It was an ordinary evening in Quarouble, France, on September 10, 1954. Marius Dewilde, a railway crossing guard, was at home, going about his usual routine when an unfamiliar disturbance caught his attention. The sound of his dog barking, louder and more frantic than usual, prompted Dewilde to step outside and investigate. Living in a remote area near the train tracks, he was accustomed to occasional wildlife or perhaps the odd person wandering too close to his property, but this was different.

Grabbing a flashlight, Dewilde made his way toward the tracks where the dog’s barking intensified. As he walked, his eyes caught something unusual ahead—an object on the ground, not far from the rails. It was difficult to make out the shape at first, but as he approached, the details became clearer. There, in the dim light, sat a dark, metallic object, its outline unfamiliar and strange. It wasn’t something that belonged near the tracks, and it wasn’t like anything he had seen before.

The object appeared smooth, almost reflective, though the poor light made it hard to tell. It was about the size of a small vehicle, but the shape wasn’t typical of any car or train. Dewilde’s mind raced through possibilities, none of which fit what he was looking at. His flashlight beam bounced off its surface, revealing an almost seamless exterior, with no clear doors or windows. It sat there, silent and unmoving, its presence unsettling against the familiar backdrop of the railway.

Suddenly, movement caught his attention. Near the object, he noticed two small figures standing just a few feet away. At first, they seemed almost human, but as Dewilde’s light swept over them, the details became more disturbing. The figures were short—no more than three feet tall—and their heads appeared larger than normal in proportion to their bodies. They were wearing bulky, dark suits that obscured any other features. There was something mechanical in their movements, as if they weren’t walking in a natural way.