction. My legs were kept straight, toes up, as I remained lying on my back the entire time. My head was kept in a brace, keeping me in a position with my spine straight and my head positioned upward, so that I was facing the ceiling at all times. I remember being able to move only my eyes.

The damage to my head was totally unknown to me until thirty-eight years later a girlfriend asked me what happened to the back of my head. Not having any idea of what she was talking about, I used two mirrors to see it for myself; the scar is at least four inches long, which means that, given the size of my head at six years old, practically the entire back of my head had been busted open.

This was just a small detail; I can understand why my mother would prefer not to tell me, but I needed to know for me, so I asked again, and the answer I received did not surprise me.

My mother claims that whatever happened to my head had to have happened another time because there was never an incident or accident that she is aware of that would have required surgery to my head. However, I am certain that this scar occurred during the same time I was being treated for other injuries due to the car accident. It is the only time that I recall having received any kind of impact to my head. This had to have happened when my head slammed against the ground when I fell out of the car. So why is it that my family has no idea that I sustained multiple serious injuries? How can it be that they are totally unaware of what all happened to me?

I noticed also that the cut from the head injury is at the base of my head, where my neck begins, making it clear to me that I am fortunate not to have broken my neck. This might explain the braced position that I was in during my stay in what I thought was a hospital. It might also explain why I was gone for so long in that dark place; the impact of my head hitting the pavement after being jerked from holding on to a door handle as a result of having both of my feet trapped under the back tire of a moving car, traveling at a presumed minimum speed of forty miles per hour, might have been enough to send anyone to another place—usually a place called a grave.

In later years I would discover that I had stitches in the groin area of both legs, leading me to believe that my legs must have been separated, to a degree, and then sewn back together. But according to my mother I was only in the hospital for a day or two. So how is it, if I was treated only as an outpatient, that I have so many scars suggesting major surgery was required? Well it can’t really be, unless there is more to this life then we are allowed to understand.

This was a very serious accident; how is it and why is it that I survived? At that point in my life, I knew nothing about the truth, so it couldn’t have been about that—or could it have been? Could this have been the first proof that I was chosen to defy death to demonstrate the power and the will of God? Or could this have been the first incident that was destined to happen to me so that I would eventually seek the path of the truth? Or could this have been one of those incidents that you might prefer to file under Unexplained?

Allow me to please offer you thoughts on occasion from the King James Version of The African Heritage Study Bible. Some of these verses, I believe, have much to do with what happened to me, as well as what might happen to me in the future. But if for nothing else, I utilize these Scriptures to help you, as well as myself, understand that these things that happened to me were not exclusive; these types of unexplained things have happened to many others over the course of history.

I offer you these Scriptures also to allow you to make your own decision as to whether these incidents might have anything to do with the truth or not. I also wish to explain to you that while I consider myself to be a deeply religious man, I am in the end just a man and subject to error as well as imperfection; and that is why later in this book you might find my language to be a bit untheological. I beg your understanding in the matter, as it is impossible for me not to express the situations as I felt them at the time.

Be not afraid of sudden fear, neither of the desolation of the wicked, when it cometh.

For the Lord shall be thy confidence, and shall keep thy foot from being taken.

—Proverbs 3:25–26

But all of those things where of little matter to me then, because I really never knew what happened to me, and I certainly could not conclude at my age that what happened to me had anything to do with God. I knew only that whatever happened was serious enough that I could not walk normally for what seemed to be a very long time, and that all of a sudden I began to have very strange spiritual things happening around me.

After a while it was no longer the accident and the recovery that dominated my thoughts every day; it became more so that I spent most of my time trying to figure out all of the strange things that I saw every night, and what they wanted from me.

The first thing I saw was a vision. It appeared to me like a movie on the far wall of my room. It scared me at first, because I didn’t know what to make of it. Then somehow I became comfortable with it and had the feeling that I was supposed to be watching this vision for detail, as it felt like some sort of spiritual message.

Then there was a strange voice that I heard as a whisper; it was then that I realized that I was not alone. Though I could not discern what the voice was saying to me, I somehow had the feeling that it was speaking with me to comfort me, and it did. It was a bit unsettling to know that something unseen had the power to alter my mood. I still can’t explain why it was that I was able to accept this presence and not become totally frightened, but it was so.

The vision was so vivid that it seemed as though the wall was no longer there and I was actually looking from my bed into a dense forest.

The vision that appeared to me was like a page directly out of the Bible. Though I knew very little about the Bible then, my mother knew very much about it, and I believe that she would often read to us or tell us stories from the bible. This vision somehow reminded me of the story of Adam and Eve, a story that most children are told in school or at home.

