{"id":12867,"date":"2014-09-12T18:00:16","date_gmt":"2014-09-12T22:00:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/?p=12867"},"modified":"2014-09-12T21:05:15","modified_gmt":"2014-09-13T01:05:15","slug":"the-visitor","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/?p=12867","title":{"rendered":"The “Visitor”"},"content":{"rendered":"

photo-2-small.JPG<\/a><\/p>\n

If a man harbors any sort of fear, it percolates through all his thinking,
\ndamages his personality, makes him landlord to a ghost.<\/p>\n

—Lloyd C. Douglas
\n__________________<\/p>\n

It was kind of odd, the thing that came at me just a few weeks back. Over Labor Day weekend, was when it happened. And it was a little unsettling. I\u2019m not sure where to go with it, so I guess I\u2019ll just tell the story. <\/p>\n

I live in a fairly old house. Well, not old, as they think old in Europe, or anything. Near as I can tell, my house was built in the 1920s, sometime. It\u2019s made of brick. Two full stories. A full basement. And a full attic. Lots of old wood, to creak and groan around at night in the wind. I\u2019ve lived all alone, too, here in the old house. Tenants came and went, over the years, and most of them were a good riddance when they left. This time, before the current tenant came wandering along, I had lived alone for two-plus years. It never bothered me. Actually, I liked the solitude. No fuss or hassles. No one around, to worry about. No one around but me. But I sure did miss that rent money. <\/p>\n

The tenant got here last year, in the spring. The man has been real good for my place. And totally fine, to have around. He doesn\u2019t bother me. We talk, when we see each other. Now and then, we\u2019ll sit out on the front porch, outside his door, and drink a beer or something I mixed up. He knows the territory, he\u2019s been around. If I need a contact of some kind, he usually knows who to talk to. He\u2019s not religious, that I know of. We\u2019ve chatted, now and then, about it. He gave me his sympathies, back when Mom passed away last spring. And told me in detail of how his own Mom had passed. I never told him I write. As far as I know, he still has no idea I ever wrote a book. He never even knew I was an attorney, until I mentioned it offhand, a few weeks back. He about had a fit. I figure when and if he ever finds out about the book, he\u2019ll probably have another fit. And I\u2019ll give him a copy. That day might come, or it might not. So far, it hasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

What I\u2019m saying is, the man is a solid, rational man, who\u2019s been around the block a few times. Not given to telling wild tales. But it was kind of strange, back in July, when I got back from my road trip. I had been gone for ten days. No worries, though, about things at home. I just tell the tenant the dates I\u2019ll be gone. He gathers my mail for me, and keeps an eye on the place. I feel very good about having someone like that around when I\u2019m gone. <\/p>\n

When I got back that Saturday afternoon, he was around. He brought my bag of mail to the door, and knocked. I opened it, and we stood there and talked. Thanks, I said, taking the mail. \u201cNo problem,\u201d he said. Then: \u201cMan, I\u2019m glad to see you back. This old house makes some very strange noises at night.\u201d I\u2019m sure it does, I said. It\u2019s old, and creaks and groans some. But at least the furnace is turned off, downstairs. It doesn\u2019t clank and rattle, at least not during the summer. \u201cIt makes some very strange noises,\u201d he said again. But he didn\u2019t seem all that perturbed about anything. And we left it at that, as far as any strange noises the house makes. But I thought about it later, what he had said. It was just an odd comment, I thought. <\/p>\n

Labor Day Saturday, early afternoon. I was fixing to leave to run some errands, see some friends. A beautiful sunny day. The tenant had the big garage door open, his car parked outside, the front wheels up on ramps. He\u2019s always tinkering with that thing. I ambled out to chat a bit. He told me what he was doing, some little repair. He was sipping a cold beer, and offered me a can. Nah, thanks, I\u2019m driving here, shortly, I said. He stood there and took another sip. Then he looked at me very strangely, kind of sideways. And then he spoke. <\/p>\n

\u201cHave you ever considered the fact that your house might be haunted?\u201d He asked. A question I sure wasn\u2019t expecting. And as I like to say now and then. Well, what do you do with that? He kept looking at me, half sheepishly. And then he got to telling me a few stories. <\/p>\n

