Sky People by Ardy Sixkiller Clarke

at the school.
    Mud-brick, thatch-roofed huts and small, cinderblock stores with corrugated metal roofs and signs advertising everythingfrom Coca-Cola to Bayer Aspirin could be seen. People gathered in the town square in the early evening when the temperatures dropped. Women sold snacks, children played games and chased each other, men sat and discussed farming and female tourists, while teens slipped away into the shadows for stolen kisses.
    Because of the size of the town, an outsider, particularly one who stayed more than a day or two, was already known even if never introduced to anyone. What they didn’t know was often made up and added to the local color. Families were close-knit and extended, and news traveled quickly from person to person with gossip being a regular form of entertainment. This made it especially difficult for a researcher. People were reluctant to share for fear that others would learn their secrets. Although many people admitted to me that they had seen lights in the sky and even had encounters, few were willing to share detailed accounts. The majority indicated they had never shared their experiences with close family members, and because everyone knew everyone, they feared ridicule and superstition.
    It was difficult for me to leave Copán Ruinas despite those encumbrances. Somewhere between the stray dogs and the temples, the mountains and the butterflies, the bottles of Imperial and the
baleadas
, I fell in love with the town, the ancient site, and its people. It was a place where traditions and superstitions confronted modernity at every turn. It was a place of secrets that were kept secret. Although I found the people in the town and the mountain villages friendly, it was difficult to find someone willing to share detailed stories about their encounters with UFOs. Those who did made me promise I would never reveal their identity and I would disguise them in such a way that they could not be recognized.
    Despite the lack of the number of stories collected in Honduras, the three presented in this section are unlike anything that I heard in my travels.

Chapter 8
A Hole Through the Heart
    A
nimal mutilations have increased dramatically in Central and South America the past few years. Shepherds from various communities throughout the region report attacks to their herds. Reports vary about the attacker. Most believe it is the action of a natural predator such as wild dogs. In one Honduran village, more than three hundred goats were killed in fifty days, giving rise to questions about the attacker. Some blame a
nahual,
a shape-shifter, as the culprit. According to legend, the nahual changes its human form for a given time to acquire the form of a chosen animal. The nahual can only transmogrify at night, attacking children, women, or animals. It is said that some people can turn into birds and are endowed with the power of flight
.
    Some say that they have witnessed animal mutilations in conjunction with UFO sightings. In this chapter, you will read the story of an event that took place on a small cattle ranch near Copán
.
    After Buddy drove me to Copán Ruinas, I felt no need at the time to hire a guide as the town, Copán Ruinas, and the ancient city of Copán were basically the only sites I planned to visit. Stephens and Catherwood did the same. Every day, after spending the morning at the site, I ended up at a small restaurant in the village for a cold drink and light lunch. When the owner of the café found out that I was from the USA, she invited several of the young women from the village for lunch who had voiced an interest in learning more about the USA and in learning English. As a result, when the sun forced everyone to seek the comfortof shade or a hammock, I went to a local café, ordered up sweet treats and Coca-Colas or tea for the group of young women and held an unofficial English class. I taught them English; they reciprocated by teaching me expressions in Spanish common to their