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More Blog Candy

Good mornin everybody. Recently I put a call out on twitter. I have so many great tweeps out there with so many humor filled stories to share. I asked them to send me their stories to post on my blog. I recieved my first one yesterday so here it goes! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! If you have a story to share, I’d be happy to post it to. But only if it makes me giggle! Send yours to info@seanhayden.org.

Stranger in the Outhouse.

I didn’t expect it. I don’t think anyone would. Maybe that’s why to this day, that night is still clear in my mind.

I was twelve, with an over active imagination and a full bladder. My lead-foot ‘we’re not stopping for anything’ step-father, forced us all into our station-wagon-with-wood-on-the-sides right after school, and we hurled off down the highway to our cabin in the woods. Now something you should know about me, I’m a writer and I have an over-active imagination. I’ve scared myself more than once in my life, but as we’re traveling into territory reminiscent of Deliverance, my mind was occupied by only one thing— how soon we get to the cottage so I can use the outhouse.

Yes, the outhouse. That dreaded outdoor permanent port-a-potty, that teaches one how to avoid breathing while they, well, void other stuff. By the time we reach our destination, it was way past sundown and the woods around our cosy cottage in the woods was dark and threatening. There were bears in those woods and at that time of year, they were known to wander around.

We dragged our suitcase and bags of groceries into the cottage and set up things for the night. Brave, I am not, and after asking my step-siblings if they had to go (none of them did, naturally), I ventured out into the night with nothing but my trusty flashlight.

I remember it well. The night air was cool and I could hear the faint lonely call of a loon on the lake. I turned on my flashlight and headed off toward the other little cabin in the woods, buried just off the driveway within a pile of tall trees and brush. It wasn’t a long walk, maybe fifty feet or so, and when I tripped over a fallen branch, my imagination took over. I shone the light down at the ground, hoping not to trip over any more branches, or maybe partly mutilated hands as they reached up from the ground, searching for a nice stupid kid to latch on too and drag into the bowels of hell. I could see these hands in my mind pushing their way up through the ground, and I hurried my pace to the outhouse. My heart was racing as I took those final steps. I reached out and turned the block of wood that was the lock, knowing soon I would be safe. The imaginary hands couldn’t get me if I wasn’t standing on the ground, right?

The door creaked open and shone my flashlight into the small room and I came face to face…with IT. It sat there on the bench seat, looking at me with its yellow eyes through a ski mask that concealed all other facial features.  That’s all I remember seeing. My mind went blank, and I calmly shut the door, rotated the wooden lock, and walked back inside the cottage.

“That was fast.” One of my step-siblings said, but I didn’t answer them at first. Instead, I sat down on a chair and burst into tears. The attention was fast. Questions coming at me from all sides.

“What happened?”

“It’s in the outhouse.”

“What’s out in the outhouse?”

“It’s in the outhouse.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s in the outhouse.”

Next thing I know everyone is heading outside. My step-father has his shot gun in hand. I didn’t want to go back out, but a part of me wanted to see its head blown apart by buckshot. We raced outside, huddling behind my step-father as we scurried across the driveway and stopped in front of the wooden door.

“Why’s the door locked?”

“I didn’t want it to get away?”

Seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

We huddled and held our breath as my step-father reached out and turned the wooden lock. The door fell open and he aimed the barrel of the gun. Someone shone their flashlight, and once again, I saw those eerie yellow eyes looking back at me.

“What the hell is that?”

In the company of family I was brave enough to see what it was. There, sitting on the toilet seat in our outhouse, was a full size stuffed dummy. It had to be six feet tall, with yellow paper under the ski mask and two pencil eyes drawn on the paper. It wore jeans, a flannel shirt and gloves. You could tell someone went to a lot of trouble making this thing. Seemed such a waste to put it in an outhouse. My step-father poked it with the gun, but it didn’t move. All my fear washed away as we laughed at our new friend, silently sitting there.

Mind you, I wasn’t too happy when they brought it into the cottage and propped it up in a chair.

Darke Conteur

Categories: Guest Posts
  1. April 12, 2011 at 7:10 pm

    Haha, what a great story. I wonder what prompted someone to do that.

    I would have been frightened too.


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