I do not believe in GHOST

I do not believe in ghosts but the old man that lives down the road says otherwise. As a kid, fantasizing about ghosts was a hobby of mine, Indeed, this hobby sure made me creep up onto my parent's bed at night, but it was quite fun, imagining the horrifying incidents that could've happened to anyone. 

My parents always told me that ghosts were just my imagination, and the truth was that there was in fact, no such things as ghosts. That sentence itself dampened my mood, for what would it be like with no ghosts in this world; and 'quite boring' was what I initially thought. Saddened after getting a taste of the pill called reality, I left the house for meeting up with friends at the park, they'd surely tell me that ghosts are real and that my parents were lying to me. 

On my way to the park, I came across an old man sitting on a bench on the side of the road. We, the townsfolk, called him 'Mad Ol' Henry' for he claimed to have seen ghosts multiple times. The townsfolk often dismissed him and his attempts to have many cemeteries and old manors investigated for ghosts. I, however, found it amazing that he saw ghosts in real life. My parents had never let me come in contact with him, they thought he was a bad influence. That day, however, I was angered by the pill of reality they'd made me taste, and I immediately went up to him and took a seat next to him, my legs dangling off of the bench. The forlorn old man took one glance at me, before going back to doing what he was, which was reading a newspaper.

"Is it true that you've seen ghosts? Mummy says that you said that for attention but I think otherwise." I tried to start a conversation with the man. He looked at me again, this time putting his newspaper down onto his lap. In an old croaky voice he said, "Well then, your mummy is lying. I did see many ghosts in my entire lifetime." 

"But mummy says lying is bad, she wouldn't do it herself, would she?" I asked him, to which he looked at me straight in the eye with a look that said 'she-just-did'.

"Can you tell me about the ghosts you've met?" I pressed further on. And so was my Saturday afternoon spent, with Mad Ol' Henry telling me the stories of all the ghosts he'd seen. Some were scary, whilst some were helpful. By the time it was evening, I knew I had to go back home for dinner, and I bid Mad Ol' Henry goodbye and a promise to visit him the next day.

When I got back home, I saw my mother sitting worriedly on the porch. "Mummy?" I whispered, loud enough for her to hear. She got up and engulfed me in a tight hug. "Where were you?? The children in the park, their mothers told me that you never went there!" 

I grinned at her. "That's because I never did! I was with Mad Ol' Henry the whole time! He told me wonderful stories!" 

Suddenly, my mother's expression became stoic. She looked at me in the eye before whispering,

"But honey, Mad Ol' Henry died 4 days ago…"