You're dead!

 A lot of mystical things happened in my life, but despite regular contact with supernatural forces, none of them did anything wrong to me. Trouble came, as they say, from where they did not expect.

My grandfather was a very domineering man during his lifetime, and by the end of his life, only my mother and I were left with him. He died long and painfully, lay for a long time, his whole body cramped. They fed him hard, and he was practically silent all the time. On the last evening of his life, I sat in the room with him, trying to feed him porridge, but he turned away and stared at the wall. Suddenly he arched up sharply, exhaled: "He's here!" — and began to turn pale sharply.

The doctors arrived surprisingly quickly. After examining the body, they said a strange thing: "Why did you call just now? He looks like he's been dead for days." They eventually attributed it to the fact that he had been practically motionless for a year and a half.

Three days later, strange rustling and creaking began in the house. Out of habit, I "cycled" at the brownie to keep it quiet, but the behavior of the cats was alarming, which began to crawl under the covers, as if they were hiding from something.

Four days later, the "memorial" vodka, supplied by someone from the family, was covered with mold. "Wow, they didn't even accept Nav!" the mother noted with some malice.

A serious problem happened about a month later. I slept alone. My husband was on shift, and my mother went to a friend's house for the weekend. I woke up because the cats started howling softly. I looked around the room, dazed, and caught a glimpse of a silhouette in the door. I wasn't even scared at first, not realizing who it was. And then he quite abruptly approached me. I recognized my grandfather in the contorted face of anger. I remember saying or thinking (I can't remember exactly), "Go away, you're dead!" In response, the grandfather clearly croaked: "I'm going to kill you."

I couldn't take my eyes off him. His eyes seemed too big and full of hate. I could feel his cold fingers squeezing my throat, but I couldn't even lift my arms myself. The last thing I remember before I lost consciousness was the loud howling of cats, some kind of gray shadow and the light turning on by itself in the pantry...

When I woke up in the morning, I found some oddities in the room: the door to the pantry was ajar, the chairs were lying on the floor, and when I examined the cats, it turned out that one of them was missing a fang. On top of that, there were spots of bruises on my neck and chest.

I called my mom. In the afternoon, we performed all the rituals recommended in such cases together. The dead grandfather never came to us again. I hope he won't show up again.