The night of the same day he died. I was laying in my bed. And I heard voice saying look at the picture that was on the wall. And the picture was not originally of him but. I told him when he was alive that he looked liked the picture on my wall. I looked at the picture and it glowed. And then I heard banging noises on my wall and I smelt the odor of gasoline. Like automotive gasoline. And I opened my bedroom door. And everything stopped. Like nothing happened. And the day I went to his funeral. I came home and I tried talking to a friend of mine. That he never liked. And for some strange reason the phone kept getting disconnected and I kept hearing a lot of static like someone did not want us to talk. I was worried and scared at the same time. Every time I would shut my bedroom door I would here noises and smell gasoline and I would open my door and everything would stop. After that I would not shut my door again while I was sleeping. The last time I had heard a noise was a morning maybe a year later when I was getting ready for school. I felt his presence and it seemed like he was standing right beside me I heard a noise like he was stomping his feet and I smelt the gasoline. I got mad and I told him to go away and leave me alone for good. And that he was dead. That was it. It was over. He never came back.