On MILABS, Intimidations, and the Pursuit of Truth 05.07.10 Search

Even the Indefatigable Warriors Get Tired

Helen Littrell

Several years ago my book, Raechel’s Eyes, told the story of a Black Government project in which a young alien/human hybrid was placed as a roommate with my legally blind daughter, Marisa, while both were freshmen at a Northern California junior college. During the writing process it became evident that while I could recall some information as to my own involvement in the project, many important details were lost.  No matter how hard I tried to remember them, nothing would came through. Eventually June Steiner, Ph.D., a well-respected psychologist specializing in regression hypnosis for abductees, was contacted and agreed to help me retrieve what we both felt were blocked memories.

      Raechel's EyesWe recovered a wealth of information, some that nearly threw both of us for a loop, but it all began to make sense, filling in the gaps in the original sketchy details. It was like fitting into place the last few remaining pieces of a jigsaw puzzle which had previously defied placement.

            One of the more troubling details recovered in the very first regression was a warning by a member of the Humanization Project that if I ever disclosed information regarding the project, thatÖ ďI (and/or) my family would payÖ.Ē  They gave no details of this threat, but from past dealings with them as well as the ďMen in BlackĒ who were Raechelís ďkeepers,Ē I was positive theyíd have no qualms about carrying out whatever it meant.

            Shortly after the book came out I began to experience middle-of-the night abductions. It was like a well-rehearsed routineÖalways the same, each abduction prefaced with identical events. Try as I would, recalling any details beyond the familiar preliminaries was impossible. I would awaken to see a glowing light that apparently came from somewhere above a huge pine tree just outside my bedroom window. Then there would be a compulsion to get out of bed, go to the window and attempt to look up to the top of the huge, 30-foot-tall pine tree just outside it to see what was there. But I never saw anything except the light, which in itself was unusual because it seemed to be composed of soft, diffuse, barely visible particles that looked as if each one could be touched. Something about it mesmerized and comforted me each time it appeared. In some strange way it was like an old friend stopping by to visit.

            The next step in this recurring event, so I thought, was that I got back into bed, and went back to sleep. This, of course, made no sense at all, and I knew there had to be more to it. No one in their right mind, realizing an abduction was about to take place, would just go nonchalantly back to bed, and to sleep. But that was all I ever remembered even though on some level I was always fully aware that an abduction would follow.

            The morning after each of these events was predictable, as well, and without fail I would awaken feeling exhausted, with an excruciating, disabling headache in the exact center of my forehead that would last all day to the point that I could barely function. And there was always an overwhelming thirst for orange juice. Normally I wake up feeling refreshed, rarely have even a minor, short-lived headache, and although I like orange juice, I never crave it.

            A couple of years after Raechelís Eyes came out I realized it was having a very positive effect on readers, as I received many phone calls and emails from people whoíd never before spoken of their experiences or had any kind of acceptance or closure in regard to them. As a result I considered doing a follow-on book expanding on the regressions themselves as well as the manner in which my life had changed for the better. And even though I didnít understand many of the events, Iíd at least gained the ability to accept them as a result of my contact with Raechel and the ďothers.Ē June and I discussed the project, and she agreed that it could bring immeasurable comfort and validation to thousands of abductees. But I simply couldnít get beyond the first couple of chapters. Far more than ďwriterís block,Ē every time I began to write, a vague, persistent feeling that I needed to put it aside for the time being would come over me. This was another thing that made no sense, either, because I was writing the book about experiences, regressions, and contact with non-human entities from the standpoint of ďhaving been there, done that,Ē from early childhood right up through the present.    

May 13, 2008.  Sometime during the early morning hours I remember awakening to the familiar light outside my window, coming from above the pine tree.  It had been several months since Iíd seen it, and for some reason I felt excited and happy. Arising, I went to the window, looked out and up, and as usual failed to visualize anything except the warm, inviting light. And again, there was no sound. I noticed an unusually brisk, cool breeze blowing in through the open window. Vaguely disturbing this time, though, was the gut feeling that this event would somehow be differentÖnothing I could put my finger on, thoughÖI just knew.  I remember going back to bed, and apparently back to sleep. The next thing I knew it was morning, and I again experienced the familiar ďmorning-afterĒ symptoms of extreme fatigue, pounding headache in the middle of my forehead that lasted all day long, and nearly insatiable thirst for orange juice.


