The first sighting happened on a quiet Friday night in the small town of Hollowbrook. The sky was clear, and the air carried the scent of pine and damp earth. A group of teenagers, out for a late-night drive, saw it—something that didn’t fit any known aircraft. It hovered silently above the forest, glowing with an unnatural blue light. They stopped their car, staring in awe as it drifted slowly, like a leaf caught in a breeze. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. No one believed them at first. But soon, more reports came in. People from different parts of the town claimed to have seen the same object. Some described it as a disk, others as a triangle, and a few even said it looked like a giant eye watching them. The local news station covered it briefly, but the story faded quickly, dismissed as a hoax or a misidentification. But the sightings didn’t stop. They became more frequent, always at night, always in the same area. A retired teacher named Eleanor found herself waking up in the middle of the night, her window open, the air humming with a low, resonant sound. She would see the light again, flickering in the distance, pulsing like a heartbeat. She never saw anything else, just the glow and the silence that followed. A local historian, Thomas Wren, began to take the sightings seriously. He started digging through old records, searching for any mention of similar events. What he found were fragments—old newspaper clippings, journal entries, and letters from people who had lived in the area decades ago. One entry, dated 1947, mentioned a "metallic craft" seen over the same forest, accompanied by strange sounds and a sense of unease. Another, from 1962, spoke of a "glowing orb" that moved without sound, leaving no trace behind. Thomas began to suspect that something was happening here, something that had been recurring for years. He started visiting the woods at night, carrying a flashlight and a notebook. He would sit on a fallen log, waiting for the light to appear. Sometimes it did, sometimes not. When it did, he would write down everything he could remember—the color of the light, the way it moved, the feeling in his chest as if something was watching him. One night, he saw it again. This time, it wasn’t just a distant glow. It landed in the clearing, hovering just above the ground. The light was brighter now, almost blinding, and the air felt heavier, as though the atmosphere itself was being pulled into the craft. Thomas stood frozen, unsure whether to run or stay. The light pulsed once, then faded. When he opened his eyes, the clearing was empty, and the forest was silent. He returned the next night, and the next. Each time, the light appeared, but it never stayed long. He began to notice patterns—certain times, certain positions in the sky where the light would always show up. He started to feel a connection, as if the object was trying to communicate. But what it was trying to say, he couldn’t yet understand. Then, one night, he found something. A small metal object, half-buried in the soil near the clearing. It was smooth, cold to the touch, and covered in symbols that didn’t match any known language. He took it home, studied it under the light, but the symbols remained a mystery. He tried to scan it, but the scanner malfunctioned. It was as if the object was rejecting technology, resisting any attempt to be understood. As the weeks passed, the sightings became less frequent. Thomas continued to visit the woods, but the light only appeared once more. That night, he stood alone, watching the sky. The light came, but this time, it didn’t hover. It descended, touching the ground with a soft hum. For a moment, Thomas thought he saw something inside the craft—a figure, tall and thin, with eyes that reflected the light. But before he could move, the light flared, and he was left alone in the dark. He never saw the light again. But the symbol on the metal object remained in his possession, etched into his mind. He never spoke about what he saw, but he kept the object close, as if it held a secret he wasn’t ready to share. And sometimes, when the wind blew through the trees, he swore he could still hear the hum of something watching, waiting, just beyond the edge of the world.