The Visitor

By Stanley F. Meyer ©, 2010

If you can't see it, touch it, taste it, hear it or smell it, it doesn't exist! Right? I've always believed that was true. I was a born skeptic, not unlike most Americans. I've heard stories of UFOs, extra terrestrials and spiritual visitations and I've wondered how those folks can expect me to believe such tales. I have recently changed my view regarding this subject. I swear the following is as true and real as the existence of trees and flowers.

It started in May of 1993, in my shop, (a detached garage). As a hobby I restore older vehicles to new condition and when complete, sell them. During one such restoration, I discovered something unusual. My air hose and extension cords were becoming entangled around almost anything that was on the shop floor, such as, the floor jack, tables, bench legs or anything that was fairly solid. One might expect this to happen occasionally, but not with such frequency. Even giving the cords a kind of whip action to free them, (which usually works) wasn't successful. I would have to retrace the path of the cord or hose and dislodge or untangle it. This happened so often over the course of a couple of months that it became very annoying. I mentioned this to my wife one day and jokingly added that I thought I had a poltergeist in my shop that was causing it. We laughed about it and said no more.

Toward the end of June, I moved a small car into the shop and proceeded to remove a part under the car that consisted of the part itself and 6 bolts, nuts and washers. I placed the parts on a table that I move around for the very purpose of holding the removed pieces. There was nothing else on the table. After repairing the defective area, I decided to call it a day, due to the hour and besides, dinner was being served.

The next morning, I went about replacing the part I had removed. As I was bolting the part in, I noticed that I was short one bolt, nut and lock washer. I thought I had dropped them on the way under the car so I got out from under it and started looking for the missing pieces. They were nowhere to be found, not on the table, not under the car, not under the workbench, nor anywhere else. This boggled my mind. About that time, my wife came into the shop bringing me a cup of fresh coffee. She saw I was distressed and asked what was wrong. I informed her of the missing parts. She also looked everywhere with no success. I said to heck with it, or words equivalent and went to my supply of bolts and made up a new set. I finished the repair job, moved the car outside and swept up the dirt that had fallen on the floor noting that there were no parts mixed in with the dirt. Enough work for today, we put the incident out of our minds and went shopping.

I returned to the shop in the morning to do some other work and as I passed the parts table that was still in same place it had been. I happened to glance at it and lo and behold, the missing bolt, nut and washer were exactly where I had originally placed all of them. I immediately went into the house and asked my wife if she had found the set and placed them back on the table without telling me. I felt I already knew the answer. Neither she nor anyone else had, as the shop is a very secure building with double dead bolts and electric door openers. I began to wonder just what was happening. The next few days went along uneventfully.

I moved my wife's car into the shop to repair some stone chips in the paint on the front of the hood. I sanded and feathered the area to be primed and painted. I have six spray guns that I use for different applications. One of them is strictly for primer. That's all the gun has ever had in it from the day it was purchased. I usually leave primer in the gun all the time so it's ready to use when I need it. Also, the only primer I use is hot rod gray in color. The primer in the gun was stirred and swirled until it was ready to use. I sprayed the hood with 3 coats, disconnected the spray gun and set it on my creeper seat, (a roll around seat with wheels). After cleaning up a bit, I went into the house and inasmuch as the weekend was upon us, I didn't return to the shop until Monday morning.

I opened the shop doors and went to the front of the car to inspect my prime job. As I looked down at the hood, something caught my eye to my left. There was my primer gun, still sitting on the creeper seat, but all over the outside of the gun, the creeper seat, down the sides of the seat and on the floor was a very white gloss lacquer paint. I couldn't believe my eyes. My spray gun didn't contain white lacquer, it had gray primer in it. This just didn't add up. I called to my wife to show her what had happened. Of course she couldn't imagine this occurring as she is fairly knowledgeable about painting also. I phoned a friend, Tedd, also a mechanic and asked him to come over and see this. He did, and after much scrutiny, said there was no way this could happen. Oh yeah?? I picked up the paint encrusted gun, cleaned off the hardened lacquer and placed it back up on the shelf where I normally keep it. (Incidentally, the creeper seat and floor still have the paint on them to this day.)

