My father's apartment

My parents divorced a long time ago and live separately. When my paternal grandmother died, I went to visit him. We buried her, said our goodbyes, then my father went to work (he works the night shift), and I stayed overnight. He has a two-room apartment; he sleeps in one room (and I slept there), and my grandparents usually sleep in the other.

I went to bed late. I always close the door to my room tightly because open doors really irritate me (I have a thing about that), and I definitely didn't open the window. I woke up around 3 a.m. to someone pat my head. I opened my eyes abruptly and sat up in bed, looking around the room, thinking, "I dreamed there was definitely no one in the apartment, no one could..." My gaze immediately landed on the door—it was open. All the windows were closed, and a draft couldn't have forced it open. And then, while I was thinking all this over, I heard a loud crash in the kitchen, like a cutlery drawer had been knocked over. I stood up abruptly, closed the door, and quickly went back to bed. What thoughts were racing through my head! I fell asleep in the early morning, just as dawn was breaking.

I woke up at 10 a.m. My father was supposed to be home from work soon. I looked through the kitchen; nothing had fallen anywhere, all the forks and spoons were in place. I chalked up what had happened last night to a fear of the dark and went to wash my face. I always close the bathroom door, too, even if no one else was home. While I was brushing my teeth, there was a knock on the door—I assumed my father had already arrived, and I mentally complained that he couldn't wait five minutes, and out loud advised him to go wash his hands in the kitchen. A few seconds later, there was another knock. I opened the door, saying, "Can't you wait just a little while?" My words fell on deaf ears—there was no one else in the apartment. I looked around the rooms in bewilderment. And half an hour later, my father came...