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For two summers, we pondered building a raft to go off asailing on the pond, and by the middle of the third summer we had eventually cut enough small trees to make a large raft.  The cutting down of the three to four inch thick trees was an arduous task, as all we had to use was a small boy scout type hatchet.  We worked many long days to carry the logs we'd fashioned to the edge of the pond and tie them all together. Heck, we'd read Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, so we knew just how to do it.  Come to think of it, letting me read those stories was probably a big mistake on my Mother's part.  We just regretted that our pond wasn't the mighty Mississippi, and had no doubt our little raft was going to float across the pond like the proudest ship of the fleet.

The day finally came when we were ready to take our mighty craft out for it's maiden voyage, and total excitement pervaded our spirits, as we worked very hard to get the raft into the water.  I don't remember how I got elected for the maiden voyage of our little ship, but I jumped aboard and was handed a pole to push the raft about the pond on her sea trials.

Then, disaster struck!  Everyone gave a final shove on the end of the raft, and I was headed toward the center, and the bottom, of the pond. Our ship was sinking on its maiden voyage!  Of course, being a bunch of dumb kids, we had no idea the green logs were too heavy to float with a passenger aboard.  We knew nothing of various woods and, as it turned out, we'd picked a very hard maple that grew in the area.  It had a tight grain that allowed for little air to be trapped inside.  Plus, of course, in the summer it was loaded with heavy sap.

The water was frigid, as it crept up about my legs.  Not to mention the fact that the pond was probably thirty feet deep.  I couldn't swim a single stroke.  A case of severe panic set in!  Today, if I could remember who it was who elected me to go on the first voyage, I'd write them a nasty note!  I'm sure it was one of my sisters whom, at the time, I was sure hated me.  Out there on that sinking raft, I was convinced they all hated me!

It was only the resourcefulness gained from many previous dangerous adventures that saved my life.  As I said, a number of trees rose from the bottom of the pond, and I somehow managed to grab onto one of the old dead trees as the raft sank.  At the time, the shoreline seemed a mile away, but in reality was probably no more than forty feet distant.  My sister, Doris yelled, "Hang on!  I’ll throw you a rope!"

I had managed to get to a branch and sat with my feet hanging just above the water, while Doris attached a rather large rock to the end of our surplus rope.  On the first attempt to reach me with the rope, the sizable rock hit the tree just out of my reach.  "Hang on.  I’ll drag it in and try again."

"Hurry up!  I’m freezing!"

"Don’t be a sissy!"  She laughed loudly, as she swung the rope around her head a couple times and flung it toward me.  It hit me squarely in the middle of my chest.  Since I had both hands flailing at the rope and wasn't hanging onto the tree, the rock sent me backwards off the limb and into the frigid water once more.  Head first!  I managed to grab onto the tree again and, after scrambling upward through the icy water, I shook so hard from the cold and fear I barely managed to regain my position on the limb.  Luckily, on the next attempt, the rock went over the limb and the rescue rope was within my grasp.

Now, all six of those too chicken to be the first to ride the raft grabbed onto the rope and ran like hell, pulling me under the water until I hit the bottom, just as I got to the edge of the pond, where it was but two feet deep.  Of course, after half choking from the water forced into my nose by their determined dragging of my body through the deep, and after finally starting to breath normal again, I began to breath a verbal fire so hot they thought the icy water had messed with my mind.  I doubt that any of them to this day has forgotten the taking of the Lord’s name in vain I did that day after the failure of our hopes to sail ‘round the world on that raft.  They also lived in great fear for some time that I would squeal to the powers that be, namely, my mom.  What they didn’t know was, rather than let mom know about it, I toyed with many ideas of how to reek vengeance upon them, all of which involved serious bodily injury.  The raft experience also made me wonder if all the pictures and stories of people traveling on rafts were all lies – lies to trap a young boy into killing himself by drowning.  Sort of an accidental suicide, one might say.

Needless to say, our adventures at the spring from then on consisted of drinking the water and fishing for the small Bluegill that thrived in the cold water.  We never again aspired to being ship builders.  Every time we stopped for a drink on one of our outward or homeward journeys, I gave them hell all over again for trying to drown me.  The pond was still our favorite winter-time play area, but summers, I stayed well back from the danger of its depths.

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A couple of miles farther out along the railroad, the old abandoned grain elevator alongside the Wabash Railroad was one of our favorite places to play when I was a kid.  It was an all wood structure, the timbers of which had long before rotted to the point of being close to collapse.  It seemed we could see forever from atop the old elevator.  We deliberately tried to scare each other and ourselves by telling stories of ghosts that inhabited the old building.  These stories were especially frightening when we camped out overnight.  A long spout came out one side of the elevator and hung over the railroad, while another long pipe hung on the opposite side to suck the grain from farm trucks.  These were a source of fear when illuminated by moonlight under a somewhat cloudy sky.  They became giant arms that could swoop out, grab you, and shove you into the cavernous mouth, which was actually a large window near the middle of the building about half way up its side.  From a distance, the old grain elevator became a huge creature from some mysterious faraway world, where monsters hung out.

