I always heard rumors about the old man’s house on the edge of town. People said it was haunted, that strange noises came from within, and that the old man himself had long since passed away. But I never really believed in ghosts (I saw El Chupacabras once).

It was a chilly fall evening, and I was on my way home from school. I had taken a shortcut through an alleyway to avoid the busy streets, but I quickly regretted my decision when I saw the old man’s house looming ahead of me. It was an old, rundown building with peeling paint and boarded-up windows. As I passed, I felt a cold breeze blow through me, and I heard a faint whisper in the wind.

But then I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look, and that’s when I saw him. The old man was standing in the doorway of his house, staring at me with hollow eyes. I froze in fear, but then he waved me inside.

“Come in, young man,” the old man said, his voice croaking.

I hesitated for a moment, but I didn’t want to be rude and I stepped inside the house, and as I did, I felt a chill run down my spine. The inside of the house was even more rundown than the outside, with cobwebs and dust covering every surface.

“What brings you here?” the old man asked, his eyes never leaving me.

“I was just passing by,” I said. “I heard this house was haunted.”

The old man chuckled. “People always say that. But there’s more to this place than meets the eye.”

And that’s when he told me his story.

The old man had been a soldier in the Vietnam War. He had seen terrible things there, things that had scarred him for life. When he returned home, he struggled to adjust to civilian life, haunted by the memories of what he had seen.

He moved to La Plata, hoping to start anew, but the memories of the war followed him there. He became reclusive, spending all his time alone in his house. And then, one day, he died, alone and forgotten.

“I’ve been here ever since,” the old man said, his eyes misty with tears. “I can’t move on, not until I find peace.”

“How can I help?” I asked, feeling a strange sense of empathy for this lonely old man.

“You can help me find closure,” the old man said. “You can help me find a way to move on from this place.”

I didn’t know how I could do that, but I knew I had to try. So, I sat with the old man, listening to his stories and trying to understand his pain. For weeks I always tried to stop by the old man’s house and listen to his stories. And one day, with a burst of light, he was gone, leaving the house and me in peace.

I don’t know what happened to the old man or why his house was haunted, but I’ll never forget that experience. It taught me that sometimes, things aren’t always what they seem and that there may be more to this world than we can ever know.