There had to be a reason for the doors being left open. There was always a reason.
The question was who left them open?
This situation had been going on for some time and my Grandmother seemed to take it all in her stride. She’d shrug as she’d go down the corridor pulling each of them shut.
“It happens,” she sigh pulling shut the last door, the one that took us unto Grandad’s old study. ”It’s your Grandad’s joke on us all. He was forever leaving doors open and now he’s gone he’s still at it. I’m sure to drive me crazy. He always said he’d come back and haunt me if I ever made a point of shutting the house up. He’d say ‘a house should be lived in, doors open, stuff strewn about, kids toys on the floor not you going about tiding everything up, vacuuming endlessly. Give yourself a break.’ he’d say, ‘and go enjoy yourself.’
“But I can’t I’m a bit too OCD I’m afraid,” said Grandmother resigned to the fact the doors would be open the next morning and the ghost of Grandad would be laughing to himself in a corner somewhere waiting to see her reaction.