Told to my grandchildren ages 7 & 9

Don Winfield © 2020

Let me tell you about something that happened a long time ago when your grandpa was a little boy about your age. This story is about how some things that seem scary at first might end up not being scary after all.

It’s important to know that when grandpa was your age his family lived out in the country. Way out in the country far away from the city, on a dirt road. In those days, many houses didn’t have the indoor plumbing that you’re used to. We didn’t even have what people called “running water”. You see, there was no faucet on the sink to turn on to get a drink or to fill the bathtub.

If we wanted water, we had to go out in the front yard and use the pitcher pump. The pump sat on top of a pipe that went way down in the ground to where a stream of water flowed. There are streams of water everywhere under the ground. There’s even one under your house where your water comes from. When you pumped the handle on the pitcher pump, water came up the pipe and into a bucket you hung under the spigot. Maybe it was called a pump because you had to pump that handle to get water.

We had a bathtub, but we filled it with water from the pump. Our mom would heat the water on our wood-burning stove to make us a hot bath. But, that’s another story for another time.

Although we had a bathroom there was a bathtub but no toilet in it. Our toilet was in a little green shed out in the backyard, far away from the house. That little shed was called the outhouse.

Now that you know about our strange outdoor toilet, I can tell you about the Potty Monster.

As a little boy, I was afraid to go to the outhouse after dark. My brothers had told me horror stories about the Potty Monster that lived under the outhouse. They said he only comes up to “get you” after dark. If my big brothers told me so, it had to be true. So, I always tried to go number one and number two when it was daylight out.

But, in Winter it gets dark early and sometimes I couldn’t wait until the next morning to go. That meant I’d have to take a trip out to that little green shed in the dark. One cold winter night, it was darker than usual. The clouds were hiding the moon and stars, and it was getting ready to snow, and I had to go. I mean I REALLY had to go.

“Mom,” I said. “I have to go potty.”

“Number one, or number two?” she asked. She probably hoped it was number one because if a little boy had a number one emergency, it could be done in the bushes closer to the house. Remember, we lived way out in the country. But, a number two meant I’d have to make a trip to the outhouse.

“Number two and I can’t wait! Hurry up, mom. Let’s go.” I was begging. Mom had to come with me because like I said, I was afraid of the Potty Monster.

We got our winter coats on and mom grabbed a flashlight. Off to the outhouse, we went, trudging through the snow. I kept telling mom to hurry and whined about the Potty Monster all the way there. Mom told me that my brothers had told me the Potty Monster story just to scare me. “There’s no Potty Monster, John,” she said. Mom called me John which was my middle name.

I knew in my heart that the Potty Monster was as real as the monster that lived under the railroad underpass by our house. My big brother Al was my hero, and he told me so. I knew mom was just saying he lied so I wouldn’t be scared. I was sure that my brother wouldn’t lie to me.

Halfway to the outhouse, the flashlight quit working. Now, I was terrified. We were about to fall into the clutches of the Potty Monster and didn’t have a light to scare him off. We were doomed.

We made it to the outhouse and Mom told me to go in and do my business. “Hurry up, John. It’s cold out here, and I’m freezing,” Mom said, hoping my concern for her would speed things along.

“You’ve got to come in with me,” I said.

“Don’t be silly, John. You’re a big boy, and there’s nothing to be afraid of in there.”

“Mom, I’m scared of the Potty Monster. He’s under the seat. What if he gets me while you’re outside?”

“John, there’s no such thing. There’s nothing but poop under the seat. Poop will not ‘get you’,” she said.

“Come on, mom! I’m going to go in my pants!”

“I’m going to tell you a secret, John. You can’t tell anyone else. Promise?”

“Hurry, mom! What’s the secret?” I asked.

“Back when I was a little girl, your grandma told me this secret. I’ve never told anyone else.”

“Hurry up, mom! Tell me the secret.”

“Something that nobody else knows is that Potty Monsters are afraid of singing. If there happens to be one in there, you sing good and loud, and he will never come near you.”

At that point, I began singing “This Little Light Of Mine”, as loud as I could. It was a song I’d learned in Sunday School, so I knew it would work.

I sang as I stepped inside the outhouse and kept singing at the top of my lungs all the while I was doing my number two. I must have gotten through the song a couple of times before I finished going. As scared as I was I finished up my business in record time and got out of the outhouse fast as I could.

“Well, John, did you see the Potty Monster?” Mom asked when I came out.

“It worked, Mom. I didn’t see or hear anything but me singing the whole time.”

“I guess your grandmother was right then,” Mom said. “Singing chases the Potty Monster away.”

Well, kids, from then on I never went to the outhouse at night without singing at the top of my voice the whole time I was in there. The Potty Monster never got me. Of course, I later learned that my brother had been lying all the time. There was no Potty Monster.

There was a very scary thing that happened one night with a monster of another kind. That is if you could call a scared woodchuck that had wandered into the outhouse a monster.

But, as they say. That’s another story for another time.

The End

The real thing.