The Visitor in the Empty House

My grandmother passed away a week before my birth. I never met her, but my father says she was eager to hold me.

Years ago, my father shared a small apartment with his friend Leo. One afternoon, Leo was alone, reading in the living room. He clearly heard the sound of someone humming from my father’s bedroom. Thinking my father had come home early, Leo called out a greeting. The humming stopped immediately.

Later, Leo dozed off in his armchair. He was woken by the same soft humming from the bedroom. He assumed he was dreaming and tried to ignore it. When he heard a drawer slide open and shut, he called my father’s name, annoyed at the disturbance. There was no reply.

Just then, the front door opened and my father walked in, his work bag still in his hand. Leo confronted him, asking why he had been making noise and not answering. My father explained he had just left the office. The two friends looked at each other, realizing the house had been empty all along.

My father always believed it was his mother, just checking in.