The Light

Location: East Tennessee

Classification: Witness Account / Recurring Phenomenon

Status: Unresolved

Evidence Summary

When I was a kid, a few of us waited for the school bus in front of a house at the bottom of a hill.

One morning, while it was still dark, I saw a light come from behind the house.

It moved beside the house, passed in front of us, crossed the road, traveled through the field, crossed another road—

and disappeared.

I asked the others if they'd seen it.

Nobody had.

That evening I told my mother.

She went quiet.

Then she told me to tell my stepfather exactly what I'd told her.

So I did.

He listened without interrupting.

When I finished, he told me that when he was a kid, he'd waited for the bus in the same place.

And one morning he'd seen the light too.

Same path.

Same field.

Same direction.

And just like me, he'd been standing with other kids.

Nobody else saw it.

We never really talked about it again.

Years passed.

The house changed. The road changed. Most of the people who lived there moved away.

But I've never forgotten the light.

Especially something my stepfather said before the conversation ended.

I didn't understand why it bothered my mother so much at the time.

I do now.

Before him, someone else in his family had seen it.

Same place.

Same age.

Nobody else could see it.

I asked him what he thought it was.

He said he didn't know.

Then my mother asked the question neither of us had thought to ask.

"Did it go the same direction both times?"

It had.

She looked toward the window.

Then she said:

"Then it still hasn't found what it's looking for."