When I was a kid, my Dad was in the Air Force and we were overseas a lot of the time. We were coming home from the Philippines once for vacation and had landed in California, bought an old station wagon and drove across the country to get back to the east coast.

We were driving through the midwest and passing through a small town and I told my mother that I used to live there. She told me we had never been there and I said "No, only I lived there, down that street in the yellow house"

My mother looked at my father and told him to make the turn and drive down the street. There was a big yellow house and I pointed at it and told them "right there"

You couldn't see it from where we had been driving. There was no way I could have known it was there, but I KNEW that house. I knew that there was a barn in back, I knew what room was mine and I knew what color the walls were in the house.

My mom wanted to knock on the door and see if they would let me go in but Dad vetoed that and off we drove. They looked at me funny for a long time, but they always listened to me when I said I remembered something after that.

Years later my Dad owned a huge old Victorian house, the kind that looks like an old riverboat, all gingerbread curliques and balconies and such. I moved in when I was 19. I went down the front stairway from upstairs for the first time and I could NOT go down those stairs without holding on to the railing. I told my Dad that I got the feeling someone was behind me and would push me if I let go of the railing, and it was a malevolent feeling, as if it was someone who wanted to push me.

He looked at me with this really strange look on his face and went to his bedroom and got a bunch of old papers. One was the deed with all the original owners. One was a news clipping.

He showed me the clipping. An old woman who had owned the house had died by falling down the front stairs. It was believed that her little grandson had pushed her down the stairs accidentally. I never used that stairway again. I have the old bedroom furniture from the room I slept in and from the age of the set, I know it has to have been hers. It was left in place by three previous owners until my Dad sold the house and gave it to me. It's huge and old and heavy and beautiful and I will never give it up.

It's entirely possible your granddaughter saw someone. I'd go through the pictures and see who visited, and see if I could find pictures of previous owners.

Thanks for opening the door!