The Naked Parade

By Jay Warner

A true account of the alien abduction of Jay Warner that took place in the late 1990s. Warner was forced, along with other people, to parade in front of a crowd of alien beings. Along with a detailed description of this event, there are also descriptions of several other encounters Warner had with extraterrestrials, some of which left lasting physical and psychological scars.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay Warner
• Release date: Mar 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224099719

Book preview

The Naked Parade

Life, Death, and Aliens

By Jay Warner

To everyone seeking truth.

May you find what you are looking for

Copyright ©  2024 Jay Warner

All Rights Reserved

Foreword

Ihave never told this to anyone, not even my closest family members. I suppose the stigma of shame and ridicule that surrounds this subject played a part in my decision to stay quiet, but the biggest reason only dawned on me a couple of weeks ago.

As I write this in the last days of February 2024, sitting at my desk in front of my computer, the weather outside is hot and muggy. I have become accustomed to scorching summers in South Africa, but this summer has broken records, not just in the Southern Hemisphere, but also all over the world. 2023 has been the hottest year since records began and I can attest to that.

An ongoing energy crisis in this country, coupled with frequent power outages from summer storms has made reprieve from the sticky heat hard to find. Many hours have been spent in front of an open window, fanning myself with the cardboard backing torn from a writing pad to find what little comfort I can from the heat that has become so inescapable. Often in the quiet of candlelight, with nothing else to do, I let my mind wander.

Mostly I found myself both marveling and annoyed at our modern civilization's dependency on electricity. If a power outage makes you realize anything at all it is this, everything in our lives works with electricity, from the appliances in our kitchens to the devices connecting us to the rest of the world, and all of it can stop working at the drop of a hat. I often found myself wishing that I could turn back time to before the power crisis started, back when I was younger, when things seemed easier.

If any good has come out of the many hours spent in front of that window, it was that it became a time of unintentional introspection. It turned into a study of my past, and slowly, a realization of the truth that for more than thirty years I had refused to accept. Despite the evidence, the UFO I clearly saw in December of 1992, the subsequent dreams, nightmares, and the physical and emotional scars I bear to this day, I could not bring myself to accept that the pop-culture joke of alien abduction was a very real phenomenon and that it had happened to me.

We have a saying in my culture that no matter how fast a lie is; eventually the truth catches up with it. In the last sweltering days of the summer of 2024, I finally realized that the greatest critic I had to convince was myself.

Chapter 1

The Flying Saucer

My introduction to extraterrestrial life did not come through abduction or the media but through the innocence of childhood. I cannot remember the month, but it was early to mid-1976.

I lived with my parents on the outskirts of a mining town called Klerksdorp, the same town made famous by prehistoric spheres found in the area, though at the time I knew or cared nothing about such things. I was three years old, occupied only by my toys and the excitement of going to visit my grandmother who lived in Randburg, a suburb of Johannesburg, a couple of hours' drive away.

I always thought it was unusual for me to have memories from such a young age, but many people do. I guess some events just have the power to stay with us. The memories are not a continuous stream, but fragments, single events that somehow managed to evade the sifting of time. It was a bright sunny day, not particularly hot or cold, just an average day for the Highveld region of what was then called the Transvaal province. Today it has been renamed to Gauteng, but its climate is still wonderful and something I dearly miss.

My grandmother had two daughters, my mother and aunt, and after several miscarriages, she and my grandfather decided to adopt a baby boy - my Uncle Jake. He always teased me about being my uncle even though he was only about two years older than I was. He was born in August 1970, and I was in March 1973. In 1976, he had just started school and during our visit, he invited me to the tree house that he had been building. In reality, it was mostly just toys and some random objects he had balanced on the branches of the large Jacaranda growing next to my grandmother's house, but it still managed to fill me with awe.

He was very proud of it, and of the fact that he had gone to big school while I was still too young. While sitting on one of the low branches, he excitedly showed off all the stuff they had made in school. I can't remember all of it, but one thing stood out. It was two paper plates stapled on top of each other, decorated with crayon circles, glued on strips of paper, and all the usual treasures of childhood art. It even had a long piece of string taped to the center of the top plate, and when he swung it around the plates spun haphazardly making a rattling noise.

It's a flying saucer, he explained, which made me laugh.

Saucers flying around sounded like the silliest thing I had ever heard of. He continued to explain, telling me that they were something that came from the sky and had strange creatures in them. He was also quite boastful that his teacher had thought his flying saucer was one of the best in class because my grandmother had suggested adding some grains of rice to it so it would make a noise.

I still did not understand. The concept of extra-terrestrial life was a bit much for my three-year-old brain, but I did like the rattling sound his UFO made whenever he shook it. The real one we saw sixteen years later, however, was perfectly quiet.

My grandparents had bought a farm outside Koster, a small town about two hours drive from their house in Randburg. Koster was a very rural place and only had two roads wide enough for my city senses to recognize as actual streets. Driving down the main road out