Eleven hours and a ute: my own missing time, in full

I have published a lot of other people’s accounts on this site and I have always said that if it happened to me I would write it up the same way, straight, no favours, warts and all. Well. It has happened to me. Here it is. Noreen has asked to add a footnote and under the Collective’s balance policy I have agreed.

The last thing I remember

Friday the 12th of May. I had been in the Top Paddock at dusk checking the Burnt Circle, which I do every Friday with the tape measure and the camcorder, because if it ever changes size I want it on record. It had not changed size. Nine metres, as always, except the sprinkler bit.

I got in the ute. I remember the dash clock saying 6:52 pm. I remember turning the key. I remember a very bright light coming from, I would say, above and slightly to the left.

And that’s it. That is the last thing I have.

The next thing I remember

Face down in the Top Paddock, about thirty metres from the Burnt Circle, in the wet, with a magpie looking at me. Watch said 5:58 am. Eleven hours and six minutes. Gone.

My hat was on. My boots were on. My wallet was in my pocket with the money still in it, so this was not a robbery, which Senior Constable Taggart has since agreed with in writing, which is the first thing he has ever agreed with me about in writing. I had a headache that I can only describe as administrative. I had grass in my mouth. And there was a mark on the inside of my left elbow, a small clean puncture, like someone had taken something or put something in.

There were no tracks around me. I checked before I stood up. Nothing in, nothing out. Just me and the magpie, and the magpie was not talking.

The ute

The ute was gone.

I walked back to the house. Noreen was up and she looked at me and said “Where’ve you been?” in a voice I’d rather not describe, and I said “I don’t know”, which is the honest answer and which, I’ll say now, did not land the way I hoped.

At 9:40 am the phone rang. It was Col from the Royal Hotel saying was I going to come and move my ute, because it was in his car park, across two spaces, with the lights on, flat battery, driver’s door open and the radio tuned to a station it does not get.

Now. Think about that. The Royal is twenty-six kilometres from the Top Paddock. I did not drive it there. I was face down in a paddock. Something moved that ute twenty-six kilometres, parked it badly, and left the lights on. Dr Faraday says this is consistent with a craft that had examined me and then needed to dispose of the vehicle somewhere it would not look out of place, and that a hotel car park on a Friday night “is the perfect cover, Warren, think about it, nobody questions a ute at a pub”.

What I believe happened

I believe I was taken from the driver’s seat at approximately 6:53 pm, held for a period of roughly eleven hours during which some procedure was performed on my left arm, and returned to the paddock from which I was taken, as is their pattern. I believe the ute was relocated to the Royal to create a cover story. I believe the station on the radio was theirs. I believe the magpie was a coincidence but I’m keeping an eye on it.

I have no memory of the craft. Cheryl says that is normal and that the memories “come back on Tuesdays”. I am prepared to wait.

I have read Noreen’s footnote and I note that it does not account for the magpie.

Keep watching the paddock.

— Warren

Document U8MC-06-0305. Status: CONFIRMED. This file is retained indefinitely, or until the Men in Beige ask for it, whichever is never.

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