EDITOR'S NOTE:  The following is a chapter out of my book, Stepping Forth, about my first sighting of something highly strange. The date was April 30, 1966.

       The kids were in the family room when the telephone rang.

       "Ha-ha … Polly Wolly Doodle!" Five-year-old Alice laughed and pulled on her brother Paul’s pajama sleeves.

       "Alley Oop!" he retorted, distorting his 10-year-old face at his little sister.

       "Shush!" cried eight-year-old Laurie Beth with her fiery, carrot-colored hair. "I can’t hear TV!"

       I wandered into the darkened living room toward the hallway in our house. The telephone continued to ring from its perch on the small shelf near the coat closet. Flicking on the light switch, I picked up the black receiver connected to its black coiled cord. "Hello?"

       "Ann?" My mother was on the other end.

       "Yeah, Mom …" I glanced up and could feel the cool evening air wafting in from the entryway of our house in Monona, Wisconsin. It was 10 o'clock and dark outside, but unseasonably warm for the last evening in April. The date was April 30, 1966.

       "Is everything all right?" The inevitable question. Mom was calling from a dinner she and Dad were attending.

       "Yes," I told my mother.

       "Are the kids in bed?"

       "Uh …" I stared across the living room into the family room with its blaring TV. "They're in their pajamas," I said. "They wanted to stay up a little later to see TV."

       "Well, it's pretty late," said my mom. "I want them in bed. We should be home in about an hour."

       "Okay, Mom." I noticed Toto, our German shepherd-collie mix, getting up off the living room rug and stretching her black and tan body. "Oh, Mom … Mrs. Jack called. She wants me to baby-sit tomorrow evening. Do you think I can?"

       I have no recollection of what answer she gave me. It was at that very moment that a sound caught my attention, the rattling of a doorknob.

       My eyes darted to the front door, which had been left open to let in the cool night breeze. The screen door was closed, but latched shut with a hook. Through the top half of the door, I saw something look in at me through the screen -- a white creature with glowing silver eyes and two ear-like projections on top of its head.

       "Mommy! Something’s at the door!"

       My mother yelled into the telephone, "What? Talk sensibly so I can hear you."

       "A creature! There's a creature at the front door!" I shrieked in alarm.

       Just then, Toto grew excited. Her pointy ears perked up and she started toward the front door, but stopped, lowered her head, and then backed away with her large swishy tail between her legs. She never barked. She never even growled.

       This, I knew, was totally unlike her usual reaction whenever somebody came to our door. Toto was usually a fierce watchdog and barked at everybody -- even people she knew.

       Suddenly, the creature at the door darted away. I continued to cry and carry on. My poor mother yelled at me to calm down. By now, my brother and two little sisters emerged from the family room, wide-eyed and curious to know what had happened.

       The thing had gone, but I was still in shock. I described to my mother what I had seen, and she asked me, "How big was it?"

       "It … it was the size of … Laurie Beth."

       "Was it a cat?" asked my mom.

       I insisted it could not have been a cat -- it had been too large.

       "Well, was it a man?" she asked.

       "No, Mom." I explained how Toto had not barked or even growled, but had backed away.

       My mother hung up the phone and immediately called the Kudrnas, our next-door neighbors. Paul, Laurie and Alice -- my younger siblings -- witnessed my fear and hung back, mystified.

       Within five minutes, Mr. Kudrna and his young son, Mark, came over with flashlights and looked around outside in the bushes. When they found nothing suspicious, they tried to talk me out of what I had seen. Everyone was looking at me as though I had completely lost it.

       But I hadn't lost it. I'm sure it sounded far-fetched to those around me at the time, but I have never forgotten the incident. Neither have I been able to ever explain what it was that came to the door when I was baby-sitting my brother and sisters when I was 13.

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