On an August evening in 2012, while driving through Washington, PA, I encountered a phenomenon that has haunted my nights since. At precisely 9:20 pm, just as dusk settled around me, I paused at a stop sign and glanced northward, at a sharp 45-degree angle. There, hovering silently over a hill, were four distinct red lights. Each was slightly larger than a star, arranged neatly in a square pattern. The distance between each glowing orb was about two hundred feet, and they hovered at an altitude comparable to that of small aircraft.
I watched for nearly half a minute as the lights remained eerily still—then one by one, they began to fade, slowly dimming until only one remained. As I continued driving up the hill, that last crimson light suddenly shot straight up from near the ground to the level of the others, then headed northward in smooth, deliberate motion.
At that moment, a small propeller plane appeared, flying west towards the light. Approaching within roughly a hundred feet, the plane abruptly executed a sharp 180-degree turn, veering away to the east as if deterred or pursued by an unseen force. The red glow vanished into the distance, swallowed by darkness.
I am an avid stargazer, my nights often spent scanning the heavens for usual wonders—but never had I witnessed anything quite like this. The steady positions and formations of these lights ruled out common explanations such as flares. Their movement, the sharp plane maneuver, and the silent majesty of these red orbs left me pondering the extraordinary possibilities concealed within the night sky.