His footsteps rumbling across the cabin floor above us echoed like the thunder of a shotgun. The old board floors creaked under the paws of this hungry giant. This would be the last time I would ever listen to Randy. Just because Randy was afraid of bears, we ended up hiding in the cellar, locked in a dark dungeon under a trap door that wouldn’t budge. It was damp down there, but as uncomfortable as we were, we tried our best to be as quiet as possible. Given the fact that the place was crawling with rats, the urge to scream became unbearable.
The old bear was probably only looking for something to eat, but that didn’t matter. Truth was, we were defenseless down there, and if the near rotten floor boards didn’t hold up, it would just be a matter of time before the giant animal ended up down in the cellar with us, and that wouldn’t be good.
There were other places to hide, such as the attic, where there was a door that led to the roof and to safety; but given the fact that my younger cousin climbed into the dark hole under the stairs and started screaming, I had no choice but to follow him.
The bear continued his search for food, and he found it. We both shivered when we heard him tear away what was left of the cabinet where we kept our food.In just a few minutes, he would leave the cabin, or what was left of it. Once he was gone, I had Randy stand on my shoulders, and with all my might, and the adrenalin that was bursting to leave my body, we managed to push the heavy door open and escape.
We waited a while before venturing out the door. In the distance I watched the brown bear disappear from view, giving us time to run out the cabin and into the truck.
This is my first entry into this week’s Trifecta Challenge.
Okay, I did it. After eating relatively healthy all week (well, the past month, actually), I went out and bought the two piece snack with fries and onion rings for lunch. The onion rings were absolutely to die for, a meal in themselves. I didn’t get many of the rings, the ladies in the office (yeah, the ones on daily diets and the ones who spend countless hours on treadmills and at gyms like Curves, etc) helped me eat the rings. They disappeared quickly, to say the least.
The chicken was the best part, not greasy, but still juicy. How juicy you ask? I took a bite and the juices squirted onto my glasses, that’s how juicy!
I ordered the fries because I find the taters too filling, but they are all good. The gravy had a small twinge of salt, but all good, good, good.
If you ever have the good fortune to find a Chester Chicken restaurant near you, check it out. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!
I was fifteen or so at the time, and thought I knew it all. What teenager doesn’t? What made this adventure different was the lesson at the end.
The day was a wet one, three days of hard rain will do that sometimes. The tree branches were drenched with cool water, and the gentle breeze awarded a misty shower. The snow was almost gone from sight, except for the small patches of the cold stuff that lingered in the low lying valleys and ditches.
I took out my trusty three speed, and without packing a lunch, I bravely (or stupidly) took off on a spring adventure. The road out of the community led to a road called Igloo Road. Back in the late fifties, the Ernest Harmon Air force Base was in full swing in our town, and the army created underground bunkers to store stuff. Stuff was what my dad said was stored in those buildings which were built of concrete with grass for a roof. Anyway, the underground bunkers, which were referred to as ‘Igloos’ lined either side of a dirt road directly across from the tiny community in which I lived.
It was always an adventure riding on Igloo Road. You never knew what you would find in the areas around the igloos. In the early seventies, the town stored many items in the igloos, and from time to time, someone ventured inside those dark cave-like hideaways and threw out good stuff. My friends and I made trips to the igloos in search of hidden treasure on many occasions. I once found an old kaleidoscope that I treasured for many years, and wish I still had.
Me and Ricky went to the igloos once, and we found a naked couple sunbathing right there on the ground, even with snow patches everywhere. We had a laugh throwing icy cold snowballs at the naked couple, who quickly gathered their belongings, cussed at us, and exited the scene.
This day was quite different than the time me and Ricky ventured to the igloos. On this day, I would carelessly go to the igloos on my own. I didn’t even tell mom or dad I was going. I was excited to get the best treasure for myself, so I anxiously paddled to the site. There was a large box near the entrance of the door, which was left open. The box was empty, its contents strewn from the box to deep inside the igloo. Foolishly, I followed the litter until I was inside the igloo, when suddenly the wind blew the solid steel door shut.
I was in complete blackness, locked in a cement dungeon, alone and afraid. It was so dark that I had no idea where the door was, where the walls were, or what lie in front of me. I stumbled across the floor, tripping over a long object wrapped in a carpet like covering. Crawling to recover my footing, I thought I felt an arm on the floor next to the object, and feeling my hand along the side of the object, I know I felt hair and a head. I screamed, but my scream went nowhere. I was trapped with a dead body, in complete darkness.
In my horror, I heard a squeal from behind me, as a large rat (at least I thought it was a rat, God only knows what it was in this darkness) brushed along my arm, sending goosebumps up my spine. I was in hell.
I remember crawling and feeling along the floor for a rock or a brick. I was a bit hesitant to move, fearing the chance of finding yet another dead body; God knows, one dead body in a dark, spooky cave is enough. I climbed up to damp wall, feeling the moisture and maybe even mildew with my hands, and my touch led me to a person standing next to me. Horrified, I tried talking to him, but no response. I leaned to touch the person, and he and I fell to the ground. I was so scared, I began crying out. During my descent to the ground, I happened along a brick like object, and using the brick, I pounded on the walls, making my way through the darkness until I found the steel door that had trapped me in this dark grave.
I pounded on the door, in a pattern that my dad taught me. Bang Bang Bang (quickly) Bang Bang Bang (Slowly) and then Bang Bang Bang (quickly again) in an SOS pattern. I must have been doing this for quite some time because I still remember the pain in my arms from doing so.
In what seemed like an eternity, I thought I heard something outside. I hollered and cried and continued banging on the door, and all at once, my dark grave opened to a sunny day. The cool rays from the sun illuminated a dusty trail in the air, and my lungs breathed the clean air. I fell to my knees as I noticed my dad standing at the door, pipe wrench in his hand, with a look of worry I have not seen in some thirty or more years later.
