There was a small abandoned house in my village. It was located in a dense forest and not easily accessible. We, the children, managed to find our way to it but never dared to go inside; it was very creepy. Stories circulated among the kids about an elusive older man’s ghost that appeared on rare occasions to chase away intrusive kids.

We watched from a distance on my first visit to the house, and the kids spoke in hushed tones.

“The old man sometimes comes out, and if he sees you, he will grab you!”
“I saw him once!”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not. I was with Eric; we both heard him.”

I don’t believe any children saw a ghost or anything else. Despite the house being creepy and mysterious, there was nothing there. It was an abandoned little house that the owner had never finished constructing.

I smile when I think of how far our imaginations stretched and ran wild with crazy stories about a non-existent ghost, and I wonder how fast we would have run had something emerged.

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