My wife was also having some weird events going on that she hadn't mentioned to me until now. She sews often and as every good seamstress knows, a healing, cutting mat is a necessity. Hers is very large and she keeps it under her bed. The mat would somehow work its way out from under the bed to a distance of about 8 inches or more overnight or even during the day if we were away. She would dutifully slide it back under the bed and ignore it until the next time. She felt it was time to tell me about this phenomenon as I was having the experiences in my shop. I tried to explain it away by saying it was the nap on the carpet that was pushing the mat out. Maybe the vibrations from the artillery at Fort Lewis were causing it to happen, but I wasn't really convinced that this was the case.

A day after the paint gun incident, my computer went totally bonkers. I was really upset because it was a new 486-DX2-66 computer, 2 months old, and I had several programs in it. I tried to reset and restore everything in it with the phone help of an engineer with the manufacturer. It was giving such strange readings on the screen, messages that he had never encountered, he instructed me to return it to the place of purchase, get a new one or get my money back. I returned it to the store and explained what I had been told. The manager refunded my money, as he didn't have another one of the same configuration. I went to another dealer and purchased the same brand and type that I had returned. I set it up in my computer room and checked to see if the pre-programmed software was the same. Indeed it was. I decided to play one of the games called Tetra-vex and I won it quickly. A message came up on the screen that said, "Congratulations! You have achieved a high score. Please enter your name." I nearly fell off my chair when I looked at my name "STAN" already typed into the space provided for it. I called my wife and showed it to her. We were both completely shaken. This computer was in a factory sealed box when we brought it home and no one had opened it until I did...

I spent so much time with my new computer, programming in software that I had lost with the old one, that I didn't return to my shop until several days had passed. When I did go to the shop, I was greeted with the same old primer gun that had decided to again exude a large quantity of glossy white lacquer. It was all over the paint gun, parts on the bench and of course the bench itself. Long glossy strands of hardened lacquer draped from the gun to the bench.

I immediately returned to the house to inform my wife and get a camera. I also called a neighbor and my same mechanic friend to come and see this latest display. I wanted others to confirm what I was seeing as I wasn't sure of anything now. Indeed, they saw exactly what we saw, again with no explanation. The comment Tedd, the mechanic, made was, "Man, I don't know how this is happening and I don't believe in ghosts, but I'm outta here!" After he left, I dismantled the spray gun completely and could find no reason for white lacquer oozing from the neck of it where there was no joint! I soaked it in lacquer thinner to remove the hardened paint and then reassembled the gun and again stored it on the shelf. I watched it for several days without further incident.

Meanwhile, back to the house, my dog was acting strangely. She's an 85 lb. Doberman and isn't really afraid of much. However, as she was walking through the house, she would suddenly slink sideways for no apparent reason. After she passed by whatever frightened her, her ears would once again stand up and she would act normal. This went on for several weeks.

My wife came out of her bedroom one morning and informed me that her clock, which normally faced her, had been turned completely around so the back of the clock was facing outward. In the shop, I continued to observe the spray gun without any further surprises. I figured what ever was causing this mischief had given up. I was feeling pretty good about this when I got a real surprise.

As I walked to one of my shelves in the Northeast corner of the shop, I encountered a strange odor. I assumed that something had crawled in there and died. I started moving boxes and other things that sat on the floor, looking for an animal, perhaps an Opossum, a bird or something else that could smell that bad, but I found nothing. My shop doors are the overhead garage type and they were open, as it was warmer outside than inside, but the smell stayed. It seemed to be about three feet across. I could walk through it and on either side of it; the air was fine with no foul odor. Now I was really getting apprehensive about this thing.

I suffered a back injury some years ago and on occasion I see a Chiropractor here in Olympia, Washington. During a visit to him, we were making small talk as we usually do, and during the treatment he asked me, "What's new?" I said, "If you've got a few minutes, I'd like to tell you."