Mark This is the mark that was placed on my rightleg, outside surface, about 4" above the ankle, during the abduction of May 13, 2008. It was a dark, shiny red background with pinpoint white marks going diagonally. The size was exactly 5/8" square, with symmetrically rounded corners.

The next day the abduction I noticed an unusual mark on the outside of my right leg, about four inches above my ankle. Dark, shiny red in color, it measured exactly 5/8-inch square with slightly rounded corners, with tiny, pin-point white dots extending in a crisscross manner from corner to corner. When I gingerly touched the mark, it felt exactly like the surrounding skinÖno soreness at all, but with a very raw, angry-looking appearance, much like a burn, more specifically a radiation burn. With the top layer of skin and underlying flesh missing, it should have bled at the slightest touch. However, there was neither blood nor tenderness. It required several months to heal, with tiny little patches of new skin slowly filling in from the edges, then promptly flaking off. Applying a thin film of herbal salve to moisten the surface finally enabled the new skin to regenerate. The mark is now completely healed over, but the skin currently there is of a different, thinner consistency than the surrounding area.  

            On a couple of occasions I tried to photograph the mark while it was still fresh, but each time the camera failed to work, although it operated properly and pictures of other subjects were perfect both before and after each attempt. Each time I attempted to photograph it there was an uneasy, powerful feeling that I wasnít supposed to do it.  I did, however, show the mark to two credible witnesses, neither of whom had ever previously seen anything like it, and demonstrated uneasiness when looking at it.  

            Fast forward several months to February of 2009.  My health, which had always been extraordinarily good, suddenly began to fail to a disabling degree because of severe back and leg problems. Due to rapidly decreasing mobility, I faced emergency major neurosurgery on my back. I was concerned, not so much about the surgery itself, but because i remembered a near-death experience several decades ago when anesthesia failed during a minor surgical procedure. The planned upcoming surgery would involve several hours of general anesthesia.  

            If I declined surgery to repair my disability, I faced the possibility of the spinal cord being compressed to the point that I would never walk again. And that could happen at any time. If I decided to undergo the surgery that could provide complete mobility, the several-hour period of general anesthesia might result in another near-death experience from which I might not return.  It was time for decision making, with neither alternative attractive, or so I thought, and I was worried sick about what to do.

            In a panic, I telephoned June Steiner, explained my predicament, and asked her advice. We discussed the ominous threat made 30 years ago by Black Project members, and concluded that the May 13th abduction and ensuing red mark on my leg MAY OR MAY NOT  have been connected either to the threat with the ensuing publication of Raechelís Eyes or to the new book that I was currently considering writing. And we decided that regardless of what those implications might or might not be, in any case they were definitely in the past. It was critical that I put them out of my mind and deal with the present situation of impending surgery.  

            Since the May 13, 2008, incident was puzzling to both of us due to the almost complete lack of details concerning the strange red mark on my leg, June offered to regress me a little later that evening to see if we might recover some missing information. And although regression by telephone wasnít an ideal method, weíd known each other long enough that we felt comfortable that it was the only viable solution due to time and distance constraints.

            A few hours later, Iím sitting in my recliner with my feet up and the speakerphone situated on a cushion on my lap at a proper height to speak into, leaving my hands free. June asks if Iím comfortable and in a mind-space thatís ready for what we are about to do. I tell her I am, and we begin.

            She induces me in her quiet, reassuring manner and soon I feel myself becoming very peaceful and relaxed, returning as both an observer and participant to the early morning hours of May 13, 2008. I awaken, aware of the bright light enveloping the huge pine tree just outside the window. Itís dark beyond the reaches of that light, and feeling as though Iíve slept for a while, I assume itís sometime after midnight. I get up out of bed, go to the partially open window and look up, but as usual I canít see where the light is coming from.     

           Littrell abduction I feel a strong breeze blowing in through the screen. It seems strange that the branches on the tree arenít moving. Itís only been a minute or two, now, but the breeze seems to have changed directions and is pulling me out through the screen and the wall. Thatís funny, I think, thereís no sensation of passing through either of them. But thatís okay, probably because Iíve done it so many times before.

            Suddenly I see myself suspended in air about halfway up the height of the tree. Itís as if Iím seeing this from inside the window, but that canít be because Iím also up there in the air. My arms are down at my sides, out a little bit, and I look relaxed hanging there in midair in my short nightie. Now that Iím up here the light seems much dimmer and smaller in circumference. I should be frightened of being there in the air like that, but Iím not. It feels so natural.

