Who Needs Scary Movies When You Have the Real Thing?

From about the age of five, I began watching “monster” movies during Halloween time. There was Frankenstein, The Mummy, Dracula, and even humorous monster flicks starring Abbott and Costello. Evidently, I'm still a kid at heart, for I still watch these shows during the Halloween season. However, once during my childhood, just a month or so before Halloween, I had a real-life experience that was scarier than anything Hollywood could ever invent.

It was what seemed like a typical Saturday afternoon. I had just finished playing softball with my buddies and was looking forward to watching the Baseball Game of the Week with Dizzy Dean and Pee Wee Reese, but first, I needed a bath.

Our bathroom was at the top of the stairs. If one took a left out of the bathroom, they would see a bedroom on the right and another one at the end of the hall. Anyone going into or out of either of those rooms had to either walk past the bathroom or somehow fly through an upstairs window. (We did have an “old bat” living in the neighborhood. Could she have been the culprit?)

While relaxing in the warm water, there was nothing sinister going on in my mind. As a matter of fact, I was wondering if Mickey Mantle would hit a home run or if Whitey Ford would be pitching.

It seemed like a perfect day. Except for Mom, who was in the kitchen, I had the house to myself. My sisters weren't around to ruin the day by demanding to watch some kind of goofy girl stuff on the TV set.

While running all that baseball stuff through my brain, I began to hear the back- and- forth motion of the old rocking chair in my parents' room at the end of the hall. Thinking perhaps one of my sisters or my brother had come home, I cried out: “Who's out there?”

The only reply was the continuing rocking of the chair. Either I was dim-witted or just deeply into baseball, for I still had no fear. Instead, I once again asked: “Who's out there?” The rocking continued.

After quietly exiting the tub, for modesty's sake, I wrapped a towel around myself before proceeding to the bathroom door. There, with my right hand on the knob, I could still hear the creaky old chair doing its thing. My plan was to hurriedly open the door, exposing the culprit.

However, in the split second it took to throw it open, the noise had stopped. The chair was perfectly still and empty. No one could have gotten out of that chair so quickly, and if somehow they had magically done so, the only escape was to go past me.

I checked under the bed, in the closet, and even behind the set of drawers, but no one was there, at least no one I could see. Talk about slow on the draw! At that point, I was still not scared; baseball and lunch still dominated my mind. Therefore, I shrugged my shoulders and went back to the bathroom to continue my bath.

Within seconds, the rocking recommenced. That's when fear struck me like a punch to the face. Practically in one motion, I jumped from the tub, grabbed my towel, and then sprinted down the stairs in what must have been a new personal speed record. Going into the kitchen, I explained the weirdness upstairs before asking Mom to sit at the top of the steps until my bath was finished. She obliged, but let it be known that the rocking was due to a kid's imagination running wild. Later that evening, the rest of the clan agreed that I was simply imagining things, but I knew better.

A few nights later, upstairs in the other bedroom, one of my sisters was awakened by a rocking sound. Looking over at the tiny rocker next to the bed, she saw what she described as a grayish figure that was shaped like an old person. She then awakened my other sister, who was in the same bed; she heard the rocking but refused to take a peek. (Smart move!)

Since the upstairs bathroom was the only one we had, when nature called, one had no choice but to climb those steps. No doubt, I set more speed records for using the bathroom. As a matter of fact, I didn't take the time to wash my hands. After hitting about every third step on the way downstairs, I headed to the friendlier confines of the kitchen. That's where the hand-cleaning took place for the next couple of months..

After those occurrences, old Hollywood films seemed lame. Yet, I'd rather watch them than be once again scared out of my wits with the real stuff!