So, my grandfather died of old age when he was ninety and I was seven. He died peacefully in his hospital bed during his sleep. I wasn't able to go to his funeral sadly... And I don't really remember much about him except for two things, which would occur constantly in my dreams.

One was that he would always teach me how to fold paper into airplanes. Everyday I would go down to the basement (that's where his room was) and brings sheets upon sheets of paper and scissors.

The second thing I remember about him was that since he was old and frail we made an elevator into our house (we made the plans for the home) and I would call him for supper and help him into the elevator.

About three months after his death I went into my room and started to sob, mourning his death. I look up and you know what I see? A paper airplane. Sitting on the window sill. I look at it for a long time, then I approach it. There was nothing odd about it. I unfolded it and, it turned out that it was a paper I had drawn on. It had a picture of my grandfather, sitting on his rocking chair. It was poorly drawn and in crayon.

This wasn't the only weird thing that happened however.

Maybe about a week after the paper plane was found, my mother and I sat at the table for dinner. My father ate on the couch. He looked like a wreck. Saddened by his father's death.

"Grandpa! Supper's read-!" I yell forgetting that he wasn't exactly in the right circumstances to come to dinner. I stop and put my hand to my mouth, worried that I had maddened my father. Yet, to the whole family's surprise, the elevator started coming up. No one had pressed the call button though. We all waited. The elevator reached our floor and we all looked towards the door. We hear the inside door open slowly, then the outside door creaked open slowly. To a lot of our dismay though, no one was in the elevator.

Still this isn't the last occurrence.

About a month after the "Elevator Incident" I was once again bawling in my bed, extremely emotionally scared at the loss of, who had been, my only friend. My dad was at work and my mom was at the store so I was home alone. I stayed in my room, then I decide to take the elevator down to my grandfather's room, which hadn't been touched since his death.

I reach the basement and slowly open the wooden sliding door that opened to his room. Opening the door set millions of dust mites astray in the air. I cough and continue in. There's a large shelf lining the top of the wall closest to the door. It has little miniature statues that he had gathered over his time of fighting in world war two in his B-24 Liberator, a bomber plane. Then in the left corner of the room there's a little fighter jet hanging from the ceiling.

All of a sudden, the wall with the shelf starts shaking and one of the statues falls I catch it, not wanted it to break but it feels like it's burning my hand. I quickly place it on the ground and I sit down, and place my head onto my knees and start rocking. Then I feel a pair of arms pull me into a firm yet gentle embrace and I hear a wheezing sob behind me, I join in the sobbing and I stay like that until the bing behind my disappears as the garage door opens, and my mother enters the room.