This is a story my father told me and my sisters when we were still kids. It was his own experience as a child back in Nueva Ecija in the 1960s.
My grandmother's father died. Unfortunately she could not attend the funeral for whatever reason. I don't remember why, either work or something about the house. But the rest of the family attended, including my father. That night, his grandfather visited them.
He and his family all slept in the same room back then, as this was rural Philippines in the 60s and the luxury of multiple bedrooms for most people was not all that accessible. But my father was the only one to wake up to sounds at the foot of the bed. He opened his eyes and found his grandfather standing there, dressed in his burial clothes and, of course, looking like death.
"Why didn't your mother come to my funeral?" he asked.
My father knew it made no sense that he was seeing his grandfather hours after his burial, but he didn't flip. At least, he claimed he didn't. Instead, he woke his mother up and relayed the question to her. When my grandmother woke up and saw her father's ghost, however, she shut her eyes tight and started praying quietly. My father was confused as to why she wouldn't speak to his grandfather. So while she panicked and prayed all to herself, my father told the ghost that, "She couldn't make it. She's sorry."
The ghost was apparently there for a while just watching my dad and grandmother, but after that night he didn't come again. It still creeps me out to this day. I haven't asked my grandmother about it yet, but the next time I visit her, I will.