A Childhood Memory

Some of my earliest memories take place when I was a toddler of about 2 years old. I remember living in a small cottage at the east edge of the town where I grew up.

My memories of that house consist of small events. Me sitting on the kitchen counter having been placed there by my mom along with a sack of groceries and digging through the bag for the bananas I knew she had purchased. I remember trying to climb a small tree in front of the house while my mom kept an eye on me as passing vehicles drove by from the highway into our small town

These are my earliest memories. Simple yet uneventful, but it's what my mom told me of the house that would send shivers down my spine.

She would tell me strange things would happen in the cottage, especially at night. Cupboards would open by themselves. The bedroom's door-latch would often be open in the morning with no earthly assistance. Our cats would often stare into an empty corner or space in the house and begin hissing furiously. There were also strange knockings and creaks sounding throughout dark lonely nights.

The only explanation that made sense was the small cottage we lived in might be haunted. The reason that might be, if you believe in such things, was that this small cottage was located just down the street from the town cemetery. Who knows what types of spooks or specters would wander out of their graves through the night to pay our small unassuming house a visit. The thought of that house and the things that went on still give me chills.

The only other memory I have of that place is sitting at one of the broken basement windows. So strange a house so small should have a basement. I would sit at the window with my legs dangling into the dark void below me. The dark unknown beckoned me to jump down and see what the darkness shrowded from my vision. What was down there, I often wondered to myself. Being the young curious toddler I was, I wanted to know.

As I sat there on the edge of darkness I imagined a hag with gnarled hands reaching up and grabbing my tiny legs to yank me down into the unknown pitch void. The thought spooked me. I didn't see any gnarled fingers or a hag, but still, the darkness called to me. It beckoned me to jump down and discover what lay in the shadows beyond sight. Hag or no hag.

Though curiosity urged me to ease myself down to dispel this imagined threat in pursuit of discovery, my young precocious mind figured that if the window I was sitting in was broken, then the glass must be somewhere. My budding intelligence told me the broken glass must be laying down in the darkness past my vision. Logically if I were to give in to curiosity and venture into the darkness below, I run a very good risk of cutting myself on that broken glass that surely lay in the shadows beyond my feet.

As a child, curiosity can be a deadly thing. Thankfully, budding logic kept me out of harm's way causing me to think better of pursuing the unknown and keeping myself from the risk of injury. At that, I crawled away from the broken window and climbed to my feet to pursue other childish adventures.

In time we eventually moved out of that small house and into a single-wide trailer on the west edge of town which is where I would spend the majority of my formative years. Though this new trailer would also serve up some first-hand haunting experienes, it was not as intense as the stories I heard of that small cottage.

I still think of that cottage from time to time. Though I have no memories of the hauntings, I still remember the basement and the pitch-black void I stared into. The void still calls out to me and I wonder what lies in the darkness that envelopes it, curious as to what strange wonders might be hidden.

Nothing can be done about it I suppose. I went back to my hometown recently and drove past the east edge of it where the small cottage was located. Not much has changed in that area save for one thing. The cottage is gone and so too is the basement with the mysteries it may have held.

Recently, I talked about these memories with my Mother and she was surprised I remembered so much. Stranger still, she informed me that the small cottege never had a basement.