When I was young I was a master of planning things that, every one agreed, were impossible, couldn’t be done. I would then attempt to do it anyway and sure enough: every one was right. It could indeed not be done.
One such project was to cross the Danish border near Flensburg and gorge myself on Danish butter and cheese, things that were then not available in Germany. That was just one of those things that could not be done. One could say that I failed on this one. But it is only part of the story. I also learned something. You and I may not believe in ghosts. But some people, adults, do. They avoid cemeteries at night and insist they have actually seen a ghost. At the cemetery. Very early one morning before daylight. How can they say that with a straight face?
Easy, because they are right. They did see such a creature walking slowly from grave to grave. He was wearing a black pelouse and a wide brimmed black hat. The young woman who reported this saw him only from behind as she came around the corner on her bicycle. She was so frightened that she jumped off her bike and ran the rest the way on foot.
How can I be so sure of all that? Easy, too. I was there when it happened. I got stuck on my trip to Flensburg without a penny. All I had was a return train ticket home. I had slept that night in an empty rail car. It was still too early for the first train home. Good thing I had this black overcoat over my shoulders and that big felt hat to keep my head warm. It was cool that morning as I passed the time reading grave stones.
I know a thing or two about ghosts, you see? And I also understand what they mean about hell freezing over.