Oh, the mind can play tricks:
Probably just nerves. New home, late night, distracted thoughts. . . while unpacking dishes Tim had turned and seen a pale face at the window.
Looking again, it was gone.
Upon investigation, he found nobody near the window.
Looking in from darkness, he thought he saw. . . what? Movement?
He turned to go back and she was there, reaching out: a faded shadow of a girl in checkered dress. Bludgeoned, judging by the misshapen head. Black eyes snared his, forbidding retreat.
She touched him, and his mind played its meanest trick: it abandoned him.