When I was young, back in the 80s, one night soon after I had gone to bed my mother was outside and saw something hovering over the nearby opposing hillside overtop the trees. She ran inside the house and yelled for my father and I to get outside to see what was going on.
I got out of bed and went outside with her to see what she was going on about.
It was this saucer looking shape, thing, in the sky, and damned colorful. On the outer edge of this thing it looked like carnival lights that twinkled in and out of varying intensity. The main body looked illuminated as well, it was a fiery orange color.
It seemed to drift one way a little bit, then would pause and chill a bit, then head back the other direction and chilled for a bit. It did this for several minutes.
My mom had a bright idea, she would go back into the house and get the telescope to get a really good view of it. And she did, and left my ass outside alone with this thing. Dad never got out of bed, wouldn't wake up.
She left my terror-sticken self outside alone with this thing. I had never been so scared in my life, and I have yet to ever be remotely scared of anything as much as I was of this thing.
I spent a period of time growing up in the 'hood, dudes running around shooting guns trying to kill one another right next to me. Don't give a fuck, whatever. That's fine. No big deal, it's all good.
This thing, however, I was paralyzed with fear. I couldn't move. I wanted to move. I tried to move. I couldn't fuckin' move. I'm not even sure I was able to bat an eyelash.
She finally comes back outside, every second she was gone felt like a minute.
She quickly sets the telescope down and starts trying to aim at it and get a good look. She complains that every time she almost has it in view that it moves. The, "thing," starts being a whole lot more active now. It's not chilling anymore, and moving around a lot more. So yeah I can understand the complaint when you're actively being defeated.
After a couple minutes of this cat and mouse stuff with the telescope this thing finally rotates on its axis. So originally the side profile looked like a saucer shape, but it either rotated to its top or bottom side from our point of view. As if I wasn't scared enough as it were, this damn thing looked like a gigantic fiery orange eyeball now with twinkly lights. I think part of my soul died, because I could feel something looking right at me. Whatever this thing was.
Previously the only saving grace I had going for me was that I thought I was unnoticed. Now there's a huge fiery orange eyeball pointed right at us. Note it didn't look like an actual eyeball, it's just the rings of colors and stuff that were somewhat reminiscent of one. I can't describe it any better.
Eventually it got tired of us and it did some shit I'd ever only seen in Star Trek to that point. It started heading further up the hill on the opposing hillside from us, and in an arc from left to right to completely out of view it shot out of there as if it had hit warp speed in a streak of light. No noise. Dead silent. No noise at all. This was the countryside, you could hear a dog bark very well if one were to bark at that distance.
So I'm not saying it was aliens. But I am saying it gave me some severe PTSD for the next 4-5 years. Spending 4-5 years completely horrified of going to sleep sucks, pretty damn bad. That thing saw us, and I imagined it knew where we lived and if it wanted to find us it wouldn't be nothin' but a thing for whatever it was. The only way I was finally able to shake being afraid as fuck to go to bed is that we finally moved to the city and I rationalized that it wouldn't dare show itself in the city for so many people to see.