It started, at least for me, in 1974. One day at school, we heard that a huge, prized bull had been found dead on Lassie Fahey’s ranch. There were no footprints, bullet holes, or marks from an animal attack; it was just dead and mutilated.
Around the same time, stories of witches dancing in La Cañada del Comanche and strange, dancing light orbs in the forest were dismissed. Then came stories of pranksters going around killing and mutilating cows—though some of these mutilations took place way up in the high country.
I personally witnessed two jets chasing an orb in 1977. I wasn’t alone; I had driven my mother to Chacón to visit her sister, and it happened just as we pulled into Holman. The orb, a bright ball of light, was flying just above the mountain treetops. It moved fast, darting almost like a fish reacting to a predator—confident that it was faster than whatever was chasing it. It was a weird sensation, as if it were simply toying with the jets before they all took off over Mora and disappeared.
Later, I watched Disclosure Day, and it took me right back to those horrible mutilations. Why the huge holes? After much discussion, some guys from Mora and I decided the aliens simply needed to eat. It made sense at the time. Roswell was just down the road. If other beings had witnessed their comrades crash-land in Roswell, the mountains would be the perfect place to hide. They were stranded and hungry. Little grey men with little grey mouths probably like soft, slimy food—like menudo. The mutilations showed they only took the soft parts: the guts, stomach, intestines, and bowels. Why? To eat, we suspected.
The movie made a great point: if the Bible has us believing in superior beings, and now there might actually be superior beings on Earth, how should we act? But to me, the whole alien situation comes down to what we’ve always known in Mora: you’ve still got to eat.
In our case, these “Gods” hide in the mountains and eyeball our cattle the way we look at a juicy burger. They’ve been our reality in Mora for years. They might be superior beings, but they probably still love to sit down and eat some menudo—just without the chile, onion, or oregano, and skipping the tortilla and pozole.