The Picture on the Wall

When my daughter was six, we lived in a small house near the woods. She would often tell us about a tall man who stood in the hallway, just watching. My wife was setting the table one evening when a plate she had just placed down slid slowly across the surface. She never saw anyone, but small events like this occurred around her.

One afternoon, my brother came to visit. He grew pale as he entered the living room. I asked him what was wrong. He pointed toward the kitchen and said, “There’s a tall man in there, staring right at me.” It seemed this presence was noticed by a few of us, or perhaps it focused on one person at a time.

I let my daughter sleep on the couch one night, and she woke me up, tugging at my sleeve. She whispered, “Dad, that man says he needs to tell you something.” I asked her who she meant, but I saw nothing in the dark room.

Later, we were looking through an old family photo album. My daughter pointed at a picture and said, “That’s him! The man I see!” It was my grandfather, who had died many years before. I asked my brother if that was the person he had seen. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “The man I saw seemed kind, like he was protecting the family. But he didn’t seem to want strangers here.”