“We were so worried when you didn’t make it home for supper.” he said, in a tone that was both worried, relieved and severely pissed off.
“I asked Ricky where he thought you might be, and he directed me right here” he said.
I didn’t care if he would ground me until I was fifty, I was just glad to get out of the dark hell of an igloo. Peering into my captor, I spied the bodies that lay on the floor and stood against the wall. Apparently a clothing store must have been storing their supplies in the igloo, and the dead bodies I thought I found were nothing but lifeless mannequins. Thank heavens for that one. I was, however, right about the rat. The place was crawling with them.
I sure learned a valuable lesson that day. Never go anywhere without telling anyone where you are, and always have a friend come along…and never, never go inside one of those dark igloos for any reason. The rest of my summer was spent near the house, grounded…with a fear of dark places that would last another five years, and don’t even mention the word ‘Mannequin’, I still fear those things.
We were just kids back then, and everything seemed like a good idea. That is when my little brother gave me his nod of confidence, and off we went down the steep gravel hill. He on the handlebars of my old banana bike, and me paddling like a bat outta hell. We were doing great at first, but our success didn’t last long. The front tire of my bike hit a sharp rock and just like that, my brother seemed to vanish into thin air.
He didn’t exactly vanish, that would have been too painless a result. What he did do was fly off his perch, and land head first on a large rock.
Alarmed and worried at the same time, I rushed to the aid of my brother, who was seven years younger than I. I was supposed to be taking care of him, and I almost got him killed. I paid no attention to the possibility of my mom actually killing me when she found out what happened, instead I hurried to the rescue of my little brother, who was lying unconscious on the ground before me.
I held him in my arms, crying out loudly. A large blue bump began to form on his forehead, and blood streamed from a large cut on his arm. In all my fourteen years on this earth, I did not think for once that I could do anything so stupid, but then again, I was young, and good decisions were not usually among my strong points back then.
As I cried out, my brother came to, telling me to keep the noise down. He said that his head was paining, and all my crying was making it worse. I carried the little guy all the way back to the campsite where my parents were, praying that he was okay. He was lucky, as the doctor said the injuries were minor. My punishment however, was not minor. Grounded for the rest of the summer.
This is my entry into this weeks Trifecta Challenge. The word is Confidence
I wonder what criminal past this moose has. Could it be that he was the one responsible for the break in at the local gas station? Who would notice a 1500 lb deer fleeing the scene? Maybe he was the peeping tom (or Bullwinkle) that was recently reported in the Conception Bay area. You gotta watch out for those moose, especially those who are fugitives from the law.
I wonder if the moose put up much of a fight; if so, the poor creature could have also been charged with resisting arrest.
I will gladly take the funny news stories and the low crime rates of the province (despite any funny stories or Newfie Jokes that may come from stories such as this) instead of the murders and muggings that take place in other major centers throughout the world.
Outsiders must wonder why Newfoundlanders choose to remain on the island. Not a lot of work, harsh winters and relatively short summers, and the seclusion of living on an island. Stories like the one in the news today help illustrate why Newfoundland is such a great place to live and raise your family.
The report tells the story of a small, family run bakery business that lost everything in a terrible fire, and how a competitor in the next community offered them space to run their business while they are rebuilding.
Stories like this are nothing new for residents here on the island. The province is made up of many small communities, and Newfoundlanders are known worldwide for their kindness and good will.
I admit it, I do eat fast food from time to time. Seeing how today was payday, I decided to treat myself to a dinner filled with sodium, fat, and good taste, so I bought the Big Mary Chicken Sandwich from Mary Browns.
The Big Mary has always been my favorite sandwich. Last time I visited the shop, I was feeling adventurous and decided to try their latest sandwich, the Marytimer, a battered cod fish sandwich. I was not impressed. The fish tasted fishy. I know some will say that fish is supposed to taste fishy, but being a true blue Newfie, I know differently.
Want to know what happens when a chicken-only restaurant decides to sell deep fried fish sandwiches? Everything from then on tastes like fish. I might as well have purchased the Marytimer, at least then I wouldn’t have been eating a chicken sandwich that looked like a chicken sandwich, but tasted like fish. Just saying…
My old pal Ivan was quite the ladies man. Or at least he thought he was. On one occasion, Ivan tried to show off his prowess by challenging me to a dating contest. His idea was for us to enter a bar, close our eyes and point to a particular woman, and then approach her and ask her out on a date. The first person to score a date wins.
First of all, you have to know Ivan, or at least someone of his type. He stood no more than five foot tall, with his hair (what was left of it) slicked back with grease like a throwback from the 1950’s, his shirt open in front, exposing his chest hair and his signature ‘Mr. T Starter Kit’ of gold chains; you know the type. If there was a such thing as greaser day, I am sure Ivan would definitely observe this day.
Back to the contest, I went first. I closed my eyes and spun around the room (not realizing how this must have looked in that rough bar) and when I stopped, I pointed my finger to this knockout of a woman.
When I approached my target, I discovered that she was a good friend of the family, and I also knew her boyfriend, a bodybuilder with a bad temper. I returned to the door and told Ivan that it didn’t work out.
Ivan approached his target, and in his usual cocky manner and using his favorite line of “Heaven must be missing an angel” he felt her bottom with his hand. The blonde turned around angrily, and Ivan was in shock when he noticed a black beard accompanying the long blond hair. “Sorry jerk, you are not my type” said the surprised guy.
Ivan never said much, just walked very fast past me and took off his car.
This is my second entry into this week’s Trifecta Challenge.