Years before, someone started the tale of a major accident at the grain elevator in which a half dozen people were killed.  The owner was responsible for their deaths due to his lack of maintenance on the dangerous old building.  That's why it was no longer used.  Of course, we knew the angry souls of the dead men still inhabited the place at night, then went back to their place of rest during the day.  In our hearts, we knew it was just a story someone invented to scare us, but we consciously forced ourselves to believe it, so our sojourns to the elevator at night would be more exciting.

I believe the nerviest thing I ever did as a kid was climb all the way to the top of the grain elevator on a dark, moonless night.  An old set of stairs wound their way around inside the walls of the building to the very top, and half the wooden steps were rotted away.  There was always the danger of a step breaking under your weight, sending you plummeting all the way to the bottom and your death.  That's what made it such a great dare to take on!  That, and all the ghosts and assorted creatures we knew inhabited the place after dark.

One night, as we camped out next to the haunted grain elevator, one of my sisters called me chicken.  I decided to show all of them just how brave I really was, by doing something no one had done - journeying to places where man had never before gone.  I would climb all the way to the top of the haunted building at night!  Never mind the fact that Louis Angeles, my best friend, was with us.  I had to prove, at least to him, I wasn't chicken.  Heck, I'd already proven I wasn't chicken any number of times.  After all, wasn't it I, who climbed aboard the untried, unproven raft we built and took it on its maiden voyage, nearly losing my life when it sank?  But there seemed to be a need to continually prove ones bravery at that young age.

With a lot of hoopla about my doing the unthinkably scary and dangerous deed, I worked up the nerve to go through the open doorway that was large enough to drive a truck through.  The doors which once closed on this opening had half their boards missing and hung on hinges thoroughly rusted solid in the open position.

After carefully working my way through all the rusty old machinery, filling the floor space of the elevator, I made it to the bottom of the stairway.  Very carefully and, with a constant, nervous swinging of my eyes from side to side to spot a ghost before he spotted me, I moved up one step. I stood frozen in silence, listening for any ghosts that I might have disturbed.  Then, another step, and another, then another.  Each time I moved up a step and stopped, I desperately hung onto the iron pipe rail with one hand and felt for the next step with the other.

All the while, my sisters and Louis moaned and groaned, trying their best to scare me.  But knowing what a real ghost sounded like, I could differentiate between their amateurish moans and groans and those of a real ghost, so they didn't bother me.

The smell of dust, rotten wood, bird droppings and old doodoo-covered bird nests permeated the stale air.  The bird nests filled every nook and cranny of the old building.  Just enough breeze blew to rattle a loose piece of tin somewhere on the outside of the building.  At least I hoped it was the wind doing it!  As I conquered each step, I knew a ghost waited to grab me by the arm and fling me to the bottom, where my body would be smashed to a thousand pieces and I'd become a ghost myself!  The thought of being a ghost wasn't so bad, really.  I could haunt my sisters and scare the hell out of 'em!

My mind raced from one scary scene of my death to another, as I slowly made my way rotten step by rotten step toward the top.  Now, as an adult, I find it hard to put into words what I felt when I finally found myself standing on the platform which ran around the top of the building.  I'd made it all the way to the top without being gobbled up by a space monster or being flung off the stairs by a ghost!

I stood stark still, barely breathing, still expecting a ghost, who'd let me make it to the top so I'd have farther to fall.  He would envelope my body and mind and claim me for his victim.  After several minutes of survival in this near panic stricken state, I leaned out one of the openings to yell at the chickens below.  After yelling a half dozen times without a sound coming back to indicate they were still about, I really did panic!  They ran off and left me in that Godforsaken, ghost infested, space creature hideout all by myself!

I could see the bonfire below, but no one sat or stood around it, as they should have.  An overwhelming fear engulfed me.  What if the ghosts got all of them and saved me for last?  Again, even though my entire body fought to shake wildly, I stood perfectly still, awaiting the fate I knew was surely assigned me.  Looking back, it is so funny that I could have been so afraid, but when you're eight or nine years old, ghosts and goblins and kid-gobbling space creatures are as real as night and day.

Starting down the old rotten steps, I heard every tiny sound the creaking boards made.  The loose piece of tin banging against the building became the death beat of the ghost's high pitched drum.  I also heard the loud drumbeat that was my heart pounding in fear.  The old musty, dusty smell of the place now became the smell of ghosts closing in on me - circling ever closer until they were right upon me.  When they had me surrounded, they would throw me down the stairs and laugh, as my body was crushed on the rusty old machinery below.  I could already hear their laughter!