He invited me to his private office and I related to him the events of the past couple of months. He appeared to be awed. Before I left, I asked him to call me if he could come up with any kind of an answer.

My wife and I had planned to go fishing in Eastern Washington, but first we wanted to redo the beds in the motorhome. I got the motorhome out of storage and brought it to the shop, parked it on the approach to the shop, in front of and across the shop doors. I started removing the beds that were heavy and uncomfortable. I worked for a day or two on them and was starting to replace them with the new ones.

I was back and forth between the shop and the motorhome many times in the course of this work. Suddenly I realized that in the shop, the smell was gone. I went from corner to corner and back again sniffing and sniffing as I went. No smell! Absolutely gone! I went into the house to inform my wife of this latest development. She was as happy as I was that the smell had left.

I went back out to the motorhome to continue work. As I stepped up into the motorhome, I was hit smack in the face with the odor. "Damn," I said out loud, "you're in here now, what in Hell do you want?" I felt the anger growing very quickly in me. Now it had invaded my private little 'get away from everything' place, my motorhome!

I walked back to the house and told my wife that she wasn't going to believe it. The "thing" was now in the motorhome. She was as angry as I was. I said, "What do we do now?" Her reply was, "I don't know, lets have lunch and then we'll both go out there." As we sat down to eat, the phone rang and a female voice said, "Stan Meyer?" I said, "Yes, it is." She stated that her name was Phyllis Burcall and that she also was a patient of the same chiropractor as well as a spiritualist and seer. Further, she understood we had a visitor in our house and shop. I told her that was right, but that it was no longer in the house or shop, but in my motorhome as of that very morning. I further stated that I didn't believe in spirits or entities playing games with people and /or properties. Suddenly she said, "Oh, could this be your grandfather?" I assured her that it wouldn't be possible as far as I was concerned. Just as quickly again, she said, "Just from talking to you, I see an elderly gentleman with white hair. Do you recognize him?" I told her that I did not recognize any one of that description.

My wife could only hear my side of the conversation, of course, but she blurted out, "I KNOW WHO IT IS!" I asked Mrs. Burcall to please hold as my wife said she knew who the entity was. I turned to her and said, "Who?" She said, "Larry Avery's Father." (A fictitious name to protect the identity of our next door neighbor.) Mrs. Burcall asked me what my wife had said and I told her. I knew immediately that my wife was right and I told Mrs. Burcall as much. She then asked me to explain the connection with Mr. Avery's father. The connection I related to her, follows.

Mr. Avery's father had passed away in the late summer of 1992 of complications due to a heart attack. At the time of his death, he drove a 1987 Chrysler LeBaron purchased for him by Larrys' company. He really loved this beautiful white car. Larrys' Mother had her own car so he brought the car to his house that is next door to ours.

Time kind of slipped away and the car sat for the next 6 months in the weather of winter and the following spring. One day in talking with Larry, I asked him what he was going to do with the car. He said he would like to get rid of it because when his mother comes over the sight of the car makes her cry, because it was a reminder of his father. He asked me if I would be interested in buying it and I said "sure." We agreed on a price and I told him that I would come over and get it the next day.

The battery was dead of course, from sitting so long. I took along a jumper battery and cables and went to get the car. I lifted the hood, hooked up the jumpers and turned the key to start it. When the engine roared to life, Larrys' youngest son, a beautiful little tot of two and a half years came to the side of the car and asked what I was going to do. I told him I was going to take the car home with me and fix it all up like new. Little Logan stood very silent for a moment and then said, "Stan, you know what?" I said, "What Loggie?" He said, "When Poppy, (his grandfather), comes back to get his car, he's gonna be mad 'cause you got it." I kind of chuckled to myself and assured him that his Poppy wouldn't be mad because I was going to make it pretty. That seemed to satisfy him. Later that day I told his mother and she laughed as did Larry when she told him about it.

