Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Top 5 Scary Moments - #5

At the age of about 8, my best friend was a lad by the name of Liam Boyle. He was my best friend because he had loads of train sets. He had a room in his house just for his trains, that's how many he had. I'd never had a train set, so I suppose I kind of used him for his trains. Oh, and his Hardy Boys books. And to get to see his sister, who I had a crush on. I was a good friend.

Liam's house backed onto a small wood, maybe a few acres, which separated the houses from the grounds of Merlin Park hospital. Merlin Park was just an ordinary hospital, but for us it was a Mental Hospital for the Criminally Insane, housing the most dangerous lunatics in Ireland.

One day, we're out there, pushing through the undergrowth, deep in the heart of the woods. I'm doing my best to avoid the fern bushes, as they house lethal sceartáns (pronounced skir-thawns, aka ticks), and any kid knows that ticks can burrow into your brain and lay eggs. We come to a clearing, far from anywhere. I think of that movie tagline: in the woods, no-one can hear you scream. Or something. There in the clearing lies a big fat man in a suit. Dead.

Well, he must be dead, right? We look at each other for a second, then whisper "Run!" with papery voices. I've lost my bearings completely, so I follow Liam, the two of us legging it like demons might leg it, if demons had legs. We run until our lungs are on fire, convinced that the man is right behind us, about to grab us whatever 8-year-olds who are unfamiliar with the words "anal rape" would worry about.

Since we're stupid kids, when we get back to Liam's house (safe and sound, of course), we decide we'd better go back and check on the man. He was wearing a suit, after all. Escaped mental patients don't wear suits.

We go back, and he's gone. Or are we just in the wrong place? He could be creeping up on us right now. He could still be lying somewhere in the woods, rotting, his face chewed and pecked and home to a thousand wriggly things that scurry and skitter from daylight. Which is worse?

I waited for that man for months, late at night, but he never showed.

Heh, how gay was that sentence?


RamblingMan blathered this crap:

we found a dead badger in the woods near our house once - and he'd been dead fora while - i can safely say that dead badgers are the smelliest bastards ever !

Kim Ayres blathered this crap:

I heard that about tics too.

I've warned my children about them.

Michael blathered this crap:

That's something between 'Stand by Me' and 'Complicity'. I wonder what ever happened to the poor guy.

Annie Rhiannon blathered this crap:

Was he face down or face up? If he was face up, did he have his hands tucked behind his head? If so, he was probably just doing a spot of sun-bathing.

Oh, this is Galway though, right? In that case, he wasn't sunbathing, he was dead.

Kav blathered this crap:

ramblingman: Welcome along. Badgers are class animals. There are road signs around here that warn for badgers - they always make me laugh. I need to take a picture of one.

kim: It's true. I know several people who died from this.

michael: My guess is he was an alco sleeping it off. There was a pub not far from there.

annie: hoho, didn't think of that. Nah, he was on his side, eyes closed. And you're right - definitely not sunbathing. Poor bastard

Fat Sparrow blathered this crap:

Kav, I started started sharing a "dead things" story here in your comments, but it was way too long, so it's over at my place.

I'll try to work on the wasabi story this week, just for you, you jammy bastard.

Debbie blathered this crap:

Sometimes I wish I could go back into time and be a kid again. I miss those kinds of adventures.

Natalie blathered this crap:

I liked dead things a lot more when i was a kid than I do now. Once in kindergarden I brought a frozen crow home and left it on the doorstep because I wanted to thaw it out so it would live again. My father came home and thought it was a present from the KKK. Oopsie.

Plimco blathered this crap:

You used him for his trains? AND his Hardy Boys?

I'm not sure that I can hang out with you anymore, Kav...

Conan Drumm blathered this crap:

That was grand uncle frank, oh how we used to laugh at his hilarious tales about scaring young fellas shitless on waste ground all around Galway... Are you the young lad who poohed himself and tried to clean it up with nettles... and then tried to remedy the nettle sting with dock leaves. We fell off the sofa when unky Frankie told us that one. They do say the rumours about him were completely untrue...

Conan Drumm blathered this crap:

...and as for ticks, you have to burn those deep-digging blood-gorging bastards out of you...

Foot Eater blathered this crap:

like Ben Johnson on steroids

Friendly tip: enhance your writing by avoiding tautology.

Old Knudsen blathered this crap:

I read this and the first thing I thought was, why was I wet? its a sad day when you can't dress in a suit and lie and wait in a wooded area where 8 year old boys hang out without being judged, shame on you, was Ben Johnson not the cowboy from the john wayne movies? watch yer back Kav, Mr Eater used the 'F' word.

Kav blathered this crap:

slim pigeon: As I said over yonder, that's one of the greatest stories ever told.

debbie: I know, I've got tons of them. I'm slowly cataloguing them in this blog in a pathetic attempt at keeping them alive.

natalie: That is some funny shit.
I actually laughed out loud at your dad.

plimco: Let me explain something to you. I grew up poor. While the other kids were playing with light sabres and Millenium Falcons, I had to make do with an oul stick and a Corn Flakes box covered in tin foil. I am unapologetic about how cool I thought trains were. He had a ROOM for them, for Christ's sake! And the Hardy Boys books kicked ass when you're 8. I bet you read Nancy Drew. Or were you more of a Sweet Valley High lassie?

conan: You had me all confused reading this, because my name's Frank. Am I your uncle?