Creeping slowly down the stairs, moving one step at a time, I shook so badly, my hands barely hung onto the iron pipe rail that ran along the stairs and was attached to the wall of the building.  The other side of the stair was open to the depths below, so both my hands gripped the one rail with an intensity never before, nor since, equaled.

It seemed an eternity until I had but ten or twelve steps to go when, because I was keeping such a good eye out for the ghosts who surrounded me, I didn't keep an eye on my footing.  I stepped where there was no longer a step and found myself hanging precariously from the handrail.  Had I not had a strong heart, I would have been dead of fright right then and there.  The only reason I could think of for my hanging there in the blackness of space was the ghosts had torn away the bottom of the stairway, and now they'd have me after all, even as I was nearly down the stairs.  But, I managed to get my foot back on the step below and saved myself.  I stood there for some time, shaking, a death grip on the old rusty pipe handrail, looking and listening for the tell-tale signs of the ghosts before looking down at the steps below me.  For some reason, I assumed the ghosts would come from overhead.

The small amount of moonlight now filtering through the sides of the building, where sheets of tin were missing or pulled apart, made it even spookier, as I moved downward one step, then stopped to look and listen.  At last, I was at the bottom of the stairway and knew if I could make it to the door on the other side of the building I'd be safe.  But there was all that old machinery between me and the door.  The ghosts could be hiding anywhere among it.  That's when I figured out why they hadn't thrown me off the top of the stairs.  They were probably playing a game with me, or trying to lull me into a false sense of security.  They let me go safely through the machinery on my way into the building, and they let me make it all the way to the top and back down again, just to play an evil game that only ghosts would think of.  But now, I was on the way out and they couldn't let me escape!

It wasn't a straight shot to the door, but rather, I would have to weave my way in and out among the derelict machines to gain the outside and freedom from the evil things that dwelled within.  I wondered if I dare risk trying to run through the gauntlet in the dark, or walk slowly and quietly to avoid disturbing the ghosts or alien creatures, whichever they might be.  Perhaps they were unaware I was in their haunt.  No, it would not only be foolish, but dangerous to fall into such a trap of wishful thinking.

I finally decided to move slowly and cautiously and started my trip to the door.  My legs seemed to have a mind of their own and would barely respond to my commands to move.  You must remember, it was pitch dark inside that ghost infested old building, save the tiny amount of light from the moon filtering in.  I decided to dart from one piece of machinery to the next and wait to see if the ghosts were after me before darting to the next.

I ran two steps and something grabbed me, flinging me to the rough, cracked cement floor.  I writhed about, grabbing at the unseen creatures ensnaring my legs.  Their arms felt like the old rubber and cloth belts that wound between pieces of machinery.  I fought off their grabbing claws, jumped to my feet and to hell with it, ran for the door!

Just as I got to the door, there was the scariest banging and racket on the sides of the building you could imagine!  The ghosts were making one last effort to snare me!  I ran out the door, past the campfire, and directly into the large patch of blackberry bushes surrounding the old haunted building!

I'm sure many people are familiar with blackberry bushes, but for those of you who aren't, they have very big, very sharp thorns - far worse than the worst thorns of a rose bush.  My mad dash into the bushes resulted in my being scratched all about the face, neck, arms, hands and everywhere else a thorn could penetrate my clothing.  But I had escaped the place of ghosts!  The pain of the blackberry thorns tearing at my body was little price to pay for having been spared the awful tearing at my soul by the ghosts and my death by being thrown from the top of the dusty, musty, bird dropping littered, old building.  Everyone knew if you ever went into the ghost infested old grain elevator at night, you'd never come out again alive!

As I attempted to backtrack out of the bushes without further physical damage to my being, I heard the laughter.  This wasn't the laughter of ghosts.  It was quite familiar laughter.  After carefully extracting myself from the clutches of the blackberry bushes, I walked back to the campfire and found all my sisters sitting on the ground, laughing their fool heads off.  It was they who beat on the sides of the building, not the ghosts coming after me.  My first inclination was to get mad, but I thought I'd get one up on them.  I'd show them!

"I knew it was you all the time."

"No you didn't!  You thought it was the ghosts!"

"There ain't no ghosts!"

"Then why were you afraid?"

"Why do you think I was afraid?"

They had a hard time answering for all their laughing.  "Because you ran into them bushes like the devil was after you."

"I'll prove there aren't any ghosts.  You're nuts if you think there's ghosts in there."  I walked back through the door of the building, carefully made my way up the half rotten stairway again and threw the handful of rocks I scooped up outside the door at my sisters below.  When they yelled at me, I told them, "Come up and get me if you're not too chicken!  But don't forget the ghosts!  They like girls!  They'll eat you for supper!" Needless to say, none of them found the courage to enter the gaping mouth of the haunted place.  And they never again went into the old building when I'd gone in first.  They knew I'd be waiting somewhere in the dark to scare them half to death, as they had scared me.