Brief Moment in Time

by Dicksion, William Wayne

  I knew Dad would never allow me to take Snowball to bed with me, so I borrowed Mother’s hot-water bottle, wrapped it in some cloth, put the kitten in a cardboard box along with the hot-water bottle, and placed the box beside my bed. I had to get up twice during the night to feed the kitten. The next morning, Mother said she would take care of Snowball while I was in school.

  Time passed, and Snowball kept getting stronger and stronger, until one day Dad said, “Son, that cat is old enough to make it on his own. Take it to the barn and see if it will catch those mice.”

  This next step was crucial. It would determine the fate of Snowball. If he caught mice, he would be allowed to stay. If he didn’t, I would have to get rid of him. We watched closely. For three days Snowball caught no mice. Father didn’t say anything, but I could tell by his expression that he was becoming skeptical.

  I asked Everett what I should do.

  “Are you feeding the cat?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’m feeding it just like I always have.”

  “Then quit feeding it. Mice are food for cats. Snowball will catch mice if he gets hungry enough.”

  The next day Snowball came to me crying for food. “No,” I told him. “Go catch your own food.”

  On the third day of going without food, we saw Snowball catch a mouse. Father smiled, and I knew that Snowball had a place on the farm. Snowball became my closest friend. He walked with me to catch the school bus, and he was waiting for me when the bus brought me home. He followed me when I went into the pasture to get the cows. He liked to ride with me in the saddle.

  ***

  Years passed and we moved many times, and Snowball always moved with us. I was becoming a young man, and Snowball was getting old, but we were still steadfast friends. World War II came, and I had to leave the farm. When I returned years later, Snowball was gone, but there was a litter of kittens on the neighbor’s farm. One of them was as white as snow. Snowball had left his mark, and I felt a little better.

  THE RAILROAD TRESTLE

  Uncle Luther’s farm was about two miles from our farm and a railroad ran through it. He and Aunty Cynthia had a large family, like our own. We spent Sunday afternoons playing on their farm with our cousins, getting into all kinds of mischief.

  The railroad track provided many opportunities for adventure. We placed nails on the tracks, and the iron wheels of the train flattened them into some interesting shapes. When we placed pennies on the rails, the wheels rolled them out flat as a fritter.

  The railroad crossed a deep canyon on Uncle Luther’s farm. The crossing was just a long bridge with no overhead structures, called a trestle. We talked about what we would do if we should get caught out on the trestle when the train was coming. If we were in the middle, we would be trapped. The distance to the end was too far to run to get off before the train would overtake us. And the trestle was too high to risk a jump into the canyon below. The cross-ties didn’t extend out far enough to allow a person to stand on them while the train passed. Someone suggested that it might be possible to hang onto the ties with your hands. It would be a mighty risky thing to do, but we considered it.

  Cousin Dink dared me to wait on the trestle with him. He was indeed a daring young man, but I wasn’t going to let him out-dare me. We walked on the rails to the center of the trestle, and waited. Soon we saw a train coming. We were committed. It was too late to get off the trestle.

  By the time the engineer saw us, it was too late to stop the train. I looked down and considered jumping onto the boulders. It was a long way down. It took me only a second to change my mind about that option. Dink and I climbed out on the ties and swung down, holding on with just our hands. The engineer was pulling the train whistle with all his might! I had never heard such a racket. It was exciting and frightening, seeing the boulders way down there, then seeing a wailing, roaring, freight train bearing down on us with no chance of stopping.

  Soon the train was passing over us. I never realized how much dirt and debris fell off a freight train, or how much a trestle shook when a train passed over it.

  We waited and waited. The train must have been a mile long. My hands were getting tired, and I closed my eyes in an effort to concentrate on hanging on. I opened them just long enough to peek at Dink—his eyes were closed, also. After what seemed like an eternity, the train passed.

