My mother, several other members of my family and I were on vacation in a small plane which my father was piloting. I thought we were headed toward some green mountains which stretched far off into the background. As I gazed out the window, my attention was drawn to something on the ground. It looked as if a plane crash had just occurred in a field below. Two jet engines and what looked liked the remains of a plane lay scattered over the field. A pickup truck had just stopped and a woman was looking at the crash sight. I thought to myself this was the first time I had ever seen a plane crash.

My father began descending and landed our plane at the far end of the field. Everyone in our plane jumped out; I began running back toward the crash sight. As I drew close, I could see other people in cars and trucks had already stopped and were gathering around the crash site. I kept running and running and when I finally reached the crash, instead of in the field, I found the crashed plane inside the living room of a large house, a veritable mansion. People were gathered around the broken plane almost as if they were attending a funeral. I found the spectacle rather macabre, and I asked someone how many people had died. I was told that nine people had died, but the bodies hadn't yet been found.

The bodies' being missing seemed particularly strange. And the more I looked at the plane, the more a mystery seemed to be afoot. It looked as if the plane had fallen straight down out of the sky, not as if it had hit the ground while flying horizontally. And as I continued to scrutinize the wreckage, I realized that the plane couldn't have possibly simply fallen into the house, as everyone seemed to think, but that the plane had to have been carried inside.

I began talking to people, trying to tell them that when we had been flying overhead, we had seen the wreckage outside the house. But no one seemed to want to listen. I continued examining the scene. Obviously the plane was too big to have entered the house all at once; it had to have been carried in piece by piece. Plus, the roof was undamaged; only one window was broken, as if a something small had been thrown into the house.

My family had also entered the house and was now impatient to leave; but I wanted to say longer and investigate. They finally left, but I lingered on a little. I finally pieced together that we were near Jackson, Ohio, (which I thought was in the vicinity of Ironton). I would have to follow this story in the newspaper, even if I had to drive here the 50 kilometers from Portsmouth to get a paper.

Finally everyone had left except me and I was also about to leave, when a door at the end of the room opened. By its own power, with no one wheeling it, a cart like the kind used in hospital, wheeled into the room. Lying on top of the cart, under a light blue sheet, was the form of a person, obviously a dead body. The cart continued through the room and into another room.

Almost in a panic I ran to the front door and as I tried to open the large wooden door, a second cart wheeled out of another room. This cart had a second body on it. Obviously the missing bodies were hidden in this house and some deep dark mystery was afoot. I finally jerked the door open and ran out of the house screaming, "Aaaahhhhh!"

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