Ghostly Torments

We called him Uncle John. He was not a relative. His real name was John Thomas Aithey. Uncle John was a civil war veteran. He spent cold winter months in our home and lived in an old soldiers' home in Marshalltown, Iowa the remaining months of the year. This relationship occurred over several years during my childhood.

Uncle John enjoyed telling horror wartime stories to me and my siblings. These stories made me sad and instilled fear. Fear and hatred of war caused me to have a deep need for security. It made me want to work for peace instead of conflict no matter what sacrifices would be necessary.

One of Uncle John's favorite sayings was, "Rawhide and bloody bones!" He would repeat the same words during his sleep. Surely several traumatic experiences were being relived through his unconscious mind. I reacted by being frightened when listening to ghostly stories.

My father used ghostly episodes which caused me great discomfort. My father's ghosts always appeared during the darkness of night. One incident occurred one evening after I had neglected finishing my evening outside chores for several evenings in a row. I was gathering wood for cooking fuel during darkness. Suddenly a man clothed in a white sheet appeared from the creek bank near the wood pile. My father's nerve-racking sounds startled me. I ran for safety. My knee struck the door facing as I entered the doorway. The impact was so painful I fainted! I did not get to go to the neighborhood party that night. I always had my chores finished before dark following that experience.

My father believed that fright would cure hiccups. One evening I developed severe hiccups. Drinking water didn't help. I had not neglected my chores, but Dad ordered me to go bring more wood fuel from the dark woodpile. I objected but obeyed. A large Collie dog had taken up residence at our farm home during the past few days. The stray dog seemed friendly but I had not trusted him completely. With my arms loaded with sticks of wood I started toward the light and warmth of our house. Near the porch entrance I heard a growling sound and saw a dark figure moving toward me. The darkness obliterated clear vision. In defense I whirled a stick of wood at the moving form. The defense weapon hit. What I supposed to be the strange dog was my father crawling in disguise. The stick of wood struck just above Dad's eye. My mother objected when my father started to punish me for the incident and its dangerous consequences. "Where have your hiccups gone now?" my father asked after he had settled down from his plight.

© Copyright 1997 Harold Wm. Wood

This page is maintained by Dr. Wood's son, Harold W. Wood, Jr., of Visalia, California.
My E-mail address is: harold@planetaryexploration.net

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