  Now: Do I have enough strength to pull myself back up on the rails? It was a struggle, but I made it. After getting back up, I lay there shaking. Dink was on the rails nearby and, like me, he was in a state of shock.

  The other kids came running, laughing and shouting. According to them, we were heroes. I didn’t feel like a hero; I felt kind stupid. I’ll never do a thing like this again I told myself.

  Anyway, the praise didn’t last long, and we were off to the next wild, exciting adventure, running, fishing, swimming, and hunting. Then the day ended, and we had to go to our homes to do our chores.

  Our parents occasionally caught us doing some of these crazy things, and as you would expect, we got spankings from time to time, but it sure didn’t daunt our spirits much.

  THE ROUGH RIDERS AND THE HAUNTED HOUSE

  Abandoned farms and empty houses dotted the countryside in the winter of 1934. Times were hard, and many farmers had moved away— some to California and some to the industrialized cities of the Northeast and the Great Lakes, trying to find a place to start over, rebuild their lives, and provide for their families. A few hardy souls tried to hang on.

  Dink, Tyree, Milt, Drew, and I were sons of these hardy people. Like my two older brothers, I had a group of friends that I played with. We formed a comradeship and played together when we weren’t too busy working on our parents’ farms. We called our band “The Rough Riders,” a name taken from Teddy Roosevelt’s famous brigade.

  This was before radio, television and computers. We had no commercial entertainment, so we found ways to entertain ourselves. The land was undeveloped—that part of Oklahoma was a place of trees and grass and was, for the most part, empty, but there was plenty to do. We had creeks, canyons, hills, and valleys to explore. We hunted wild animals, played along the creeks, swam and fished in the ponds and lakes. We had endless trails to ride. We planned our activities in advance and called our escapades adventuring.

  Summer had gone and the nights were cold. Layers of thin clouds scurried past a sliver of moon. The frozen dirt crunched under our feet as we followed a trail made by cattle. A biting wind blew across the prairie, and dry brush rubbed against our pant legs, making a rasping sound.

  We were different in age, size, and character, but we made a good group. Dink was about twelve. He was a wiry kid with dark hair and eyes. He had a great imagination and always thought of interesting things to do. Tyree was a gentle boy who loved animals. He brought his dog Scooter along on this adventure. I was the youngest at nine and small for my age, but I was a rough-and-tumble kid, and I could keep up with the best of them. Drew, the biggest of the bunch, was stable and slow to anger. Milt was the tallest, but he was a little timid. He lived in town with his old-maid aunt who ran a dress shop. We called him a city kid because he had grown up back East in Boston. Country life was new to him, but he was game to try anything.

  Tonight the adventure was to visit the haunted house. The haunted house was a dreary place where no one in his right mind would want to go, especially on a dark, cold night, with the wind howling across the prairie, making the walk much less than pleasant.

  But nobody pretended to be in their right mind; we were just responding to Dink’s challenge.

  Dink had dared us to go with him to see if the house was really haunted. We had to prove that we weren’t afraid. None of us really wanted to go, but if we didn’t, we would be admitting that we were afraid, so we had to call Dink’s dare.

  We had food to heat over a fire that we planned to build on the dirt floor of the haunted house. We could tell by the chimney that the house had a fireplace, but we wanted to sit around an open fi
re. One of the boys brought wieners, another brought marshmallows. I brought biscuits that Mother had baked for supper.

  “Maybe it won’t be so cold,” Milt said, “once we get inside the house and get a fire going.”

  A short distance ahead, we saw the dim outline of a house sitting back among the trees. It was just a dark shadow, old and deserted. It had been abandoned for a long time and tall weeds had grown up in the yard. An old oak tree overhung the house, and its branches dragged the roof. The place was lonely, scary, and forlorn, with an air of mystery clinging to it.

