Electronic Voice Phenomena
“White Noise”
Research By “The Scribe”
Electronic voice phenomena is today one of the most fascinating areas of paranormal research. Human-sounding voices from unknown origin are recorded on such electronic media as tape recorders, digital voice recorders, video recorders and other devices. Strangely, the voices are not heard at the time of the recording; it is only when the recording is played back that the voices are heard. |
I will start out and clearly state that this story is one of fact and not fiction.
On December 27th, 2004, I was awakened by my close friend of many years by a phone call at 2:00 in the morning. It was Dr. Fredrick Myers, a Professor at the Jerusalem Archaeological Research Center regarding an incident that was bought to his attention by a colleague. It seems this individual who lives in the same proximity of Dr. Myers, that being the Los Angeles basin, told of a man I will call “Henry” who works at the Mountain View Cemetery in Altadena, California.
Awaking from the deep peaceful sleep that every man enjoys after toiling thru a long arduous snowy weekend, I was alarmed to hear his frantic voice, fearing that a project that we are working on together had come to some misfortune! This was to be the beginning of events that would eventually change my life and challenge all that I believed! Fredrick began his story, that was relayed to him by a colleague of his. A story told by and of the man who was soon to become on intrinsic part of my all to predictable life, a man called Henry.
You see, Henry retains employment with Mountain View Cemetery in Altadena, CA as a caretaker, and has held this position for the last 25 years. It seems the old chap, Henry that is, knew my friend Fredrick thru some part time work he did up on the hill were he resides. The story Fredrick told to me raised the hair on the back of my neck as if I was a startled black cat that ran into a pack of starved wolves! Henry, working the swing shift at the cemetery had come upon one of those new devices called an Ipod that allows listeners to record and play back music, utilizing a small hard drive within the case. So what I’m thinking, you wake me up for this? Going on, the story takes an interesting twist when I am told WHERE Henry found it!
Henry, upon finding the device, takes it home and gives it to his teenage son. The son, after figuring out the Ipod’s operational process, runs into the kitchen to show dad what strange sound’s that are recorded on the hard drive. This is where the story Fredrick was relaying to me, aroused my interest! The sound’s emitting from the device were of people talking thru what seemed to Henry at the time, as a radio with lousy static reception.
After several minutes trying to understand the unintelligible sounds, Henry rushes out of the house and frantically makes his way back to the cemetery, stepping forward to the very spot, where by chance or providence, made the find of the century!
At once, I threw the blankets off my carcass and with a burning anxiety, ran thru the darkened hall into the kitchen to fetch the phone book! My life was about to change! For the better or the worse I could not say, however be warned that this story is for those who have a burning desire to understand AND accept that the beliefs and views that they have in or about this life, or the NEXT will change! Hopefully!
I arrived in Los Angeles on a flight at or about 7:30 pm on December 27th. Dr. Myers was there to greet me and fill me in on all the details that were not yet etched deep into the grey mass of my troubled mind. Thru the rain soaked streets of L.A. we slowly drove, but the talk between us was plentiful and troublesome. I pondered as in a daze, or perhaps it was the feeling of disdain for my colleague who’s words impressed upon my mind a certain betrayal of credibility. The ranting’s of a mad man perhaps, but not the sound reasoning of my friend of many years.
On our arrival at Fredrick’s home we were greeted by Henry, a tall, gaunt man, with a dark coppery skin who’s hand’s betrayed his many years of physical toil. We were seated in Fredricks sitting room to enjoy some tea as Henry began his extraordinary if not to be described, cryptic tale. As the time piece on the wall moved forward on it’s endless journey, I sat there keenly perceptive that the events that led up to this trip I had taken to the City of Angeles, was an worthy vacation at best, and a absurd, even embarrassing admission of gullibility. This feeling was not a beneficial attribute for the sound minded!
After sitting there for hour after hour debating the issue under discussion endlessly, I glanced at a ashtray that I had filled with the blackened ends of my cigarettes. It was time to rest the weary mind! Fredrick, perceiving my maneuver toward the couch for a little shut eye, motions me back to the chair and to the conversation that I was un-successful in eluding.
Looking me sternly in the eye Fredrick with his deep German accent growls out “Ken, why don’t we go out there. Henry is going to walk us thru this. You came all the way out here, bear with me for a few more hours” continuing, “I want you to meet someone out at the cemetery.”
Oh great I’m thinking, how the hell did I get myself into this lunacy!
Arriving thru the brick and iron gates of this wasted real estate, a monument to those who neither speak, nor eat, nor contribute to my cause, I glance at my watch. Half past one, I could have been in bed! Driving down the path I notice the park like setting, a setting that I have grown to despise, despite the beauty of the willow’s at the entrance and the towering pines that push toward the cold, dark, foggy night sky!
After a short stint down the pathway, we stop. Getting out of the Mercedes was painful, for I had developed a prolonged dull pain in the ass from sitting on it all day.
As I stand stretching my legs and arm’s we are approached by a dark shape or outline of someone or something coming out from among the trees. The day is about to get longer………..
“Ken, I would like you to meet Curious George. George, is as you can see, a man, and a rather bright one at that. The nickname he earned from his inquiring mind at the excavations in Jerusalem. George is a parapsychologists.”
Well shit, I think, another nutcase. Seeing the skeptic that I am, old George steps forward and speaks. A remarkably refreshing voice without that damned annoying archaic German accent that Fredrick has yapped with all night!
“Glad to meet you Ken. Let me explain what I do. Parapsychologists try to observe the unexplainable phenomena, not explain it. The scientific methodology in this field dates from at least 1882. Have you heard of Ockham’s razor?”
Yes I reply, I am quite familiar with it!
“Good, lets get the show on the road. Follow me” replied George.
As I walked behind my new found “friend” I had a feeling as if I was a reluctant poodle out for a jaunt in the rain, being dragged or better yet, pulled by the neck with a chain, as I would stubbornly refuse to move my feet. But my protests tonight have gone unheard. The sound of the grass saturated with the cold California rain seemed to buckle under my feet, much as the fog that hangs like a veil of doom across this vacant landscape. It is night time and I am in a graveyard!
Arriving moments later, we are at the “appointed” headstone! Reaching into his pocket, Henry hands George the much talked about Ipod. Hooking up the microphone to the device and placing the Ipod gently on the headstone with the microphone right over the grave site, we walk silently into the ever increasing blackness of the night……….
As we walked toward the gates we knew to be silent, as if we ourselves were residence to this museum of granite stones. Several hours pass in deathly silence…I reach into my pocket for another cigarette, damned it’s empty!
Fredrick and George, sensing my agonizing anxiety, motion to each other. The wait is over. We walk together quietly, wondering, or better yet, anticipating the fruit of an excruciating evening. George switches the Ipod off. FINALLY, my brain screams!
The ride back was what seemed an eternity. We were to download what ever, if anything, onto the hard drive of George’s computer. We arrived shortly before 5:00 AM at some studio in an industrial part of town, a place that I thought resembled old town Detroit. As I entered the studio I was amazed at all the modern electrical gadgets that George used in his work. Well the download took only 20 minutes, but the results of that download will take a lifetime to digest, for there it was………a voice……….in a manner……….a characteristic style of speech that I not only knew but grew to despise. For the voice is of one……………………………………………………..
HERBERT W. ARMSTRONG