
Taos, New Mexico is a place I like a lot, and which I like to visit a lot, too. It has a cool vibe to it, there always seems to be so much going on, and the architecture – some of which dates back centuries – is amazing. And it’s a place with more than a few tales of the high-strangeness variety attached to it. In fact, very, very high-strangeness…
Salvador was an intriguing guy who I met almost a decade ago. Having inherited a considerable sum of money in his early thirties, he was retired by the age of forty-three, and lived, as he worded it, “on a permanent vacation” in northern New Mexico. As I sat in the living-room of his spacious, Pueblo-style house in 2002, and ate a fine lunch of chicken and rice, Salvador related to me a remarkable story of truly bizarre proportions. It all began, he explained, on an August evening in 1997.
A keen astronomer, he had taken his truck out to a particularly remote spot north of Taos that was free of light pollution, and where he could set up his telescope and scan the night sky. It was around 1.00 a.m., Salvador recalled, when he heard at an uncomfortably close distance a strange sound that “was like a high-pitched whistle, but that had a human feel to it. But, it was way too high frequency for a man.”
Salvador’s curiosity turned to concern, and then to outright fear, he added, as the whistle was replaced by “an aggressive growl, and heavy footsteps, like something was warning me and marking its territory.” Salvador estimated that the source of the ominous growling was within thirty feet of him. Disturbingly, he got the distinct impression that a hostile entity of some form was actively “circling” him and “getting ready to attack.” That attack never came, however.
Salvador then painted an incredible picture: he sat tight in the back of his truck for about ten minutes as the growling and heavy footsteps continued to torture his terrified mind, when suddenly, in the distance, he could hear the unmistakable sound of helicopter rotor-blades.
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