(This is based on a true incident as narrated by a friend of mine, at the very least what I remember of it.)
The lawns pressed by unseen feet, and ghosts return Gently at twilight, gently go at dawn,The sad intangible who grieve and yearn….
T.S. ELIOT, To Walter de la Mare
“You both were having fun yesterday,” the woman at the reception said to them.
“We don’t remember seeing you,”he replied.
As they were walking by, his friend nudged him in the ribs. For some unknown reason he seemed to have gone white as a sheet of paper.
He turned to look at one of the screens on the woman’s desk displaying the feed from the cameras.
The feed showed that the chair behind the reception desk was empty and swiveling by itself.
The woman continued to smile at them.