The Larson Family

You never know when you’re going to have an encounter with something (or someone) strange.

In 2004, Becky and I were leaving McDonalds in North Fargo. We were waiting for the traffic on University Drive to clear when we saw a guy go by us in a brown minivan. As he went by, he looked at Becky and pantomimed sticking his finger up his nose. She looked at me and said “Did you see that?”

After the traffic cleared, we pulled out onto University, and purely by chance, we caught up with him at a stoplight a couple blocks away. The light was red, and he was right in front of us. The light turned green, and he left the light extremely slow… half a block later he was still only going about fifteen miles per hour. So I casually pulled into the other lane to pass him, and just as I was moving into the other lane, he changed too, trying to stay in front of me.

So I pulled back into my original lane and stepped on it. Just as I was about half a car length behind him, I’ll be damned if he didn’t start coming back into our lane again. He was trying to run me off the road! I stepped on it, nearly clipped the curb trying to avoid getting sideswiped. I managed to clear his bumper by the time he came all the way back into my lane.

I pulled out my cell phone to dial 911. I help it out the window so he could see it — so he knew I was calling the cops. He immediately turned. I went around the block to get behind him and followed him for a couple blocks as I spoke to the operator and gave her the guy’s license plate number. She then had me pull over in a parking lot so I could meet up with an officer.

A few minutes later, an officer shows up, and he has this skeptical look on his face — like I’m some kind of road rager who somehow instigated this. He asked me what happened and I explained. He asked me what the guy looked like. I said, “He was kind of an overweight guy, brown hair, bald on the top but frizzy on the sides… like Bozo the Clown.” And then the cop said, “Oh! I think I know the guy you’re talking about. Kind of an eraserhead-type guy?” And I said, “Yes, that’s the guy.”

The officer said the guy lived a couple blocks away and asked us to wait a few minutes until he returned. So we waited. A few minutes later, the cop comes back and he says, “Yeah that’s the guy.”

He then went on to explain that this guy, Seely was his name, was well-known to the Fargo Police. He’s evidently mentally ill, schizophrenia or something. The cop explained that he has a problem with the color red, so he may have had a problem with our vehicle, a red Jeep Grand Cherokee, or maybe even Becky, since she’s a redhead. He said the guy lives across from a catholic school where all the kids wear red shirts, and he had a problem with that too. He seemed to think anybody associated with the color red was somehow evil or out to get him.

To make a long story short, the officer went to his house and issued him a ticket for reckless driving. He said if the guy pleads not guilty, you may have to testify. Well they never called us to testify, so he must have plead guilty. And that story was nearly forgotten until the other night — I went in the convenience store, and there he was, harrassing a cashier. After he left she told me, “When he’s not on his meds…” I assured her I knew all about Mr. Seely.

I guess the upside is, this encounter gave me a great idea for a screenplay. So if I ever make it as a screenwriter, I’ll owe a little inspiration to crazy Mr. Seely.

Have you ever had an experience that you can’t explain? My life seems to be full of these. Anyone who listened to Y94 when I was on the morning show heard plenty of stories about a haunting which seems to come and go in my house. But I have dozens of strange experiences in my life — experiences many would call supernatural — that go back as far as I can remember.

I’m gonna tell some of these stories in this blog, and I’ve decided I’ll tell them chronologically. So for this first installment of the unexplained category, I’ll start with the earliest ones I can remember.

I was about six or seven years old. My parents had a trailer house in a park called Minot Mobile Estates about five miles east of Minot, on the outskirts of Surrey. This was the first real home I remember. Before the trailer, we had lived in a string of rental properties.

I distinctly remember having a lot of weird sleep-related episodes when we lived in our trailer. I walked in my sleep. I talked in my sleep. And sometimes more.

I remember one time waking up in the middle of the night, not feeling good, and calling for my mom. It’s weird that I can remember it, because I’m pretty sure I was sleeping. Anyway, I recall my Mom coming into my bedroom to ask me if I wanted a drink of water. I don’t remember what was said, but I do remember my Mom yelling for my Dad. I also remember her telling him, “He freaked me out. His eyes were open but it was like he was looking right through me.” Then I remember my Dad came in and tucked me back in. When I woke up in the morning, my Dad gave me a good ribbing about how my eyes had looked black as oil in the dark room (I can only assume because my pupils were dilated in the dark) and how I’d scared the hell out of both of them. He drew the conclusion that I was in some kind of waking sleep state.

There were many other times I did strange things in my sleep, and one story I’m just too embarrassed to tell. But there were lots of them when we lived in this trailer. There was one thing though, that didn’t have anything to do with sleep.

My Mom was having some kind of get together at the trailer. I don’t remember if it was a birthday party or what. But there were a lot of people there, and some had brought their kids. So I was doing my regular thing, trying to be the center of attention, when the party ended. People were coming and going, carrying packages and food trays to their cars. And as she often did, my Mom put me on door duty — opening and closing the door for people whose hands were full.

There was a knock on the door and when I opened it, there was a woman standing there. I still remember what she looked like. She had very long, straight blonde hair. She was young, in her twenties I’d guess, and had the thin wire-rimmed glasses with oval lenses — like John Lennon used to wear. I didn’t recognize her, and I didn’t remember seeing her at the party. So I asked her, “Are you Missy’s mom?” And she said, “No. Can I use your bathroom?” I let her in.

She took off her sandals in our shed and went back to the bathroom. I remember it was odd that she was wearing sandals, because it was snowing outside. I went back to doing whatever I was doing.

Some time later my Mom called me into the entry and said “Whose shoes are these?” The woman’s sandals were still there. I said, “The lady in the bathroom.”

There was no lady in our bathroom.

Who was the lady? And where did she go without her sandals… in the snow? I don’t know, but it’s the first time I remember having an experience that I would call truly unexplained. — Troy