The following written confession was shared via Reddit:

My grandmother swore by this story till her dying day. It was during the war in London, and my dad was a baby. She was bombed out of her house and was staying with a friend. The friend had set her up in a room on the top floor. Anyway, she was taking my dad upstairs to bed when a figure materialised on the stairs telling her not to sleep in that room tonight. She noped back down stairs and told her friend that she, and my dad, were sleeping in the sitting room that night. Her friend was annoyed but agreed. That night a bomb exploded near the house and the roof caved in, right on top of my dads cot - he would have been killed.