The Toilet Monster

The air was hot and still on that summer night in 1977. We sat in the George's huge backyard in Jackson, cooking hotdogs over a small campfire at the edge of the woods, enjoying our last two weeks of summer vacation. We had our tents set up there, having the closest thing to a real campout that a bunch of 9 year olds could realistically have on their own. It was me, George, Scott, Frank, and George's 13 year old brother Daniel, who was acting as kind of a reluctant scoutmaster.

One condition that had to be met for our little campout was that the house was off limits to us boys, except for emergencies. George had an outhouse on his acreage, just about a hundred yards down a trail close to the creek bordering his property, that we were to use if a number two was in one of our futures. After our frontier-style dinner of Ball Park franks and Jiffy Pop popcorn, the advancing twilight made the mood perfect for a spooky campfire story.

Big ol' Daniel, who was bigger than most grownups, decided to regale us about an evil creature that dwelled on their family's land; a creature so big and hideous that no one who had ever seen it had lived to tell the story. At our behest, he placed the flashlight under his chin, and started the macabre tale.

"Have you boys ever heard of the Toilet Monster?"

"The TOILET MONSTER!?" Frank scoffed. "Oh, come on. This story is gonna be SO STOOPID!" Frank was a tough little Italian Bronx kid with no Daddy who disputed everything anybody told him; in other words, the prime target!

"No bullshit, boys," Daniel continued in a gravely serious tone. "The Toilet Monster terrorizes all the outhouses in these parts. All the farmers and ranchers try not to use them at night, because that's when the Toilet Monster strikes."

"Have you ever seen the Toilet Monster?" I asked, not knowing whether or not to believe him.

"No one has," replied Daniel. "The only evidence that he exists are the claw marks on the outhouse doors all over the countryside, and the bloody corpses of his victims, most of whom never even had a chance to wipe."

"Oh, bullshit!" said Frank. "Now I know you're full of shit!"

"Believe what you want to believe, boys. I know I ain't gonna use the outhouse tonight. You can do whatever you want to do, Frank."

"Ya damn right I will! I'll prove there ain't no Toilet Monster!" As Frank went to the outhouse to prove Daniel was lying, he leaned over to us and whispered "You guys wanna get Frank good?"

"YEAH!" said all 3 of us, gleefully wringing our hands in sinister unison.

When Frank returned five minutes later, we had already hatched a plan. "See, you bunch of dumb-asses? Ain't NOTHIN' happen to me! Now, everybody just shut up, because there AIN'T NO FUCKIN' TOILET MONSTER!"

As the campfire wound down, we were all drifting off to sleep. Scott got up to go to the outhouse first, and five minutes later we hear terrified screams mixed with the sounds of a struggle in the woods.

"Oh, Shit!" whispered Daniel. "I bet the Toilet Monster got him. Everybody wait here." He said as he grabbed his Bowie knife and a baseball bat and headed down the outhouse trail.

George, Frank and I sat there as the fire smoldered down to a bed of glowing red ashes. Almost an hour had passed as we waited in vain for Daniel or Scott to return. Finally, George decided to go look for them.

"Let's ALL three go," I suggested. "These woods are givin' me the willies!"

"Oh, you two pussies!" Frank snorted. "C'mon! I'll PROVE to you guys there ain't no Toilet Monster. I bet those two homos are probably skinny dippin' in that creek or somethin'."

"What about the screams?" said George.

"Oh, I bet he saw a snake or a mouse or somethin'. C'mon, let's go!"

George grabbed the flashlight, and the three of us headed down the outhouse trail into the deep, dark forest. Slowly we walked towards the old weather-beaten outhouse. There it stood in the clearing under a canopy of massive oaks and walnut trees with its door hanging open. Although there was a full moon that night, very little moonlight was able to penetrate the thick forest ceiling.

George aimed the flashlight at the outhouse, and as we approached it, concentrated the dim yellow beam near the hasp. When we shut the door, we saw the deep scratches; very deep, as if a bear or giant bobcat had made them.

"Those marks weren't here earlier" Frank said.

"Oh, shit!" I stammered. "The m-m-monster got Scott!"

Right at that moment, Daniel jumped out from behind the outhouse, completely covered in mud, and screamed like a chick in a slasher movie.

"OH, SHIT!!!!" Frank yelled as he turned tail and ran like a scalded dog. He got about 15 yards away, only to be stopped upon realizing that the four of us were back there horse-laughing him. He was pissed, as he stomped back towards the outhouse, calling us every cuss word in the book. Evidently, he couldn't take a joke, so he walked to the Wa-wa market a half mile up the road, and called his mom to come get him at eleven o'clock that night.

He wouldn't even speak to us in school after that. Next year, we heard he moved back to NYC, which was just as well, because most people don't like them bragging Billy-bad-ass types much anyway. I mean, that was the whole reason Daniel decided to punk him, and why we all went along with the gag. Oh, well, I guess that baby shouldn't have talked so tough, just because he came from the Bronx and all. I reckon a good moral for this story would be "If you can't take the shit, then stay out of the toilet!"