I moved the car into the North stall of my shop and almost completely dismantled it. The time frame? The latter part of April, 1993. I worked on the car for about 3 weeks, cleaning and reassembling each part, before it was ready to move out of the shop. Remember, our little problems started in May.

As I was telling Mrs. Burcall the connection with Mr. Avery's father, all the pieces were coming together. The statement by little Logan, the white paint out of the spray gun, the area of the odor being exactly where the car was taken apart and reassembled and the love of this man for his car.

At last I knew what this was all about. I decided to check the color of the white paint on the bench that was very well hardened, against the color of the car. It matched! How do you get that out of gray primer? Incidentally, I don't have any gloss white lacquer in my shop or home.

I told Mrs. Burcall of my concern with this entity in the motorhome as we were preparing to go fishing and I was not at all comfortable with it being there. She told me to follow her directions very explicitly and she believed we could remove it from our lives completely. Her instructions: Take a white candle to the motorhome and light it. Treat the entity with love and compassion and ask it to please leave. Reassure it that the car we have is being taken care of and that we wouldn't allow anything to happen to it.

We followed her instructions to the letter. No luck. The smell stayed right where it was. I told my wife that our fishing trip was off, as long as that thing was there. I decided to ignore it and go ahead and finish the beds.

After a couple of days of in and out again, fitting, shaping and sanding pieces for the beds, it dawned on me that the smell had disappeared. I was ecstatic and rushed in to tell my wife. We were overjoyed that we could go on with our vacation plans.

I went to the shop to see if it had returned to that area. Sure as the Sun comes up, it was back in the shop, in the same area as before. The smell was an odor that reminded me of a casket being opened, a smell that I have encountered during my years as a firefighter and police officer. Our joy was very short lived, for the very next day it had left the shop and returned to the motorhome. Now I was mad. Mad as hell and I told this thing, whatever or whomever it was, that I was mad. I swore and ranted and raved at it and told it all the horrible things I was going to do to it. I stomped into the house and sat down disgusted with it all.

At that very moment, the phone rang.

I recognized the voice immediately as that of Mrs. Burcall. I told her, what had happened and what I had done and said. She was a little upset at the ranting I had done and said, "When you are angry or abusive to these spirits, it gives them strength and they can become very persistent. You must treat them with kindness, love, compassion, understanding and talk with them very softly, not raising your voice." I had done just the opposite this day. Again, she instructed me to burn another white candle and ask it to leave.

I was so distraught at this point, I told my wife I wasn't going to do it, but I was going over next door and find out whatever I could about Larrys' father. Maybe then I could determine what action I should take. Sell the car, sell the motorhome, even sell the house. All these ideas crossed my mind.

I went next door to see Larry, but he was still at work. I asked his wife Jolene if I could speak to her without the children present. She agreed and was anxious to know what was wrong. I said, "Jolene, tell me everything you know about Larrys Dad." She asked why and I told her that his Father was at my house and further, in my motorhome. She burst into tears and started to shake violently, and hysterically cried, "I knew he would be back, I knew he wouldn't leave us alone." I asked her to please calm down and talk to me.

First, I wanted to know what Larrys father looked like, as I had never seen him. She said he was about five feet-ten inches tall and weighed about a hundred sixty five pounds. I asked, "What color was his hair?" The answer came as sure as I knew it would.... "White hair." "How old was he?" "He was in his seventies." We discussed at length some of the things that had happened and asked if she would like to come over. She was more than willing to witness this thing for herself.

When we arrived at my house, the entity had moved again, out of the motorhome and back in the shop. It seemed very restless and uneasy. I immediately found the odor in the shop and directed Jolene to the spot. She couldn't smell it. I walked over to where I had directed her and the entity had moved, very quickly. I found it about four or five feet from the original spot and I directed her to this new place. Again it moved, as if it was trying to avoid her. Finally, she caught up with it and said, "Oh yes, here it is."