\u201cYou know,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve never been one to pay much attention to such stuff. But I\u2019m telling you, there is something in your house. I\u2019ve heard it walking, clear as a bell, when no one else was around. Usually of a morning, after you leave for work. The steps are as heavy as yours, so I figure it has to be a man about your size.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ah, are you sure? I was a little dubious. I\u2019ve never felt anything like that, except once. I can tell you a pretty freaky story. But I\u2019ve never sensed any presence around me downstairs, ever. And I\u2019m up late, often, on my computer. You know that, you probably hear me when I go to bed. Are you sure it\u2019s not the cleaning lady, of a morning like that? She comes around once a month, and she has a key to get in.<\/p>\n

He shook his head. Dismissively. \u201cNo, it\u2019s not her. I hear you walking down there all the time. And I know what footsteps sound like. I know when I hear them. And it\u2019s someone as heavy as you. And I haven\u2019t heard it that often. Maybe ten, a dozen times. But the one morning, it was so clear that I thought it must be you. I actually walked around and looked out all the windows, to make sure your truck wasn\u2019t parked where it usually isn\u2019t. It wasn\u2019t. You were gone. Those footsteps down there were as clear as yours ever are.” <\/p>\n

And we talked about it. Strangely, there was one emotion that didn\u2019t come to me. And that was fear. I felt none. This was my home. I won\u2019t be afraid in my own home. The tenant told me he had felt a presence of some kind, upstairs, on different occasions. And once or twice, in his little living room, he caught movement out of the edge of his eye, as if someone were there. I wasn\u2019t sure what to make of it all. The tenant is a calm and steady man, from all I\u2019ve ever seen of him. Not given to hallucinations, he has no habit of excessive drinking that I ever saw, anyway. I drink way more than he does. <\/p>\n

I\u2019ve never felt any presence like that, I told him. Never. Never felt any malevolence from anything in that house. But I\u2019ll tell you a little story. I\u2019ve ever only told one person before. A thing that happened about three years ago. He looked at me, very interested. And I told him. I got home from work one day. Normal day. And I noticed the round wall clock, up behind the TV. It was stopped. I forget the exact minute, but sometime earlier that day. No big deal, I figured. The battery had just died. I\u2019d just change it. The clock is hard to get to, up in that corner. I struggled around and finally lifted it from the nail it hung on.<\/p>\n

It was a clock Dad had given me, years before. A \u201cbird\u201d clock. Every hour had a picture of a different bird. And if you put two batteries in the lower slot, you\u2019d hear that bird singing or chirping on the hour. I never was interested in hearing those birds. So I never put any batteries in the bottom slot. The clock was just a clock, with a single battery in the top slot, to make it run. <\/p>\n

I looked at the clock in my hands. Turned to the back, to remove the battery. And a chill shot through me. The battery had been removed from the top slot, and inserted into the bottom slot, where it took two, to make the birds sing. The battery had been removed from where it was that morning. <\/p>\n

That freaked me out pretty bad, I told the tenant. I could find nothing else out of place, in all the house. I mean, I looked. I had stuff lying around, stuff you could easily pick up. Everything was exactly as I\u2019d left it that morning, except for the battery in that clock. And for some reason, I thought of a ghost, a spirit, right then. Something had done that. I was pretty freaked out, at that moment. Oh, yes, I was. And I was a little jumpy for the next week or so. And I wrote a little note, and stuck it on the clock. Whoever you are, whatever you are, stop it. I will come after you if you don\u2019t. <\/p>\n

The tenant looked all wise when I finished. \u201cIt hasn\u2019t happened often, that I heard something,\u201d he said. \u201cBut believe me, I heard it.\u201d I do believe you, I said. And he told me more. He woke up in the middle of the night, once. His bedroom door was cracked open, about a foot. \u201cAnd as sure as I\u2019m standing here talking to you, I could feel someone behind that door, looking at me,\u201d he said. \u201cI got up with a flashlight and walked over and opened it. Nothing was there. Do you know what the history of your house is? Did anyone ever die in there, in a bad way?\u201d<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t know, I said. I know a previous tenant tried to overdose once, with pills, in my bedroom. He didn\u2019t get it done, though. <\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it couldn\u2019t be him, then,\u201d the tenant actually chuckled. \u201cIf he didn\u2019t get it done, it couldn\u2019t be him.\u201d I agreed. It\u2019s usually a suicide when the spirits stay. Or often, anyway. I don\u2019t know anything about the history of my house. I left then, to see my friends, and run my errands. The tenant was working away, at his car.<\/p>\n

