Shortly thereafter when the same creature (or another just like it) appeared at a window, a shotgun blast from the two men blew it back into the night. Almost immediately, there was a sound from above, as if the creature or creatures were on the roof. When the men rushed back outside, a taloned hand reached down – as if to feel Billy Ray Taylor’s hair. Billy Ray and Elmer swiftly blasted the thing right off the roof and later swore that it slowly floated to a fence forty feet away. Only when the goblin was shot off the fence did it finally flee.

Another creature, spotted on the lime of a maple tree, was also subjected to the prime directive of “Shoot First, Ask Questions Later.” Then, even as one goblin scurried from the tree, another came around a corner of the house – again reaching for the dark sky.

This one was hit point-blank, which made the sound of “bullets on a metal bucket.” And when yet another (or the first) goblin was shot off a barrel, Billy Ray Taylor heard his .22 rifle bullet ricochet right off it’s hard hide.

“The little man floated to the ground,” Taylor said, “And rolled up like a ball.” He also claimed the goblins glowed brighter whenever they were shot or shouted at.

Having seen more than enough, the two men retreated inside, bolting the doors for what would prove to be a nerve-wracking siege. Even as the occasional glowing goblin roamed around out in the dark, 50 year old Glennie Lankford counseled an end to the shooting, claiming “They haven’t tried to actually hurt us, so maybe they’re only being friendly.” But as the surreal siege wore on, the children became increasingly hysterical.

The breaking point came at 11 PM, when the houseful of humans made a desperate dash for their cars and “high-tailed it” to the Hopkinsville Police Station seven miles away. There, at the station, a medically-trained investigator determined that Billy Ray Taylor’s pulse rate was twice-normal. Chief of Police Russell Greenwell later stated, “These were not the sort of people who normally ran to the police…something frightened them. Something beyond their comprehension.”

When Greenwell and five other police officers accompanied the eleven witnesses on the dark road back to the farm, two streaks of light shot overhead with “the sound of artillery fire.” Although bullet holes and spent casings were abundant at the site, the police found no evidence of a “flying saucer.” Nor were shotgun-splatted goblins strewn all over the property. They did find a glowing patch of ground, however, right where one of the goblins had allegedly tumbled.

Chief Greenwell later stated: “In and around the whole area, there was a weird feeling. Everyone had it… these were brave men I’ve been in dangerous situations with. They felt it too.”

Hampered by darkness, the Police left at 2 AM, stating they’d return in the morning to investigate some more. But the night was still young. At 2:30 AM, before Glennie Lankford could fall asleep, a persistent glow alerted her to a goblin outside her bedroom. She called out softly to the others and again implored for peace when Elmer Sutton rushed in with his shotgun. But he ignored her and fired anyways, and the nightmarish siege resumed throughout the remainder of the night. The last creature was seen at 4:45 AM, and by sunrise they were finally gone.

Later that day, Andrew “Bud” Ledwith, engineer / announcer at radio station WHOP, sensed a huge story out on the Sutton farm and decided to interview the folks.

Interviewing the seven adult witnesses in three isolated groups, Ledwith received and rendered a remarkable consistency of description – although the woman-folk did favor drawings that showed the creatures with a thicker waist, and Billy Ray Taylor insisted on the addition of antennae.

Ledwith believed the witnesses, unlike most reporters. The wild account was partially corroborated by a neighbor who had seen strange lights moving on the Sutton spread, adding “I’m glad I didn’t go out there – I might have been shot!” Indeed – and perhaps more than once.

Seeking neither profit nor publicity, the witnesses endured a second siege of more mundane entities who variously blamed the encounter on booze, insanity, religious hysteria or fugitive monkeys. The more sensational press accounts predictably portrayed the farmhouse under constant and absurdly blood-curdling attack by as many as fifteen “little green men.” But the witnesses – whose story has never wavered in forty years – described no such thing. In truth (before refusing to discuss it further), they insisted that no more than two creatures were ever seen simultaneously. And while the humans were admittedly quick to shoot, they also admit that the entities never “attacked” or demonstrated hostility of any kind. At most, they displayed extremely persistent curiosity in the face of severe rejection.

And so we can only wonder how the encounter was viewed from the other side.