He has also claimed he was a close friend of the star towards the end of his life and released the tribute song Cry Out Of Joy after his death.
Jackson’s former stylist and hairdresser Steve Erhardt, who initially wrote a Facebook message to “believers” – the singer’s fans who still cling to the idea he is still alive – in 2017 saying he had a message for them.
The message said: “A tip for the believers, the Michael Jackson believers. You heard it here first, an announcement of sorts.
COMEBACK
“And in a couple of months, or latest at the end of the year, you will be receiving some very good news.
“It’s almost unbelievable. And not even the family knows… but I do.”
Erhardt has never made public exactly what the post referred to.
In June last year he shared another enigmatic post showing only the leg of a man wearing Jacko’s trademark white socks and baggy, short black trousers.
The post said: “In a recording studio, somewhere in the world, in an undisclosed location, he’s coming soon.”
Further fuelling the strange conspiracy theories has been a YouTube channel, “BeLIEve” focused on debating if Jackson is still alive.
In one video, it states: “Michael’s friend, Hollywood hair designer Steve Erhardt, told us last year that he would give good news to Believers (I mean people who believe that Michael Jackson is alive).
“Now he shared something that excited the fans.”
Michael Turegano, who has investigated Jacko’s death for almost a decade, said that Erhardt’s claims should not be dismissed.
He said last year: “He’s been in contact with Michael in the past. So I think we should care what he says.”
Jackson died after suffering a heart attack in 2009 but some people have refused to believe that is really what happened.
His personal physician, Conrad Murray, was convicted of involuntary manslaughter over his death, which was deemed to be a homicide, the Los Angeles County Coroner ruled.
I Came Home from Vacation to Find a Huge Hole Dug in My Backyard – I Wanted to Call the Cops until I Saw What Was at the Bottom
When I cut short our vacation due to Karen falling ill, the last thing I expected was to find a massive hole in our backyard upon returning home. Initially alarmed, I hesitated when I spotted a shovel inside, leading me into an unexpected adventure involving buried treasure, newfound friendship, and lessons in life’s true values.
Karen and I rushed back from the beach early after she fell ill. Exhausted but wary, I decided to check the house’s perimeter before settling in. That’s when I stumbled upon the gaping pit in our lawn.
“What’s this?” I muttered, approaching cautiously.
At the bottom, amid scattered debris, lay a shovel. My first instinct was to call the police, but then I considered the possibility that the digger might return, knowing we were supposed to be away.
Turning to Karen, who looked unwell, I suggested keeping the car hidden in the garage to maintain the appearance of absence.
As night descended, I kept vigil by a window, watching and waiting. Just as I was about to give up, I spotted a shadow vaulting over our fence.
Heart pounding, I ventured out with my phone ready to call the authorities. Approaching the pit, I heard the clink of metal on earth.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, shining my phone’s light into the hole. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The figure looked up, squinting. My jaw dropped—it was George, the previous owner of our house.
“Frank?” he stammered, equally surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here, remember?” I retorted. “What are you doing in my yard in the middle of the night?”
George climbed out, looking sheepish. “I can explain. Just… please don’t involve the police.”
Arms folded, I demanded an explanation.
“My grandfather owned this place,” George began, “and I recently discovered he hid something valuable here. I thought I’d dig it up while you were away.”
“You broke into my yard to hunt for treasure?” I couldn’t believe it.
“I know how it sounds,” George pleaded, “but it’s true. Help me dig, and we’ll split whatever we find.”
Despite my better judgment, I agreed. Over hours of digging, we shared stories, George revealing his hardships—a lost job and his wife’s illness. His hope for this treasure to change their lives touched me.
As dawn approached, our optimism dwindled with each shovel of dirt revealing nothing but rocks and roots.
“I was so sure…” George’s disappointment was palpable.
Offering a ride home, we filled the pit and drove to his house, where his wife, Margaret, greeted us anxiously.
“George! Where have you been?” Margaret exclaimed, eyeing me curiously.
Explaining the situation, George’s dream of buried treasure was deflated by Margaret’s reality check.
“My grandfather’s tales were just that—stories,” she gently reminded him.
Apologizing, George and Margaret offered to repair our yard. I declined, suggesting they join us for dinner instead.
Driving home, I shared the night’s escapade with Karen, who teased me about my unusual night with a stranger. Reflecting on our conversation, I proposed inviting George and Margaret for dinner—an unexpected outcome from a night of digging for imaginary treasure.
As I assessed the yard in daylight, I realized life’s treasures aren’t always what we seek but the connections we forge along the way.
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