I got back around five or so. And I had it on my mind, what he\u2019d told me. I wanted to talk to him some more about it. So I texted him. You got a minute? He came right down, handed me a cold beer, and we sat out on the front porch and talked. <\/p>\n

I asked him a lot of specific questions, about what he had heard. And he was adamant. Well, I said. If you don\u2019t mind, I think I\u2019ll mention it to my pastor. See what he thinks about it. Maybe I can have him come over and put that spirit to rest. The tenant looked at me. \u201cI have no problem with that, if he knows what he\u2019s doing,\u201d he said. Oh, I trust my pastor, I said. If he tells me he can do it, he can do it. We sat there and sipped our beers, and got to talking about a lot of other things. <\/p>\n

I believe places can be haunted. I totally do. I believe there are ghosts, and such things as spirits, mostly unseen and unheard. I don\u2019t know how you can be a Christian, and not believe in them. They are there, in a spiritual world. Thing is, all my life, I have never, never \u201ctempted the spirits.\u201d I\u2019ve never dabbled in anything even remotely, that would make such entities show up. I\u2019ve never visited a fortune teller, never consulted a medium. I would never play with any Ouija Board. That kind of stuff is not for me. I would never walk into a \u201chaunted house\u2019 at night to see what I can see. I just don\u2019t want to go there, I never have. It\u2019s best to leave alone what you don\u2019t understand. That\u2019s how I\u2019ve always felt, what I\u2019ve always believed. <\/p>\n

And now, here\u2019s my tenant, a totally rational man, telling me he\u2019s hearing things in my house. Below him, right where I live. I don\u2019t know. I can\u2019t help but believe him. Or at least I believe he\u2019s telling me what he believes he heard. This is an older house. There are all kinds of pipes running through it. Hot water, cold water. And those pipes make all kinds of noises, when they contract and expand. Rational thought, to me, goes like this. I take a shower, every morning. And then I leave. Who knows, what kinds of noises the water pipes make, after all that hot water just flowed through them? Not saying it\u2019s one way or the other. Just saying, that\u2019s where my mind goes, trying to rationalize what the tenant\u2019s telling me. But on the other hand, he\u2019s telling me he heard those footsteps only ten to a dozen times, in the year and a half he\u2019s lived here. It\u2019s all kind of weird. <\/p>\n

Other than that freaky clock battery incident, I have never, never felt any presence down here in my part of the house but my own. Never. I\u2019ve never sensed anything. Never seen any \u201cmovement\u201d out of the corner of my eye. And I\u2019ve never been afraid. This is my home. This is where I live. You can\u2019t live in fear in your own home. <\/p>\n

The next morning, after church, I didn\u2019t get a chance to chat with Pastor Mark. I had to leave a few minutes early, for a cookout more than an hour away. The next day, Labor Day, I was just lounging around that afternoon. And I decided I\u2019d call him. So I did. He didn\u2019t act all that surprised to hear from me, until I hemmed around a bit. Do you believe a house can be haunted? I asked. <\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I believe that,\u201d he answered. \u201cWhy do you ask?\u201d Well, I\u2019d come this far. So I plunged right on in. The tenant swears my house is haunted, I told him. A slight pause. He was still on the line. At least he hadn\u2019t hung up on me. Or called me crazy.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, tell me about it,\u201d he said. And I did. Told him all the stuff the tenant had told me. How he had clearly heard footsteps, right down here where I live. Right here, in my house, when no one\u2019s home. <\/p>\n

I give the man a lot of credit. How many pastors get a call like that, from anyone attending their church? My house might be haunted. Pastor Mark didn\u2019t blink an eye. He engaged. First, of course, he went through all the rational things. Old house, creaking timbers, creaking floors, thumping pipes. Things that go \u201cbump\u201d in the night. Combine all that with the human imagination, and it’s very real, what you hear. Yeah, yeah, I said. That\u2019s what I told the tenant. I\u2019ve never sensed any presence here, except once. And I told him about the clock battery. He absorbed that. Someone snuck into your house and did that. He didn\u2019t say it. But I could hear him thinking it. <\/p>\n

