Almost

After our parents finished their radio entertainment, my brother and I listened to the really scary programs. The ones we liked were: The Shadow, Inner Sanctum and Mystery Theater. However, I wouldn’t listen to these programs without Lloyd being nearby—they just scared the heck out of me.

The weather conditions became troubling. A storm was brewing, with a cold, brisk wind blowing out of the north. The overcast sky produced distant lightning flashes and threatening claps of thunder. These menacing conditions caused the night to be unusually dark. It was very spooky.

At the completion of the creepy programs I always had to go to the bathroom in the dark, alone, and scared to death!

My mother used to tell me, “If you’re too scared to go by yourself, stop listening to those frightening programs at night!” But I just couldn’t stop listening. It was like an addiction.

I tried my hardest to go to the bathroom before the programs came on, but it never worked. Out of habit, I always went just before bedtime, because you sure as heck didn’t want to get up out of a warm bed and go outside in the cold and dark night, especially if the weather was bad—like this night.

I, a child of seven, was warily groping my way down the lengthy path to the outhouse. We had no electricity. My choices of illumination were either a kerosene lantern or a weak, piece-of-crap flashlight. With the wind blowing so hard the lantern wasn’t going to stay lit, leaving me with the flashlight. Back then, batteries were not what they are today, so the light was dim. You could only see a little way in front of you—enough, hopefully, that you wouldn’t trip over anything.

We had an unusual two-hole outhouse; the traditional models usually had only one hole. I can recall my Mom asking Dad, “Why in the world would anyone build a two-hole outhouse? I wouldn’t want to share that intimate experience with anyone else, would you?” Personally, I preferred the larger dimensions of the upscale two-holer. I didn’t feel quite so claustrophobic.

When making those lonely trips to the outhouse by myself, I always took an old baseball bat with me for protection.

I had mixed emotions about the quality of illumination of the flashlight. On one hand, I wanted to brightly light up everything so I could clearly see what may be lurking out there, anything dangerous and life-threatening. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure I really wanted to see what my mind eye told me was definitely out there.

I will never forget the horrifying event that occurred that fateful dark evening. While stealthily making my way to the privy with flashlight and my trusty baseball bat, I had my senses tuned to any threatening sound or movement that would warn me of immediate danger. So far, so good . . . I made it to the outhouse without incident, had my pants down and was warily doing my business while shining the flashlight around to keep watch as best as I could while concentrating on the job at hand.

All of a sudden these terrible, bloodcurdling screeching sounds started, a loud banging and flapping noise erupted—it was spine-tingling! The most terrifying part: At first I thought some strange creature was trying to break into the structure to devour me, but—even more frightening, I realized the hideous sounds were coming from inside the outhouse—where I was! If you have ever been inside an outhouse you would know there isn’t much room in there, even for a modern, upscale two-holer like ours. If there is something that can make that much bone-chilling noise and those loud thumping and flapping sounds . . . in there with me . . . and only one way out—I’m dead!

I jumped up, dropped the flashlight and in the pitch blackness started swinging the bat back and forth with all my might—in case whatever was going to try to kill me could be between me and the door. I fiercely battered the inside walls of the outhouse with the bat for a time, until I realized, Hey—I’m still alive . . . I can actually get out the door and make a break for the house. The distance I had to sprint was about twenty-five to thirty yards. I wish someone could have timed me because I’m sure it would have been a world record, even in the dark, while holding up my pants with one hand.

I ran into the house and breathlessly told my mother and my brother about my ordeal. They both tried to assure me I had imagined the whole thing, but neither was willing to go out there to see if what I had just related was in fact true, particularly since the piece-of-crap flashlight was still in the outhouse.

My dad had been in bed for some time because he had to get up before sunrise to start his daily chores. Therefore, he didn’t like to be awakened under any circumstances, but I figured since our whole family was in peril, I would risk retribution—I woke him up. I told him what had happened and suggested he get his gun and investigate. I convinced him of the impending danger that was about to befall all of us. He got up, got dressed, lit the kerosene lantern and started for the outhouse, but without any protection!

I encouraged him to take his gun, or at least take my bat, since it had saved my life. I figured he would need something to kill that monster, but he assured me he could take care of any menacing situation without a weapon.

Wow, that’s my dad, what a guy!

I waited in the house, huddled close to my mom and brother, all the while thinking, the three of us will have to go help him at any minute. It’s the least we can do if the creature has him.