  All we had for a light was a kerosene lantern that Dink carried. It didn’t provide much light, but it was better than nothing. Dink walked up to the door and gave it a push. The door’s rusty hinges squeaked loudly. That sound alone was enough to make everyone want to go home. It had been a long time since those hinges had moved. We stood at the door trying to see into the gloomy interior, but all we could see were some old pieces of broken-down furniture and a few pots and pans that were lying on the floor. Tyree had Scooter on a leash, and the dog was whining and trying to pull away. Not even the dog wanted to go inside that old house! That did not bode well; we thought that Scooter wasn’t afraid of anything, but he was sure afraid of something in that house.

  Dink held the lantern high, trying to see inside. “Well, who’s going in with me?” he asked.

  Drew was inclined to do some wild and foolish things, so he stepped forward. “You go first, and I’ll follow,” he said.

  The rest of us brought up the rear cautiously.

  “Let’s get a fire going,” Milt suggested. “Maybe it’ll cheer the place up a bit.”

  “This place needs more than a bit of cheering up,” I said, “but I’m all for getting a fire started. It’s just too cold in here.” “Let’s go outside and get some of the deadwood that has fallen from that old tree,” Dink said.

  There was plenty of wood, but it was so dark that we had to feel around with our feet to find it.

  “We’ve got enough,” I said, after everyone had an armful. “Let’s take it inside and see if we can get it to burn.”

  We got a fire going, but it didn’t make the house any less spooky. The flames cast flickering shadows against the walls that moved like ghostly figures. Scooter was even more nervous than before and was whining to go outside. Tyree tried to calm him while everyone else was busy getting the food ready. We sat around the fire talking—and everything seemed okay.

  “Why do they call this a haunted house?” Milt asked.

  “A long time ago,” Dink answered, “a family lived here. The father was bitten by a rabid dog. There was no cure for rabies, so the man knew he would go mad. Since he didn’t want to harm his family in his throes of madness, he chained himself to a post in that bedroom over there.” Dink pointed across the room to a dark doorway. “They say he padlocked the chain and swallowed the key so that none of his family could unlock him. He did go mad and, after a time, died a horrible death. In his madness, he struggled against the chains. After he died, the family moved away, never to return. They say the house is haunted because at times you can hear chains rattling and that the mad man is struggling to break them.”

  Without warning, Scooter began running around and around the room barking and howling, seemingly out of his mind. We couldn’t catch him or calm him. After a while, he ran out of the house and into the woods, still barking and howling.

  “Tyree,” Drew asked, “what’s wrong with your dog?”

  “Ah, he’s just a pup,” Tyree replied. “Pups have running fits sometimes. Dad says he’s probably got worms.”

  “Are you sure he hasn’t got rabies?” Milt asked.

  “No, I’m not sure,” Tyree said, “but I don’t think so.”

  We were getting warm from the fire, and feeling better about being in the haunted house. “Let’s eat,” I said.

  We stuck wieners on the ends of sticks and cooked them over the fire. We roasted marshmallows the same way. The hot dogs smelled good, and with the house being warmer, it was less spooky. We sat around the fire eating and talking about the man being chained in the other room. Everyone laughed about people thinking they had heard chains rattling.

  The fire was dying down, causing hazy shadows to shimmer like grotesque figures dancing around the room. No one wanted to get more firewood. We were just waiting for Tyree’s dog to come back

  “Tyree, why don’t you call that dog?” Milt asked.

  “I’d call that damn dog,” Tyree said, “but I’m afraid he’d come.”

  Again everyone laughed. Then suddenly, we heard chains rattling. The sound came from the other room. We looked at each other. My heart was pounding like a drum. No one said a word. Then the house got very quiet. All we could hear was the wind moaning around the eaves of the old house, and tree branches scratching against the roof. The moaning sounded like a madman in pain.

  “Ah, that’s just the wind,” Dink said.

  We all nodded, but there was doubt in our eyes. The moaning continued, and then without warning, we heard chains rattling again.

  “Let’s get outta here!” cried Drew.

