On a cool evening in Belmont, Ontario, I found myself wandering the dimly lit streets with my loyal dog as my sole companion. It was just past nine o’clock on a mid-March night in the year 2000 when a peculiar sight ensnared my gaze—an orb, not unlike a basketball yet unlike anything earthly, silently gliding above the treetops perhaps a thousand feet from me.
Its glow was an uncanny mix of orange and red, perfectly spherical and unsettlingly silent, as if it were an enchanted sentinel prowling the rural town. Suspended there, its mysterious presence defied explanation; it was as though it were hooked to some unseen tether, a remote operator unseen yet undeniably in control.
I continued my stroll, veering westward then southward, before turning east to my parents’ home, a short 15 to 20-minute walk. As I navigated through their backyard, a sudden glance behind revealed that same eerie orb once more, now loitering above the street where I’d first beheld it. This time it drifted gracefully over the rooftops to the east, tracing the sleepy contours of our town.
Then, without warning, the orb angled sharply at 45 degrees toward the east and sped away with unnatural swiftness, its radiant aura suddenly extinguished as it vanished into the night.
Days later, I spoke with a friend, isolated in the countryside, who recounted an identical encounter—the same glowing sphere, the same silent flight path, and the same abrupt departure. Such experiences stitch a haunting thread through the fabric of reality, inviting contemplation of the unknown that lurks just beyond the veil of our ordinary nights.