The Sixty-Year-Old Ghost and the Simple Boy

The Sixty-Year-Old Ghost and the Simple Boy

When Haunting Goes Hilariously Wrong!

In a village far and wide,

Where dusty roads and trees abide,

Stood an old and broken home,

Where no one dared at night to roam.

The people whispered, “Ghost lives there,

With floating chairs and flying hair!”

“For sixty years, it screams and moans,

It shakes the walls and rattles bones!”

But in that same old, quiet town,

A boy named Shehzad came around.

He wasn’t strong or big or bold,

But had a heart worth solid gold.

He moved in with his grandma dear,

Who told him tales to spark some fear.

“Don’t go near that haunted gate,

The ghost is old — and full of hate!”

Shehzad just laughed and scratched his head,

“A ghost? I’d rather nap instead.”

He didn’t shake, he didn’t run,

He thought it might be kind of fun.

One sunny day, without a care,

He walked up to that house so rare.

The door creaked open — loud and slow,

The wind began a spooky blow.

The ghost named Gul Baba appeared with flair,

His beard was long, he had no hair.

He moaned and floated high and wide,

But Shehzad simply stood inside.

“Boo!” the ghost said, “Run away!”

Shehzad replied, “You okay?”

“I brought some tea and sweets to share,

You look like you could use some care.”

The ghost was shocked, he dropped mid-air,

“No one’s been kind — no one would dare!”

“Are you not scared of things I do?”

Shehzad smiled, “No. Should I be too?”

He walked around with quiet grace,

He didn’t scream or hide his face.

The ghost tried hard with all his might,

To bring the boy a pinch of fright.

He threw some plates, he banged the door,

He made the table rise and roar.

But Shehzad yawned and scratched his knee,

“That’s nice,” he said, “but have some tea.”

Gul Baba groaned, “What’s wrong with you?

I’ve scared whole crowds, I’ve chased a few!”

The boy just laughed, “You’re old and bored.

You need a friend, not a ghostly sword.”

Days went by and nights passed too,

The house, once dark, felt something new.

The ghost and boy were now a pair,

One floated by, one climbed the stair.

They played some cards, they fixed the light,

They joked and laughed all through the night.

The ghost learned memes and games to play,

And even danced in his own way.

The village stared with mouths agape,

“Shehzad made friends with that strange shape!”

“He’s brave!” they said, “He’s got no fear!”

The ghost? He smiled from ear to ear.

One day, a group of men appeared,

With fire and sticks — just like they feared.

“We’ll burn the house, the ghost must go!

It’s cursed!” they yelled, “We told you so!”

Shehzad stood tall and raised his hand,

“You do not even understand!

This ghost is kind, he means no harm,

He’s just a soul with ghostly charm.”

“He scared you once when he was sad,

But now he’s peaceful, never mad.”

The crowd looked close, the ghost just bowed,

And softly spoke before the crowd:

“I never wished to bring you pain,

I just got tired in wind and rain.

I waited long for someone true,

And Shehzad came — a friend so new.”

The people cheered and dropped their sticks,

“No fire now, just house repairs and bricks!”

The house was cleaned, its windows bright,

With Gul Baba glowing every night.

From that day on, the ghost would guard

The fields, the school, the village yard.

He scared away a sneaky thief,

And saved a goat stuck on a reef.

Shehzad became the village pride,

The boy with courage deep inside.

He proved that ghosts, or things unknown,

Are just like us — not made of stone.

And so this tale, both strange and true,

Of ghosts and boys — and bravery too,

Now lives in songs the children sing,

About a boy, and ghost with wings.