But when I came home, I stopped cold at the front door.
The house was completely dark.
My mother-in-law always left the kitchen light on for my son. Always.
I rushed inside and called his name. No answer.
Then I heard whispering upstairs.
My heart pounded as I climbed the steps quietly. My son’s bedroom door was slightly open, and I could hear my mother-in-law speaking softly.
“You have to tell Grandma if you see the bad man again,” she whispered.
I froze.
Bad man?
I peeked inside. My son was clutching his stuffed dinosaur, trembling. My mother-in-law sat beside him with an old photograph in her hand.
When she noticed me, she looked startled.
“What’s going on?” I demanded.
Before she could answer, my son burst into tears.
“The man in the hallway!” he cried. “Grandma talks to him!”
A chill ran through me.
My mother-in-law slowly stood up and handed me the photograph. It was an old picture of my late father-in-law—the man my son had never met because he died years before my son was born.
“He started talking about a man standing near his closet weeks ago,” she said quietly. “The exact same way my husband used to dress.”
I stared at her, unsure whether to feel scared or ridiculous.
“I didn’t want to upset you,” she continued. “So I tried calming him down whenever he saw him.”
That night, after my mother-in-law left, I tucked my son into bed myself.
“Mommy?” he whispered.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“The hallway man isn’t scary anymore.”
I forced a smile. “Why not?”
My son looked toward the doorway.
“Because Grandpa said Grandma protected me until you came home.”
