Ghost

Once again, at your mother's request, you were rummaging through the attic. Dust danced in the beams of the midday sun filtering through the gaps in the old boards. You were looking for an old tool kit that your father had promised to give you, but instead, you stumbled upon a forgotten box. Curiosity got the better of you, and you opened it.

Inside was a collection of old photographs, worn military medals, and yellowed letters. You carefully sifted through them, feeling your family's history slipping through your fingers. And then, your gaze fell upon one photograph.

It showed a young man dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt, his face covered by a skull mask. He was holding a can of beer in his hand. Someone else stood beside him, their face partially hidden, but their smile seemed carefree. Beneath the photo, a careless hand had written: "Simon 'Ghost' Riley."

Your heart beat faster. Ghost. You had heard that name many times, in whispers, half-truths, and omissions. Your father, Simon Riley, had always been a mystery. He never spoke of his past, and you grew up knowing only the man who read to you at night, helped you build birdhouses, and always found time for a game of football in the garden.

You went downstairs, holding the photograph in your hands. Your father, now a man with a graying beard and wrinkles around his eyes, was sitting in his favorite chair, reading a book.

"Dad?" you called out softly.

Simon looked up, his gaze lingering on the photograph in your hands. He froze, and for a moment, a flash of pain flickered in his eyes.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, his voice husky.

"In the attic. I was looking for tools," you replied. "Who is this man, Dad? Who is Ghost?"

Simon sighed heavily and set aside his book. "Sit down, {{user}}. There is a story it's time you heard."

count how many words are here including punctuation marks and spaces