She was very calm and matter of fact about it. I asked her to describe the smell to me as I hadn't mentioned my impression of the smell. She said that it smelled like the material that funeral homes spray on bodies. I asked her if she meant formaldehyde and she said it was not formaldehyde but something, she thought, to keep the bodies from smelling. Then she said, "You know, Larrys Grandfather was a mortician."

After about an hour, we returned to her house to find that Larry was home. After a very short briefing by Jolene, Larry came out and looking almost afraid, he asked how I was doing. I told him that we had some minor problems and he said he understood that we did. He wanted to come over to the shop and see if he would have any reaction to the odor or the presence.

When we returned to my shop, I pointed out where we had last detected the odor. He walked directly to it and immediately smelled it. It was as if this thing was not trying to avoid him, as it did with his wife, but seemed to embrace him. When I questioned him as to what the odor was like, without hesitation he said it smelled as though a mausoleum or crypt had been opened. We talked about several things, including the car, his relationship with his father, his religion as well as his father's, (Latter Day Saints). After some time, he suggested that I should have little Logan come over and see if he would react to this presence. I agreed that it would be a great idea. Maybe he could 'get to' Poppy.

The entity or spirit had never ventured to the south side of the shop, where the regular walk in door was located, but as Larry was leaving the shop, it followed him to that door. I could smell it very strongly and was amazed at its reaction. I closed and locked the shop for the night, and called it a day. What a day!

I opened the shop next morning expecting to smell the same odor, in the same places, but it had left again to return to the motorhome. I went about my job of finishing the beds, trying to ignore the odor and waiting for afternoon to arrive so I could bring Logan over and see what would happen. Finally about two o'clock, I saw him near the fence. I shouted, "Hi Loggie." He said "Hi Stan." I walked over to the chain link fence, separating our back yards and asked him if he wanted to come over and see my motorhome. He was very excited about that and with a big grin, answered "Yes."

Jolene was in the back yard and had been made aware of the plan Larry and I had discussed. I waved at her and she acknowledged what we were doing with a wave. I lifted Logan over the fence and we headed for the shop. I wanted to check that area first for any sign of reaction.

Logan and I stood in the shop for a while and we talked about the wrecked pickup truck I had in my shop that needs repair. I purposely led him around the North side of the shop and back to the Southeast area. There was absolutely no visible reaction. I told him that now we could see the motorhome. The big grin again and an "O.K.", we entered the motorhome and the smell, the presence, was still there. No reaction from him at all. I led him to the front and back to the rear, still no reaction. I decided that our plan had failed and told Logan that I'd better take him back to the fence and put him over so that his Mommy wouldn't worry.

As we were walking toward the fence, Logan looked up at me and said, "Stan, you know what?" (His favorite question.) I said, "What, Loggie." He said, "You're real warm." I said, "What did you say?" He repeated, "You're real warm." I asked, "What do you mean?" He said, "You're real warm because of the Sun."

I was slightly confused at this statement because it was an overcast day without any Sun. I lifted him back over the fence, told him I would see him later and went to the house to report our experiment results to my wife. I told her that there was no reaction at all except the "You're real warm because of the Sun" statement by Logan. She also was a little curious about that.

It was now about five o'clock the same afternoon on Wednesday. I had finished the beds and was ready to go fishing except for one thing. I wasn't going anywhere until this thing was out of the motorhome. I didn't want any help steering this huge vehicle going over mountain passes. Although there hadn't been any mean or malicious acts by this entity, I didn't want to take any chances.

I told my wife exactly that and though very disappointed, she reluctantly agreed. As I sat watching the evening news, my wife went out the door with a white candle in her hand. I said, "Going to try again?" She replied that it couldn't hurt and I agreed with her. She was gone for about 15 minutes and then came back into the house. I asked, "Is it gone?" She replied in the negative, "I'm afraid not, but I'm hoping." I got up and headed for the motorhome to give it one last shot. I entered and sat down on the new bed. The candle was burning and even though the door was closed and there was no breeze, the candle started to flicker and wave.

