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by Jo RobertsonDo you remember the lines from the old Scottish prayer,
"From ghoulies and ghosties/And long-legged beasties/And things that go bump in the night/Good Lord, deliver us!"
When I was a little girl, I had all sorts of fears. 
We lived on the banks of the James River that sloped down from our property into a thick brush of sand and thickets and . . . well, for all I knew, a dead body or two. At least those were the stories my brother spun for me.
And I believed him.
Our house had an enclosed wraparound porch and we'd sit in the swing as evening came, looking out into the thick lush foliage and trees. As the night fell, and we could no longer see what lay outside the protected, screened porch, I knew there were things that not only went bump in the night, but that ate little girls alive.
My fears were seldom unfounded.
Okay, maybe the monsters living under my bed weren't real, but I wasn't going to test the theory by dangling my arms or feet over the edge during the night.
But I knew one monster which did exist -- Big Foot. I knew he was real from the stories my older cousins told me when we visited them in Kentucky. Somehow those isolated roads and far-apart country houses made the stories real.
Ghosts were real too.
I w
as about seven and my brother six, the summer my West Virginia cousins -- Bobby and Freddie -- great teenage boys way too old for such antics -- covered themselves in white sheets one night. They used flashlights for giant red "eyes" and came upon us as we made our way back from Aunt Edna's outhouse. They scared the living daylights out of us.
I w
as about seven and my brother six, the summer my West Virginia cousins -- Bobby and Freddie -- great teenage boys way too old for such antics -- covered themselves in white sheets one night. They used flashlights for giant red "eyes" and came upon us as we made our way back from Aunt Edna's outhouse. They scared the living daylights out of us.I was afraid of ticks, too. And with good reason. They heavily infested our area and dug into the flesh, sucking blood like
manic miniature vampires. Scalp, arms, legs, bottom -- all were suspectible. Once, a huge one, fat and drowsy with my young blood, buried itself into my little butt. They're almost impossible to remove and require gross things like alcohol and tweezers for their removal, items sure to scar you for life. Then you have to burn them to make sure they're dead.
My fear of water came from my military dad trying to teach me to
swim and the vague notion that polio came from swimming in the ocean too early in the year. To this day I'm afraid of the ocean. While it amazes and fascinates me, I keep my distance from the water.
The ocean is a treacherous mistress, and any sailor knows she should be handled with wise caution.
My fear of water came from my military dad trying to teach me to
swim and the vague notion that polio came from swimming in the ocean too early in the year. To this day I'm afraid of the ocean. While it amazes and fascinates me, I keep my distance from the water.The ocean is a treacherous mistress, and any sailor knows she should be handled with wise caution.
One last thing I learned to be afraid of when I was older. That freaky Chucky d
oll.
oll. What's up with that thing? He scuttles across the floor like a rat, so fast you can only sense the bloody knife in his hand.
What about you? Are you afraid of things that go bump in the night?
Did you have any childhood frightening moments or real-life frightening experiences?
Do you have irrational fears? Or do you have good reasons for being afraid of certain things?
Are you afraid of the dark? Being alone? The dentist?
Come on, fess up. What are your three greatest fears? The most creative and interesting experience/story will receive a $10 gift certificate from Amazon, courtesy of Dr. Big. Shhhh, he doesn't know yet!
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