"Whitley Strieber - Majestic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Strieber Whitley)

At first Will was almost ashamed to tell his story. Secrets like his are their own very ugly pornography, and it
was terribly painful to him to reveal them.
But he got used to it, finally became passionate about it. What started as sparse muttering ended in a torrent
of searing human anguish, a howl for forgiveness from the edge of the grave.
I have viewed my role in our collaboration as that of facilitator. This book is Will Stone's confession. My job
has been to support his effort, to fill in backgrounds, to do what legwork was necessary, and to provide my
vision of this desperately troubled man.
I met Will because he sent the Express a response to a nasty review I'd published. I trashed a book written
by what I assumed to be an obvious charlatan.
This is not a big town, and his letter was the only response in support of the professional liar.
In my own defense I can only repeat that I was also one of Will's victims.
When it came time to do the April Fool's story and I needed a sucker, he looked like a strong contender.
Will acted like he'd been waiting for a call from someone like me - which I suppose he had. Everything he
does is structured in terms of bait and hook.
He is a subtle man, too subtle to just walk into my office with an armload of the most extraordinary and
terrible secrets that the United States of America possesses.
Considering just how much he has wanted to tell his story, and how little time he has, waiting for me to take
the bait must have been very hard.
He lives in a dark old house on a street that was fashionable thirty years ago. I went there to connect with my
victim.
And became his.
He sounded like an old freight train as he huffed slowly down the hall to answer my knock at his door. After
he opened it he leaned against the jamb to catch his breath. Then he straightened up and a huge, complex
smile came into his face. I say complex because it was not a smile like yours or mine.
It was the saddest expression I have ever seen.
He took me into his grim living room with its grim furniture and thick, silent carpet. The curtains alone added
cheer. They were odd - white oilcloth or parchment with yellow flowers pressed between the layers.
We sat down. I didn't know what to expect, even what sort of questions to ask.
He pushed his big, wobbly face into mine and said without preamble, "The damn thing is real and I can prove
it." I thought, oh boy, paydirt.
"What damn thing?"
"The whole damn thing." He pulled himself to his feet and rolled out of the room. A moment later he was back
with a cardboard box full of documents, photographs and cans of movie film.
At first I thought it would be the usual sort of junk, fake pictures, news clippings, nutty tracts.
The first thing I saw was a clear color photograph of what appeared to be a dead alien. It was attached to the
autopsy reports that appear later in this book.
The authenticity of the photo was so obvious that it affected me like a blow on the head. The blood drained
from my face; I literally reeled.
Every tiny detail seemed true, the pale skin, the injuries, the oozing fluid, the black, sunken eyes.
The documents went on for pages and pages. I have reproduced the most critical ones in this book. But there
were thousands of others, and God knows how many more are hidden even from Wilfred Stone.
I sat there in that dim room reading, looking at picture after picture, all of it stamped with things like
CLASSIFIED - ULTRA and TOP SECRET - MAJIC.
It became clear to me that nobody could have faked this, not all of this, not with the detail and perfection of it.
For me the world crumbled. Everything I believed was called into question. All my expectations, my
understanding of the way things were, all of it was shattered.
When he heard a droplet of sweat snap against the memo I was reading he put his hand on my shoulder. "I
want to get the story out before I die."
I just looked at him. I could only think that I'd been living in a false world with a false history.
Everything important was secret. I looked down at the documents spread around me on the floor. They were