Child Eating Centipedes

If I had been called a nickname that fit me well, it would have been gullible. My sister, Sandy, and I would spend hours playing in the basement. She had set up an area like a little house and we had our dolls in baby beds, eating places and a pretend kitchen.

We also had a ping pong table and would spend time playing with it. After just so long of playing together, Sandy would tire of me and go to find her friends. However, she didn’t want me to follow her, so she used her knowledge of my fears to keep me in the basement. 

In the spring and fall, we would have a fair number of centipedes in the basement. They would crawl on the basement walls, especially the one adjacent to the stairs up to the kitchen.  I often wore a red outfit made of corduroy. It was my favorite play outfit. So Sandy, in her convincing way, mentioned that there were more centipedes than normal on the wall going upstairs. She reminded me that they would bite and could jump off the wall to find their victim. Just for added value, she mentioned that they were especially attracted to the color red. She then proceeded to run up the stairs into the kitchen to go find her friends. 

I was left all alone in the basement in my red playsuit feeling my strong fear of centipedes. I would creep up to the bottom of the stairs to see if it was safe to make a dash for it. I confirmed that there were several big hairy-looking centipedes to run from. I would think about making a run for it and then would chicken out. 

Our basement was not a bad place to be. It had a finished side with our washer and dryer, my Dad’s desk and office set up, and comfortable chairs to hang out in. It was just that I needed protection from those darn centipedes.

What felt like hours later, I heard Mom in the kitchen asking if anyone had seen Judy. She realized that she hadn’t seen me in a while. Finally Sandy came in from playing outside and Mom asked her if I was with her. She answered that she hadn’t seen me since we had been playing together in the basement. 

Mom came slowly down the stairs calling my name. By this time I was sitting in a chair looking very sad. I explained to Mom the story Sandy had told me. Mom picked me up and carried me up the stairs. When Sandy saw Mom and I together and saw the tears running down my face, she took off. She knew she was in trouble. 

All she could do at this point was to laugh uncontrollably and gasp out between laughs that she never thought I would take her so seriously. She was only joking. Right, Sandy! 

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