The Ghost at the Door

“Who was here so late?” Mom asked as I set her coffee mug down next to her on the end table.

“When?” I asked.

“Yesterday. Last night. Late. Some guy was here.”

“Mom, no one was here last night. No one was here at all yesterday.”

“Yes they were,” she argued. “I heard him at the front door when he was leaving.”

“What time was this supposed to have happened?” I asked.

“Around eleven o’clock.”

“At eleven o’clock Bill and I were in bed, sleeping. And, I assume, so were you.”

“No, I woke up. Probably because whoever was here was making so much noise,” she huffed in disapproval.

“Well there wasn’t anyone here. I think maybe you were dreaming.”

“No, it wasn’t a dream. I was awake and I heard him when he said goodnight to me.”

“He said goodnight to you?”

“Yes,” she replied with a firm nod. “I heard him very clearly. He was opening the front door and he said ‘Goodnight Elaine,’ and then he left.”

“Well it wasn’t a burglar because everything’s still here. And Bill and I didn’t have anyone over, so I guess it was John the Nazi’s ghost. Or maybe, just maybe, you were still asleep and it was all a very vivid dream.”

She picked up her coffee mug and pondered the options for a few moments before offering one more possibility.

“Or maybe someone stopped by and when he found out we were asleep he said goodnight and left.”

“Yup, that’s it, Mom,” I said as I left the room, shaking my head. “It was one of those crazy Sun City insomniacs picking the front door deadbolt just so he could pop in to say hi.”

“Hmpfff,” I heard her mutter before she called out after me, “You just never know. Maybe you should think about getting better locks!””

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