I saw a very large snake crawling up a tree; it was long and green. The view that I had of the snake was as if I were sitting in the tree and it was crawling directly toward me.

The snake was far from me, but it seemed that the tongue of this serpent kept snapping quickly directly in front of my eyes.

As it approached ever closer, I then saw a green apple appear before the face of the serpent. It was as if I were holding the apple in my hand, offering it. Then the serpent bit into the apple, and the vision disappeared.

And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh; and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions.

—Joel 3:28

This vision did not frighten me even for a moment, which in itself was surprising, because I think that at my age normally I should have been frightened. Somehow during the entire experience I felt calm and strangely curious to see what would happen next.

After the vision disappeared, I stayed wide awake most of the night, thinking about it. But it was not as if I was intentionally pondering it; it was more like I hadn’t a choice, as this vision would not leave my thoughts. You might say it is natural for something like that not to leave one’s thoughts so quickly, and I would agree, but this was different. I wasn’t just thinking about the incident; the details of the vision kept spinning in my head: the color of the serpent, the beauty of the forest, me offering the apple, and the way the vision paralleled the Bible story. This played over and over in my head as if to ensure that I would remember everything.

After the vision, nearly every night while I was in this room, I would witness shadows flashing across the walls. In the beginning I was so frightened that I would scream out loud, causing the unknown person to come into the room to see to me, sometimes hourly.

These shadows did not seem to be images coming out of the wall; they seemed to be shadows that were cast from unseen forms within my room onto the wall. Sometimes these shadows would move from one side of the room to the other, and the way that they appeared on the wall made it seem as if they were running back and forth. Usually there were three or more at a time. They seldom made a sound, but strangely enough, I could feel them around my bed. They seemed to only come to me in the night hours, and they were there every night, all night.

This was very uncomfortable and frightening. After a number of days, I came to expect that I would see these shadows, and while I never was comfortable with them, I began getting used to the fact that they were going to come whether I liked it or not, so I tried to make myself understand why they were there.

I began thinking to myself that they were there to help me, because though they frightened me with their presence, they never attempted to harm me. Perhaps the intention was to frighten me; or could it be that they were testing me to see if I would be interested in their dark world?

In the beginning, before I would scream for help, I would always shut my eyes, because I didn’t want to see them. Then I got to the point where I would keep my eyes open, watch their movement for a while, and try to figure out what they were doing. Sometimes I would look at them for a long time, and while I was always uncomfortable with them, many times I did not scream, because they seemed to be calm and moved slowly about my room.

Other times they seemed to be aggressive and would move very quickly. When they did that, I could feel them; the air would move over my skin as they dashed around me. This was totally frightening; it gave me the feeling that when this happened, these were other spirits—the unfriendly ones. These shadows frighten me even today.

Sometimes these shadows would cause intense things to happen around me. Many times they would make the walls in my room appear to be closing in on either side of my bed. At times the walls would seem to be so close that I could reach out from my bed and touch them.

Other times it appeared that there was no space between the sides of my bed and the walls and that soon the walls would began crushing the bed and then me. These moments caused me the most fear—so much so that it felt as if my heart would burst from beating too fast. It was one thing to be frightened out of my wits by strange spirits dashing around me; it was truly another experience to not be able to move my body to escape them.

During the times when they would do this, I could hear them. They sometimes made sounds as if they were moaning. This moaning sound always seemed to stay at one pitch, and it sounded as though they made this same pitch for the same duration of time, as they would moan in unison.

This moaning sound was terrifying. It was enormous, and it filled the room; even when I screamed, it seemed that I could not scream over them. This was the thing that I feared most from these shadows; it was the thing that I am sure made me begin to pray, praying that they would go away.

It seemed as if the spirits that created the illusion that the walls were closing in on me had an uncanny sense of timing; the walls would move slowly back into place once I began screaming, just in time for the unseen person to dart through the door, every time.

Of course I know that these were just illusions and that the walls were not really moving, and that is why they were always in place when the unknown person came into the room; but be that as it may, these illusions seemed to be real, and even though they could not have been, my fear was.

I believe that most of what I experienced was a direct result of the damage to the back of my head; maybe all of it was. It was as I explained to you earlier—a traumatic experience, but not a traumatic experience that should cause me to hallucinate for the rest of my life. No, this was a traumatic experience that caused the door to be opened for spiritual confrontations to begin in my life and stay in my life, forcing me on a path to answers.

I truly believe that though it appeared to my family that I came out of this accident alive and well, I actually did not. I believe that at the moment my head made contact with the pavement that day, the person that I used to be died, and the person that I was destined to become was prepared and groomed by those spirits in that strange room.

