The author's grandpa in 1990.

Last October, I got an email from a woman named Kate, claiming to be the new owner of my late grandpa’s Los Angeles home.

The emailer said her young kids complained about a scary-looking ghost that appeared in the back bedroom, with fingers missing from its left hand. The kids were shaken, and she was wondering if I could help.

Her email pleaded: “Any idea what this might be, by chance?”

At first, I thought this was a scam: a phishing email themed to the Halloween season. But the details in her message made me wonder.

My grandpa, who died at 92, had a condition that made his fingers curl up. Looking at his hand straight on, it might look like some digits were missing.

The detail that the ghost was scary-looking matched up, too. Toward the end of his life, my grandpa was skinny, pale and hunched. He was very kind but, admittedly, not particularly attractive. Plus, he died in the house, in that back bedroom she mentioned.

It was early in the morning, but I called my mom anyway.

“Grandpa’s haunting his house,” I told her.

It’d been a year since my sweet, bookish grandfather died. He’d lived a long life and was ready to go, but I’d taken his passing surprisingly hard.

This was the first loss of a loved one since I’d become a parent, and maybe it was my new-mom anxiety or the sleep deprivation that came with having a toddler and a newborn, but suddenly, death felt harsher and much more upsetting.

Watching my mom mourn her last living parent didn’t help, either. She shuffled through grandad’s pictures and started wearing his knit sweaters because they smelled like him. Seeing her so sad made me ache. And I couldn’t help but wonder, what would my daughters do if I died?

I started having anxiety about going to the store and getting in a car accident; my daughters still home, wondering where I was. I pictured them calling for me in the night and no one answering. The dread was overwhelming.

So when I got the email from Kate, I was intrigued – even excited – by the idea of some sort of life after death. I craved proof that I’d never leave my kids. I confirmed with our family’s real estate agent that the emailer was, in fact, the new owner (just to be sure!) and then asked Kate to keep me updated on ghost sightings.

Whenever she sent an email, I found myself curled up with my phone like it was the latest instalment of my........

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