My mothers family all live in Scotland and have many tales. But the one that chills me the most is the story of my Uncle Peter.
One evening my grandparents had gone to bed. The time was around 10:00pm. Just as they had settled in for the night, they heard a knock at the door. My grandfather went and answered the door and it was my grandmothers brother, Peter. My grandparents invited Peter in to the house and my grandmother started a pot of tea for them to drink.
As the pot was heating up my grandmother had asked Peter if everything was ok as it was odd for him to be out late in the evening. Peter told my grandparents that he was going to have to go away and wanted to stop in to say good- bye and that he loved my grandmother very much.
As my grandmother asked Uncle Peter where he was going, another knock came at the door. Both my grandparents went to answer it and it was my grandmothers other brother Netty. He told my grandmother that my Uncle Peter had passed away that evening around 10:00pm. My grandmother told Netty that Peter couldn't have passed away because he was in the kitchen visiting with them and drinking a cup of tea. As they walked back into the kitchen Uncle Peter was gone and all that was left behind was a half empty cup of tea.