I also believe that if a person that resembled me came to our home the day after the car accident, it was not me. It just couldn’t have been, as I was gone for a very long time and recall nothing of my family before that following winter. And what’s stranger then that is that I remember everything that happened in that strange room, as well as everything that happened in my life after I came back home that winter. So how could it be that I was home with my family the day after the accident? Wouldn’t I remember that also? Or wouldn’t I remember some of what happened between June and December? What was going on during this period of time? How could it be that I was in two places at once? How could it be that my family was seeing me but I was not seeing my family?

I also believe that during the critical moments that followed the accident, God went into action to bring me back to life and to set me on a path that would ultimately bring me to this point, where I would write to you about this and many other unbelievable occurrences in my life, so as to offer proof to you that we are not alone—not by a long shot, jack.

Naturally, these being the first strange things that happened in my life, I never made a spiritual connection to them. And at six years old, it probably was not expected of me anyway. But every journey begins with the first steps, and these were merely the introductions to what I would have to look forward to for the rest of my life.

I am not sure how long I stayed in that room; I don’t remember ever being removed from it. I don’t remember checking out of the hospital or the ride home from the hospital. I only remember that one day I woke up in a bed that was in a room with my brothers, and it seemed as if this was not the first day that I had slept in that room, because my brothers didn’t treat me as if I had just come home.

I can’t tell you what happened to the time between these two rooms; I am not aware of anything having taken place, other than what I have explained. It was as if I went to sleep in the room with the shadows one night and woke up the next day with my family. It also seemed somehow that the time that I had spent in the room with the shadows and strange beings that would not show their faces, was time that I had spent in darkness, or rather a timeless holding area. Perhaps this was that place between life and death. And when I woke up in the room with my family, I suddenly returned to the light.

Perhaps this happened because the decision was made to allow me to continue living in my former arrangement. It may have worked out in another way if I had not accepted the vision and the spiritual things that were constantly going around me; or perhaps the experience of the vision and the spiritual activity are required before you are allowed to leave that place.

Perhaps the person that my family thought was me would have suddenly died in his sleep if it were clear to the spirits that monitor these types of spiritual adjustments that I was not able or willing to accept spiritual intervention from time to time over the course of my life. But because I became somewhat comfortable with these happenings around me, it was as if I agreed to allow them enter and leave my life; perhaps this was the condition that would permit me to go on living. I don’t know; what do you think?

Take fast hold of instruction; let her not go: keep her; for she is thy life.

Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not into the way of evil men.

Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it, and pass away.

For they sleep not, except they have done mischief; and their sleep is taken away, unless they cause some to fall.

—Proverbs 4:13–16

Chapter 2

Home

It may be that I came back to my family during Christmas break, because for the remainder of the time that we were in Alaska, I don’t recall ever going to school—or ever going anywhere at all, for that matter. I really don’t know. All that I do know is that no matter what room I went to sleep in or woke up in, I had contact with spirit beings.

The next contact was a bit more vivid and totally uncomfortable. It was the same year, 1962. The night before this incident, we stayed up late watching television; that in itself was unusual, because in the early ’60s in Alaska, TV stayed on only until about six or seven in the evening. But on special occasions they would broadcast a family program, and when they did this, the station would stay on until about eleven o’clock. We stayed up that night until the end of the last program; Mom and her four boys. My father seemed never to be around.

Early the next morning, I was lying in my bed waiting for Mom to give the call for breakfast, as she always did. As I lay there, I remember thinking for a moment how fine it was to be together with my family again, but more importantly, how good it was to be sleeping in the same room with my three brothers. It felt safer and definitely more familiar than the other room, wherever that was. That room always felt cold and dark, and it felt as if I were always under observation by life forms that were other than human.

We had four little beds side by side; my bed was on the end, nearest the door. Next to me was Bro; next to him was Theodore. Wally had the bunk at the far side, next to the wall, under the window.

Mom yelled for us to come and eat. I looked to my right at my brothers springing out of bed and running for the breakfast table. I lifted up my head to prepare to swing my feet out of bed to join them, but it didn’t happen; I guess that I was still unable to walk properly and that some days were better than others at that time; this was one of the bad days for me—or rather for my legs, I suppose.

Maybe I was simply made to feel that I could not walk at that moment so that the following contact could be accomplished.

I yelled out to my mother that I didn’t feel well; a moment or so later, she came to check on me to see what might be the matter. She stood in the doorway of the room and looked down on me with her loving smile, and then she came over and felt my head to check my temperature. Apparently I had a fever, and so she told me to stay in bed for the day. This wasn’t something that I really wanted to do, because not only did I feel ill, but I also had the feeling again that I was about to be confronted.

