I was alone in my grandmother’s house after she moved into assisted living.
My job was simple: pack books, clean the kitchen, and make sure the rooms were ready for sale. The house was quiet in a way that felt heavy, but not scary.
In the dining room, one chair was pulled out from the table. I pushed it back in before leaving for lunch.
When I returned, the same chair was pulled out again.
I thought maybe I had imagined pushing it in, so I did it again. This time I took a photo with my phone.
An hour later, I walked past the room and stopped.
The chair was out again.
Nothing else had moved. No windows were open. The floor was flat. There was no reason for that chair to move by itself.
I left the house early that day and came back with my brother the next morning. The chair was still pulled out, facing the doorway like someone had been sitting there, waiting.