It was a cold night on November 14, 1999, in Milton, Ontario, and I was driving home along Steeles Avenue, heading towards the escarpment. The weather was grim, with tornado warnings echoing across the cottage country nearby. As I crossed the railroad tracks just past Peru Road, my eyes caught sight of two eerie white lights hovering motionless above the mountain ahead.
At first, I thought it was just a low-flying private airplane struggling with the turbulent weather, but as I moved closer, it became undeniable. This was no ordinary aircraft. The craft remained perfectly still, suspended silently in the night sky. Fear settled deep in my chest as I crept forward, barely 50 feet from the object.
Suddenly, it began to turn gracefully in a slow 180-degree arc above me, its elongated cockpit clearly visible along with small wings on either side. Bright white lights glowed at the tips of an expansive wingspan with concave ends, while the underside was marked only by two dimmer rows of lights — one red, one green. There was a bay door beneath it, facing directly down at me. The silence was unnerving; no sound accompanied its slow, deliberate movements as it hovered less than 10 kilometers per hour.
I ducked my head out the car window in disbelief, heart pounding with a mix of awe and terror. Fear overwhelmed me, and I quickly retreated into the vehicle, unable to stay and see what the craft might do next. Looking back, I regret fleeing so fast — I wish I’d had the courage to witness how incredibly fast it could move.
This close encounter left an indelible mark on my soul, an experience so vivid I can draw the object exactly as it appeared. Yet the mystery remains — was I somehow taken? The memory is a haunting whisper in the night, a brush with the unknown that refuses to fade.
For anyone who has seen anything similar or knows what this craft might be, I’d be grateful to hear your story. This silence, this fear, lingers — a chilling reminder that some truths hover just out of reach, waiting to be uncovered.