In a quiet village far from Poland, the tale unfolds, but this time, it’s not about Wiktoria. It’s a story about a family and their unique tradition that transcends time and space.
Many years had passed since the grandfather’s untimely departure, a man beloved by his family. Every year, on the anniversary of his passing, the family would come together at their grandmother’s house to celebrate his life. It was a heartwarming occasion, filled with laughter, stories, and the comforting feeling of unity. However, as time went on, their beloved auntie, the party’s financial pillar, had ventured far from home, making it impossible to continue the tradition as they once did.
In 2003, they decided to change their approach. Instead of the usual festivities, they opted to visit their grandfather’s grave and light a solitary candle in his memory. It was a solemn yet heartfelt gesture, acknowledging the man who had left an indelible mark on their lives.
After paying their respects at the gravesite, the cousins returned to their grandmother’s house. With youthful enthusiasm, they settled in the living room, ready to enjoy a movie and indulge in some delicious snacks. As the film flickered on the screen, the room was bathed in a warm, inviting glow.
However, the comfort of the moment soon lulled one of the cousins to sleep. It was Weronika, 19 years old at the time, who decided to retire to one of the rooms for a nap. The movie continued to play in the background as she drifted off.
Suddenly, her eyes snapped open, and she found herself sitting upright in bed. The cousins in the living room were shouting her name in a panic. Bewildered and alarmed, she rushed out to see what was happening.
Tears streamed down her cousins’ faces as they recounted the events that had unfolded. They had heard unmistakable footsteps, the sound of someone walking back and forth upstairs. Their fear had intensified as they realized that everyone was gathered in the living room, leaving no one upstairs.
Weronika tried to calm her cousins, her own heart pounding with uncertainty. As she sat down to reassure them, the footsteps resumed. The wooden floor upstairs amplified the sound, making it impossible to ignore. The cousins screamed in terror as the footsteps grew louder and more intense, as though an invisible presence were stomping its feet angrily.
Fear gripped them, and in a moment of collective panic, they fled the house and sought refuge outside. They made their way home and recounted the harrowing experience to Weronika’s mother, hoping for an explanation.
Her mother, wise and comforting, proposed a thought that eased their troubled minds. Perhaps it was their grandfather, attempting to make his presence known. He had a habit of stomping his feet on the floor when he returned home from work, a familiar sound that had been absent for years.
From that day forward, whenever they heard footsteps within their grandmother’s house, they no longer trembled in fear. Instead, they would smile and say, “Hi there, Dziadek,” using the affectionate Polish term for grandfather, acknowledging his enduring presence and the timeless bond that connected them across the realms of life and death.