I don't believe in the afterlife, but I do have a couple of stories.
I'll start with the first ghost story my dad has told me.
There was one time when I was just learning to talk and walk, and I had a plastic telephone as a toy. I was babbling along with myself, and I stumbled out into the garden mid-sentence. My dad, who was hanging out the washing, asked me who I was talking to, and I simply replied "Burton"; said "Burton" was the old man who had died in the house before we bought it. I had no idea who "Burton" was, or that he'd ever lived in the house I now I lived in.
Personally, I think I said "Burton" because I may have seen it on a piece of paper, or heard my parents discussing it while I was around.
I'll finish with the second ghost story my dad told me.
When my dad was 22, he in involved in a car crash that left one out of his party of four in need of weeks of hospital treatment.
But anyway, when the car crashed, my dad was knocked out and sent into a state of mind where everything was blank. He turned around and noticed a man standing over him. He was dressed in Victorian clothes, and he was quite fat. He leant over to my dad and apaprently said "Are you alright?" That's where it ends.
