A black rock, the size of a fist, was lying right where my head had been

I live in a small town called Golden, in a valley bottom between two mountain ranges in Canada. I’m retired, and apart from my dog, Toby, I live alone. I lead a pretty quiet life, especially since the pandemic.

On Sunday 3 October last year, I went to bed as usual at about 9.30pm. The next thing I remember is waking up at 11.30 to the sound of Toby barking like mad. It was his protective bark: “Something’s out there!” So I quickly got up. Almost immediately there was an explosion, and everything was covered in plasterboard and debris.

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