  A blast of wind hit the front door, slammed it shut, and jammed it against the frame. The sound of rattling chains was still coming from the other room, and it was getting closer.

  “We’re trapped!” somebody called out.

  We pulled frantically at the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “Where’s the back door?” Tyree yelled.

  “I don’t know, but we’re going to have to find it!” Dink hollered from somewhere in the dark.

  We searched madly. We knew a back door was there somewhere.

  “Here it is,” Drew called out, “and I got it open!

  We followed the sound of his voice and bailed out of that house like it was on fire, and then stood outside, trying to regain our composure. We all looked at that spooky old house not knowing what to say. We couldn’t figure out what had caused the sound of rattling chains.

  After a time Scooter came back, still whining and wanting Tyree to leave the house with him. None of us would pet the dog.

  “I’ve just got to know what made that rattling sound,” Dink said, “and I’ve got to get my lantern. Who’ll go back in with me?”

  You’ve got to be crazy! I thought. Who would go back into that house after what we heard? But Dink was waiting for an answer. We looked at each other, then back at Dink—but no one spoke.

  Dink kind of smiled at me. “Wayne, how about you, will you go back in with me?”

  I didn’t really want to go, but after thinking about it for a moment I realized that I had to go back in with Dink. Nobody would blame me if I didn’t go, but if Dink was willing, and I refused, I would be admitting that I was not as brave as he was, and there was no way I was going to admit that.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I said, hoping he would change his mind.

  But since I had agreed to go with him, Dink couldn’t back out, so into the house we went. The flickering lantern light in the living room did little to light the room. Glowing embers were all that was left of the fire, and the embers did nothing to lighten the place. They actually made the house even spookier.

  I always carried my ax with me on these trips. I had no idea what I was going to do with it, but it made me feel better.

  When we reached the bedroom door we stopped and listened. After a moment, we heard the chains. There was no doubt this time. That was chains rattling! We were in a predicament now: To run away, without first going into the room where the sound was coming from, was admitting that we didn’t have the courage to finish what we had started. But to go on in wasn’t something either of us wanted to do.

  “We’ve got no choice,” Dink said shaking his head.

  I nodded, and in we went. At first, the bedroom was so dark that we couldn’t see a thing. Then, after our eyes adjusted, we saw something move in the corner. It was small, it was real, and it was no ghost!

  I
moved forward carefully, my ax at the ready. When I reached the corner, I saw a full-grown possum with its hind leg caught in a trap. The chain was still attached, and it rattled whenever the possum moved. The possum had been trapped outside, but it had managed to pull the stake from the ground, and then dragged the trap and chain into the house. The possum was old and had been living in the abandoned house for a long time.

  “Dink, would you hold the possum while I open the trap and release its leg? I don’t think it has rabies.”

  We felt good about freeing the possum, but we were a little sad because we had ruined a perfectly good haunted house.

  “Let’s not tell the others what we found,” I suggested.

  Dink grinned and nodded. We picked up our stuff and joined the others outside.

  “What did you find?” Tyree asked.

  “All we found was an old possum.” Dink said.

  I nodded in agreement.

  “Is that all?” Drew asked.

  “Yeah, that’s all. If you don’t believe us, go see for yourselves.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Drew said.

  Everyone could tell by the way he said it, that he felt there was more to the story, but he was in no mood to go back into that dark old house to find out what it was.

  We started home, each thinking his own thoughts; no one talked about the haunted house after that. We had other places to explore, and other adventures to live.

  The Rough Riders rode on!

  MY SECRET PLACE

  In the summer of 1935, we lived on Spring Creek, just a short distance from where it emptied into Bitter Creek. The farm house was about two miles from a county road, and our mail carrier only delivered mail to boxes on county roads. To get our mail, we had to walk or ride a horse across our fields and pastures. I enjoyed going for the mail in the summertime because it gave me respite from the everyday chores of farm life.