Don’t Take Me!

Between the ages of two and three years old, there are many things that could scare a little boy or girl—especially stories told by a bigger brother. Now, guess how a gullible little boy would act if a bigger brother told him stories about an old hero known by all.

I was two and a half years old. It was Christmas in 1972, and all of the little boys and girls were visiting their hero, Santa Clause. But not me, because of the reason, my big brother had told me a spooky story about a man in a red suit, with a red hat plopped on top of his silky, white hair.

My biggest brother mentioned that every Christmas, a man that fits this description would come and take away all of my toys and put them in a brown bag, that sits in a red sleigh.

I was always frightened because I would be sleeping under the Christmas Tree, and I was little enough to get mistaken for a baby doll and get stolen away from my parents. I would have to live at the North Pole to be a slave forever, like the other little boys and girls he has there. He would also change my name to “Elf.”

This was causing some extreme pain to think I would be away from my parents for that length of time.

About three years after that, I started having excruciating dreams about a man chasing me with a long, bloody knife.

One day, I was taking a bath and got out to get a towel from the closet. When I opened it, I screamed! Inside the closet was a little man. He was bluish-green and had dark red eyes, which seemed to stare right through me. I quickly slammed the closet shut and ran to my mother. Like always, she told me that I was dreaming and got a towel for me.

Unfortunately, nobody could see him but me. I haven’t seen him since, and I still believe he is lurking in the shadows of my room, just waiting for the right moment to pounce on me and kill me.

But I’ll be ready.

THE END

-Scott Wells

6th Grade / 1984

14 years old