Every time I would have one of those spiritual visits, a strange whirling sound always seemed to come first. It was as if this sound were their calling card; it sounded like a fan blowing back and forth inside of my head, and the wind from this fan seemed to be subjected to a flange-type effect from time to time, giving it an eerie but distinctive sound. Any time I heard this, I knew something strange was about to occur.

I settled in my bed, getting as comfortable as I could under the circumstances, and just as I began to get cozy, fluorescent green smoke began billowing from the floor at the left side foot of the bed. Being quite used by now to these strange little visits, I didn’t panic; I just watched and waited for the smoke to clear so that I could see what was confronting me.

As the smoke thinned out, I began to see an image; it took a while for me to focus on it at first, because this time it was not a shadow, or just a feeling with sounds; it was a creature-like being.

I didn’t expect that I would see something like that; I was expecting something unclear or practically invisible. This was an actual life form, a hideous-looking thing—so hideous that I forgot to become frightened by it. I could only stare at it and wonder what it was, what it wanted from me, and why it was so ugly.

He was a short, chubby creature that resembled a leprechaun with green-colored skin and fire-red, frizzy, out-of-order hair. His eyes were those of a snake; he sported a huge wart on his nose, and his fingers were stubby and ever fidgeting. He stood and stared at me, completely still—with the exception of his fingers, which were always moving, like those of someone preparing to crack a safe. His eyes moved quickly from side to side, and up and down, but they never blinked. Though he never made an aggressive action, I sensed danger in his eyes, but somehow also fear.

I could only stare back at him; it never crossed my mind to attempt to speak to him, or even call for help, because it wasn’t that kind of meeting. It seemed to me that he was present there only to observe me in order to determine who it was that now had this gift and to see if I had the composure to deal with his presence—and if he had the composure to deal with mine, I suppose. It also seemed that he wanted to make me aware that it was possible that these types of beings existed, and that it was possible that I would see these types of things again. This was merely an introduction to what I should expect in the future.

His visit lasted only a few minutes, and then the smoke came again; when it cleared, he was gone. Strangely, immediately after he disappeared I became extremely ill and began to vomit.

And the evil spirit answered and said, Jesus I know, and Paul I know; but who are ye?

And the man in whom the evil spirit was leaped on them, and overcame them, and prevailed against them, so that they fled out of that house naked and wounded.

—Acts 19 15–16

Later, after considering what had happened, I realized that whatever was going on with me concerning these visions and confrontations was starting to alarm even me.

I decided not to tell anyone about them, because to be honest with you, it seemed so strange that I was sure no one would believe it. And though I had not completely recovered from the car accident, I didn’t want to give anyone the impression that I was more damaged than I appeared to be. Even though that was not the way I thought of it at the time, looking back on it, I see that something like that must have crossed my mind. No one would believe these fantastic stories coming from the mouth of a six-year-old kid. And they would be even less believable from the mouth of a kid who had just had his head crushed some months before.

Surprisingly, thirty years later, I listened as my older brother Wally told me a story of having seen the same creature in the same room. He told me that he thought that this demon came out of our mother. He told me this experience before he knew that I had ever seen it, so it appears my brother also has this gift.

Though I didn’t need a confirmation of the things that I was experiencing, it was wonderful to know that they were not just appearing in my head and that they were definitely not the result of the car accident. These things were happening to me for a greater reason—to be a witness to them, and then perhaps to witness to you about them.

I suspect many of you would naturally say that these experiences were a direct result of head trauma and that these illusions are part and parcel of that. And I wouldn’t argue with you, because I didn’t experience them before the accident, I don’t think. What I mean by that is that, though it’s the strangest thing, I don’t remember much about life before the accident.

Naturally one might lose his memory after such an accident, but I just told you what happened in the car before the accident, so I do have some memory of my life before the accident, though it mostly starts with that day. And my accident certainly doesn’t explain how my brother saw the same creature as I did. So this was not totally about the accident.

I truly believe that, in a sense, I died that day and my life was allowed to restart with special features—features that allow me to have frequent contact with spirit beings, and features that allow me to survive, despite impossible odds, for the purpose of helping some of you understand the powers that are around us at all times. So in that sense you could say that the accident had something to do with my spiritual experiences, but what I mean to clarify is that head trauma had nothing to do with it.

It also could be that I always had this ability but never had the chance to experience anything before the accident. So naturally I would think that this all started with the accident. It also could be that I had