My Grandparents had moved into a beautifully preserved craftsman home. Updated kitchen (at the time) and bought a lot of the original furniture, especially for this grand parlor that was the calling card of the house. My family had gone to stay with them to help get settled. One day we noticed coming home from dinner, that my father’s then Mac computer, someone had fiddled with the games on it. Impossible. No one had been home. My sister later that afternoon woke up from a nap and hugged my Grandmother, thanking her for waking her up so she wouldn’t miss dinner. Grandma didn’t know what she was talking about. “But you came in and stroked my cheek and said ‘wake up, honey!’” my sister said. Grandma again said she hadn’t. She hadn’t been in that part of the house, she’d been unpacking the kitchen. Grandpa began to get a little edgy, and said when he’d showered that morning, he seriously bumped into an unknown woman in the shower who politely said “Oh! Excuse me!” and vanished. Three events in 24 hours, and oddly we never had contact or trouble again with this woman again. Yet it always felt like we were being watched from then on. Nothing sinister, just as if someone kept an eye on us.