In spring of youth it was my lot, to hunt of the wide earth a spot, the which I could

not love the less, so lovely was the loneliness.

Of a wild lake with black rock bound, in the tall pines that towered round, but when

the night had thrown her paw upon that spot, as a pawed as all, and the mystic wind

went by, murmuring in melody, then, aw, then I would awake, to the terror of the lone

lake.

Yet that terror was not fright, but a tremulous delight, a feeling not the jeweled mine,

could teach or bribe me to define, nor love, although the love were thine.

Death was in that poisonous wave, and in its gulf a feeding grave, for him who vents

could soulless bring, to his lone imagining, whose solitary soul could make, and Eden,

of that dim lake.

Ed Grailin Poe's poem The Lake, which was published in 1827, has an alluring yet ominous

similarity to today's topic.

A topic that involves just as much beauty as it does mystery.

In fact, the bizarre events that take place, in and around this location, rival some

of the most supernaturally charged areas on earth.

So much so, that over the years, the locals have begun calling it, the Lake Michigan Triangle.

The first time it happened, I was sleeping and woke up, because I felt a hand on my leg,

and I realized that I couldn't move.

And he come across this object on the ground, which was the shape of a flying saucer.

So he jumped out of his pickup and went down there, and there was four beings laying

on the ground.

...