            I rise up a little higher, and I am pulled somewhat to the left, just below a dull dark gray/black craft. I can see it quite clearly and it doesnít look at all like any of those Iíve seen before belonging to the ďothers.Ē And itís not making any sound, just hovering a little above and to the right of the treetop. Itís shaped kind of like a helicopter, about the same length and height as the black ones I see nearly every day from the military base close by, but it has no landing gear and no blades on top. I wonder how this thing can fly, and how it can hover like this.  

            Now Iím standing in the air at the bottom of the opening into the craft. It looks like the door must slide back into the side of the craft somehow,but thereís nothing that opens in or out. I see two figures, one standing at each side of the opening, and they reach out, grab my arms, and pull me inside roughly. I hear a soft, whooshing sound as the door slides closed behind me. The men are wearing fatigue uniforms, squared-off, military fatigue-style caps, and dark sunglasses, even though itís night. I wonder why they need sunglasses when itís dark. Thereís kind of a dim light inside the craft and now I see two more men speaking to each other but I canít understand what they say. I canít hear it, either, although I see their mouths moving. All four are about the same height and dressed alike. Their facial features are nearly identical, angular, and I donít think they are entirely human. Itís just a feeling that I have. Maybe they are androids. I feel uneasy when I get near them. Iíve seen entities just like this before, and they werenít human.  

            The two men are still holding my arms, and they take me further inside the craft to the right, and make me lie down on something that looks like a canvas cot like you use in camping. They fasten my arms down with what looks and feels like heavy canvas straps. There are hard buckles that hurt and the cot thing hurts my back. Another man holds my legs at the ankles and knees so I canít move at all. The fourth man has a shiny metal instrument in his hand. Itís about 10 to 12 inches long and has a dark, square-shaped metal thing at the end. Thereís some kind of a cord attached to it and something that looks like a control or a switch just above the stamp that he holds onto while he burns the top layers of skin on my right shin.

            Theyíre all just smiling with those weird-looking expressions on their faces. Their mouths get wider, but I canít see any teeth, and they donít make any sound. They look as though they enjoy the whole thing. I can smell my flesh burning and I scream and cry out with pain. But no one helps me; they just watch with those funny looks on their faces. When the mark is apparently deep enough, the one man takes his finger off the control and pulls the instrument away, while the others take off my restraints.

            They stand me up and I look down at the mark on my leg. Thereís no blood there, and it seems as though there should be. They hadnít wiped any away. The one that did the burn says in a monotone, no expression in his voice or on his face, ďand you thought weíd forgotten all about youÖbut we didnít. You were told what would happen.Ē And then I donít remember anything until I wake up the next morning. There is still no blood or oozing on my leg. I check the sheets and thereís none there, either. This strange mark never once bleeds afterward even though it takes several months to heal.  


This abduction was one of the strangest and most frightening experiences in my life. I still have no idea of exactly who my abductors were, the motive for my being taken and ďbranded,Ē or what I was supposed to gain from this experience, other than a memory of a threat that originally occurred more than 30 years ago that will haunt me forever. At this moment Iím feeling a bit shaky and nauseous. It may be because Iím looking through my office window at the huge pine tree just outside, about halfway between the office window and the bedroom window through which I apparently am taken during every abduction. Just thinking about the original threat, the information I disclosed in Raechelís Eyes, and what I had intended to share in a possible forthcoming new book, increases this uneasy feeling. Itís almost as though Iím not quite alone in my office, that some unknown entity is present. But I canít see anyone else here, only the two cats sleeping on the rug on the other side of the room.

            Because of the traumatizing abduction and ďbrandingĒ of May 13, 2008, and my trepidation upon reliving it during the regression of February 2009, and finally the gut-level uneasiness now more than a year later, I find myself between the proverbial rock and the hard place. I want to continue going public with what I know and have experienced; however, because of a very real fear of undergoing a repeat physically abusive abduction, Iíve decided itís not in my best interest to pursue the matter any further in any respect.

            At this point Iím unsure whether itís the ďothersĒ or MILABs (our own military) who bear responsibility for these abductions, and it is really of little consequence any more. Each faction carries its own agenda, the details of which may never be known.

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