Flesh Eating Monsters

Every kid knows that there are things that grownups just don't understand.  My father, never one for sympathy, didn't have a lot of patience for our childish ways.  Sympathy was reserved for other people's families only during the time immediately following a death.  You had exactly three days.  You then became one of those people that wallowed in misery and expected everyone to feel sorry for you.

 

My sisters and I would be back and forth between my grandparent's house and our house so much that we wore a path.  The path veered off my grandparent's sidewalk and diagonally across their yard.  It ran past the huge boxwood and approached the giant black walnut tree.  There, it made a sharp left and ran across the crest of a hill along the edge of the garden.  Walking through the garden was taboo.  The two houses are probably fifty yards apart, but the necessity of skirting the garden made the trip considerably longer. 

We were terrified of the black walnut tree.  That's where the "boogie man" lived.  My older sister said the small man off "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" that went around collecting all the children lived behind the walnut tree.  I neglected to ask my younger sister what she pictured there, but I'm sure it had green slimy skin and red glowing eyes.  I knew that one night something was going to jump out and grab me as I ran past.  The trip home after dark required some preparation.

First, we would call our parents to be sure the porch light was on.  We always hoped our mother answered because she would turn on the light.  With my father, we had about a 50/50 chance that he would decide to toughen us up by letting us walk home in the dark.  Worse, there was a 10% chance that he would decide to hide along the way and scare us.  There was no use asking to speak to my mother if my father answered because he only answered the phone if my mother was completely unavailable.  The nights that Dad answered, didn't turn on the light and then hid and scared us were rare, but happened at least often enough for us to add that to our list of things to worry about.  My older sister and I make our plan before we made the call.  "If Mom answers, do we ask her to turn on the light or do we ask her to spend the night here?  If Dad answers, we definitely ask to spend the night."  Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't.  It was worth a shot.

If we had to make the trip home, I would make sure all the outside lights were on at our grandparent's house.  I would start down the path with trepidation, barely trotting along.  As I reached the tree, I would slow down and screw up my courage.  I would listen for the sounds of anything lying in wait for me.  Then I would bolt for my parent's house.  I ran like the devil himself was on my heels.  

 

When my friends were with me I was completely nonchalant, but secretly terrified.  I couldn't have them going around telling everyone I was scared of a tree, could I?  I would pretend the tree was not the haven of some hideous, flesh eating monster who liked to clean between his teeth with the bones of small children.  I would walk past the tree like it was just another tree while they ran.  I would resist the temptation to panic for as long as I could.  The hair would stand up on the back of my neck and I would get goose bumps.  When I couldn't stand it any longer or my friends were in the house where they couldn’t see me, I would set a land speed record for the safety of the porch light.  Any kid knows a light will sear the skin of flesh eating monsters and make them skulk back to the depths from which they sprang.  If the porch light wasn't on, I made it through the door in record time.  I'm pretty sure the inner door still has scuff marks on it from my sneakers making contact at high speed.

As I got older the tree began to lose its' mystery.  Now, my mother lives in the house where my grandparents lived.  My younger sister, her husband and their two kids live in the house I grew up in.  I'm happy to report that there is still a path between my sister's house and my mother's house.  The black walnut tree is still there and still alive.  We gather in the shade of the tree for picnics and cookouts.  The kids have walnut wars just like we did when we were growing up.  The path no longer runs past the big walnut tree though.  I wonder why?