It all doesn\u2019t matter, I guess, I said. I feel no fear. I\u2019ve never felt any fear, living here. But I\u2019m intrigued by what the tenant\u2019s telling me. He\u2019s a rational man. And he\u2019s not leaving, or anything. But I believe him, when he tells me what he heard. <\/p>\n

And Pastor Mark told me. There has to be a portal, somewhere, for a spirit to enter and settle. He took the worst case scenario. \u201cLet\u2019s say there was a mass murderer, down there in the basement. And let\u2019s say he slit a whole bunch of victims\u2019 throats, then committed suicide. Right down there, in your basement. Yes, I could see where evil spirits would enter and stay, and haunt your house. But they have no authority, to physically hurt you. They don\u2019t.\u201d <\/p>\n

There\u2019s no record of any such thing in my basement, that I\u2019m aware of, I told him. <\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s the most extreme example,\u201d he said. \u201cThere are lesser ways, lesser portals, for a spirit to enter.\u201d And he mentioned an example. I don\u2019t have a problem with that particular thing, I said. <\/p>\n

And then I thought about it, and I asked my pastor. Could that portal be alcohol? I drink. More than I should. (I\u2019m fixing to do something about that real soon, now.) Which he already knew. Because I told him. And now I was asking. Could that be it? <\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t hesitate. \u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cThat\u2019s a chemical thing, alcohol. That in and of itself will never open your house to any spirit. What you do when you\u2019re under the influence might. But not the alcohol alone. It\u2019s a chemical thing, by itself.\u201d <\/p>\n

We chatted for a few more minutes, then wrapped it up. \u201cIt could be something natural, like imagination combined with the house creaking. It could be a spirit, or it could just be a mystery,\u201d he said. \u201cWe live free in Christ. And in the end, if you want, we can walk through the house and rebuke whatever it is that\u2019s in your home. In the name of Jesus. I\u2019ll be glad to do it. That is your home. You own it. And you can tell anything that shouldn\u2019t be there to leave, because Jesus is Lord over all.\u201d<\/p>\n

His words were calming. But still, I wasn\u2019t quite ready to go that far, right now. Look, I told him. I\u2019m leaving soon for a week. The tenant doesn\u2019t want a lot of hassle. So let\u2019s leave it as it is, for right now. I\u2019ve never felt anything, any malevolent force in my home, except maybe for that clock. And the tenant doesn\u2019t seem all that eager, to get anyone else involved. I\u2019m leaving for a week, for the beach. Let\u2019s just wait until I get back, and we\u2019ll go from there. If the tenant keeps hearing things, I\u2019ll get back to you, and we\u2019ll do the walk-through. \u201cCertainly, that\u2019s no problem,\u201d he said. And that\u2019s how we left it. <\/p>\n

And that\u2019s where it all is right now. Just resting. Waiting.
\n*****************************************<\/p>\n

And yes, that beautiful magical time is here again. Beach Week. We head out tomorrow, for a full week of relaxation and no drama. And I am beyond ready for it. This has been a tough, tough year. In more ways than one. It\u2019s been a while, since I\u2019ve seen one like it. There have been hard things, there have been sad things, and real joy has been sparse. I have never claimed more than a mustard seed of faith. This year, sometimes, even that tiny little seed seemed to be slipping away. But I grasped it, held on to it, because there was nothing else to do. God is always there, even when He doesn\u2019t seem to be. I know that, and I hold on. <\/p>\n

I am so, so tired. Weary, right down to my bones. And I am ready to breathe again the salt air of the sea, to absorb the sound of those crashing, calming waves. Ready to relax and let it all sink in. Ready to rest my heart and cleanse my soul. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

If a man harbors any sort of fear, it percolates through all his thinking, damages his personality, makes him landlord to a ghost. —Lloyd C. Douglas __________________ It was kind of odd, the thing that came at me just a few weeks back. Over Labor Day weekend, was when it happened. And it was a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12867","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12867","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=12867"}],"version-history":[{"count":13,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12867\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12881,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12867\/revisions\/12881"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=12867"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=12867"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=12867"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}