With all the tact, diplomacy and kindness I could muster up, I started to talk to this nothingness, feeling kind of silly for doing it, but knowing it had to be done. I said, "I know who you are, but I don't know why you are here. If you're here to harm us, please go away. If you're here to help us, you are welcome to stay, but not in my motorhome. You can stay in my shop where I first discovered you. I must say, however, that your smell is very offensive and your presence makes me very uncomfortable. I really wish you would leave and leave us alone. If you want to send a message to your Son, he is where you last saw him, at his home, not mine. If it's your car that worries you, It's fine and I'm going to keep it rather than sell it. I've taken good care of it for you. I hope this puts you at ease and you can rest now." I thanked it and went back to the house.

We sat down for dinner and my wife said, "I was thinking about what Logan said this afternoon. About you being warm because of the Sun." I said, "Yeah, that was strange." She said, "Did you ever play that game when you were a kid where you hid something and then someone else would try to find it. We would say 'you're getting warm or warmer' or 'now you're getting cold', depending on how close your were to the object?" I acknowledged that, "Of course I had." Then she said, "Maybe that was what he was saying to you and the Sun was really the Son." I hadn't thought about that aspect of the statement, but it made some sense. I had discovered its identity and it was telling as much through Logan.

After dinner I decided to go out and see if my little talk, the candle and my wife's chat with it had done any good. As I entered the motorhome the candle was burning nicely and I could smell the hot wax. It dawned on me that I hadn't smelled the wax burning before. I realized then that the smell was gone. It was out of the motorhome. Hah, I thought, it's back in the shop. Maybe it accepted my invitation to stay in the shop and not my R.V.

I shouted to my wife that it was out of the motorhome. "Great." She yelled back. I rechecked the motorhome in every nook and cranny, checking the cupboards, the microwave, refrigerator and even the storage compartments for the 'all too familiar' smell. It was gone. I quickly closed the door as if I were afraid it would sneak back in if the door were left open. Now to the shop to see where it was.

I entered the shop, anticipating the smell and with cautious optimism walked to the North side. No odor. I almost raced around the shop, sniffing every corner of the shop. No smell anywhere. I felt a tremendous burden had just been lifted from my shoulders as well as my mind. Our visitor was gone. I don't know why it left, just as I don't know why it came to us in the first place. To try and say why would be pure conjecture at best. I can say, I'm glad it's gone and I hope it stays where it is.

We loaded the motorhome with our fishing equipment and groceries and left on our trip to Eastern Washington with no problems. Upon our return a few days later and before unloading, I went directly into the shop to recheck the status. No problem. Our friend was still absent our property. I say this with some reservation, as I'm told, they sometimes return. As I write this, years later, we have no odors. The primer has stayed in the paint gun and my dog is acting her normal self. My wife's alarm clock has remained in a static position and her cutting mat has stayed under the bed. My computer is working beautifully and my attitude has improved tremendously. As I stated in the beginning, I'll view it differently when another tale of the impossible is told to me. I will listen more attentively and with more understanding and compassion.

I may question the person relating such a tale, if only to see if there are any similarities. Until you experience the same or similar circumstances that we did, you cannot appreciate what happened to us.

I had a talk with Jolene some time after the incident, about the 'Visitor,' trying to determine why it would want to be in our shop and/or motorhome. During the discussion, Jolene revealed that her father-in-law and she did not have a good relationship due to his objection to her marrying Larry. She had been married three previous times, all ending in divorce and then Larry came along.

Larrys father, being a very religious man, didn't appreciate her coming into his son's life. It was not surprising to Jolene that the entity tried to avoid her in my shop due to this strained relationship while he was alive. As for his spirit entering my motorhome, Jolene stated that he had made it very clear that after his death he wished to be cremated and his ashes scattered in Red Fish Lake, in Idaho. This was not done due to his wife's objections.

Could it be that this was his last ditch effort to have his wishes fulfilled, to be in or near a lake, any lake, even in Eastern Washington? I think maybe it was... It's not that far from Idaho...

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