And as for ticks, that's not what you do. What you do is, coat them with a thick layer of Vaseline - they can't breathe so they have no choice but to extract themselves. Then you pounce and burst the fuckers open. If you scratch or burn them, the head stays in and itches like crazy.

foot eater: You know, I hated that when I wrote it, but I was too damn lazy to change it. Thank you for the constructive criticism, it's much appreciated. Most of the time people just tell me I'm a cunt, and there's not much I can do about that.

If you've got any more tips/advice, bring it on. And thanks for stopping by, by the way.

old knudsen: You gave me nightmares, you bastard! As of now, the Ben Johnson reference is removed and replaced with something equally silly but hopefully not as redundant.

Conan Drumm blathered this crap:

No, Bob's me uncle...

With the ticks you have to find your last living relative who still smokes, grab the lit fag out of their hand and gradually bring the burning end closer and closer to the parasite that's a suckin' on ya... After a while a dim light bulb will go on in its pre-evolved brain... "It's hot as fuck here and something's scorching the arse off me" ...and it will extract its mouthparts from your epidermis. Whereupon you flatten the cunting thing like nutella in a cracker sandwich...

SafeTinspector blathered this crap:

How fat? What color suit? Was there any festive makeup involved?

You should've thrown stones at him. next time you see a dead dude, toss stones at him. If he doesn't move, keep throwing, progressing to ever larger stones.

Robyn blathered this crap:

That's a great reminiscing story (spell?) and well written. My favorite memories are of running wild in the dark with neighborhood kids--back in the days when kids were allowed to run wild in the dark.

Kim Ayres blathered this crap:

The vaseline thing isn't a good idea with ticks. In fact, it's highly likely to make them throw up inside you and thus massively increase the chance of infection.

You actually should just remove them with a pair of tweezers, making sure you don't twist (and so run the risk of the head remaining inside you)

Tony B blathered this crap:

The best way to remove the eggs that have been laid in your brain is to fellate a priest until his magic serum is released. At least that's what Father O'Conner told me when I as a lad...

AZ :o( blathered this crap:

My sister and I were walking home from school, while we walked my sister kept looking over her shoulder, and she finally said: "That truck is following us." I was about eight and my sister was ten, so I was oblivious to the danger, but my sister was wise beyond her years. She told me to cross the street and when we did the truck passed us, made a U-turn and headed back towards us. She said "cross the street" so we crossed the street again and the truck made another U-turn and headed back for us. So my sister decided the best thing to do was to get off the street so that he couldn't follow us. So we made a mad dash for a train bridge and we walked the railroad ties and got to the other side. The truck stopped at the railroad bridge and decided to take a dirt road that ran parallel to the tracks, but his path was longer. So my sister decided we'd better get off the tracks completely and she grabbed my hand and we headed for the hills. We walked through the mountains until we got home safe and sound. We often wondered how many little girl's bodies were in that truck. We never said anything to our parents because we knew they would never allow us to walk home from school.

AM blathered this crap:

I thought Natalie sais she brought a frozen cow home. I had to re-read her comment twice before I understood it was a crow.

Zzzz. Early mornings.

Old Knudsen blathered this crap:

Some Demons do indeed have legs and don't listen to that shitehawk footeater what you need is more commas lad, I'll groom ya if you like.

Devin blathered this crap:

Your post seems to have released some creepy vibes kav.No wonder I feel right at home here.

Nail polish remover is just the job for ticks but I just know you were already aware of that :)

Fat Sparrow blathered this crap:

You know, first Ill Man's Crane flies and now Kav's ticks....

Here I thought that the UK and Ireland were free from all creepy bugs, and just overrun with fairies and leprechauns and cute little bumblebees from Beatrix Potter.

I may have to rethink my vacation plans. Y'all are fucking crawling with it.

Conan Drumm blathered this crap:

Nobody is to tell Fat Sparrow about horse flies or... midges, ok?

Kav blathered this crap:

conan: Good tip. I'll try that the next time I get bitten.

safetinspector: Welcome to t'blag, nice to have you. Sounds like a good way to build a crypt.

robyn: Welcome to you too. s I said to Debbie above, I am eventually going to catalogue all my childhood crap in here.

kim: Interesting. So that's how I lost my left hand.

mr prime minister: Welcome sir, it's an honour to have you. I've heard the same, but was warned never to speak of it. You're damned, boy, damned.

az: That is seriously creepy. Good thing your sister was so alert.

am: Next time, have a coffee before you log on. That's absolutely disgraceful.

knudsen: Thanks, that would, um, be, great, I think.

devin: Jaysis, never knew about the nail polish remover. So many tick tips to take note of...

slim pigeon: Hey, I just found out recently that Britain still has's put me right off going camping in the Highlands. Fucking adders.

conan: Oh, horseflies...they are perhaps my most hated summer insects. I'm sure they grew to the size of your hand when we were kids.

Plimco blathered this crap:

I read all three. But it's Nancy who I thought about while I touched myself in bed at night...

Plimco blathered this crap:

one sweet valley twin
the other sweet valley twin
Ms. Drew

Just to clarify that...