Real ghost stories from real people.

This is Into the Paranormal with Tony Bruske.

They say grief has its own language, one that speaks in dreams, in memories, and sometimes in the dark.

Tonight's story doesn't begin with a haunting. It begins with love, the kind of quiet,

enduring bond between a grandmother and the child she helped raise. But when death came to their

doorstep, that bond didn't break. It lingered. And for one teenage girl named Jenny,

it returned twice at night when the house had fallen silent, and only the

dead seemed to stir. Jenny's experience isn't one of flickering lights or slamming doors. There were

no whispers from the attic or icy cold spots in the hallway. What she experienced was gentler, but no less chilling.

A figure at the foot of her bed, a chair creaking in the darkness, a familiar walk through a blurry

haze. Was it all in her mind? A trick of the senses brought on by heartbreak? Or did her

grandmother truly returned to her one last time to say goodbye? Let's get to the

letter. They write, Tony. My name is Jenny. I'm 22 now, but the story I'm about to share happened when

I was just 17. I've never told anyone the full version of it before, not even my parents. But I've

carried it with me every day since it happened,

and I think maybe it's time to let it out. I think she'd want me to. My grandmother helped raise

me. From the day I was born, she lived with us. She was gentle, patient, and always seemed

to know the right thing to say. I'd fall asleep to the sound of her prayers every night and wake up to her humming in the kitchen.

She was more than family. She was a part of my soul.

When she was diagnosed with cancer, it was like the color drained out of the world.

Over two years, I watched her fade, not just physically, but in her eyes. She tried to

stay strong for me and for my parents, but some nights, when she thought no one could hear,

...