Barb Gagnier, Vancouver

On Christmas Eve I pulled into my son’s driveway and got out of the car to move a bunch of Christmas gifts from the back seat.

While doing this, my husband came out of our son’s apartment and asked who was with me.

“No one,” I said, and wondered why he’d ask such a strange question.

“Well who was the lady in black helping you rearrange the gifts from the back seat?” he asked.

“What lady?” I responded. “There is no one here as you can see.”

As we approached the walkway into my son’s apartment, I noticed members of my family looking out the window and waving at me.

Once entering the apartment, all five of my family members also asked who had been with me.

My daughter described the figure as a woman, about five foot six inches tall, wearing a black cloak with a hood, who was basically helping me retrieve the gifts from the back seat. Nobody saw her face.

The funny thing is that I didn’t see her. But as I approached my son’s apartment, I turned my head and much to my surprise there was a funeral home next door.

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