Like most children, I was frightened by strange sounds, eerie apparitions and  things that went bump in the night. Yet I was addicted to scary stories by Brothers Grimm, and scary characters like the Russian witch Baba Yaga, and the restless monster known as Le Loup Garou.

Folklore had it that this haunted and cursed human turned into many kinds of animals, most often a werewolf. The idea of a dark, hairy shape-shifting creature roaming the neighborhood was truly frightening to an impressionable child. Worse, this one had eyes "that be like coals of fire in the black of the night.”  On the many evening I couldn't sleep, I'd sit at the top of the stairs and stare into the shadowy hallway below, expecting to be met with a blood-red gaze.

I can't say for certain that I ever  saw those horrible orbs outside my dreams--except once. It was an October evening, the wind alternately moaning and whispering, urging bare branches to scratch against the windows. I sensed something moving below.  On that night, I knocked on my parents' bedroom door, afraid to disturb them but more afraid of the beast I thought lay in wait on the ground floor. 

My dad came out, sleepy and maybe a tad grumpy but comforting nonetheless. He reached into the hall closet and grabbed the closest thing to hand: a roll of wrapping paper.

"Just in case," he whispered.

In any other situation, I would have giggled, but I was far too frightened.

"Okay” he murmured in my ear, walking me to the head of the stairs, "Let's see what's down there."

Outside, the wind moaned and the trees answered.

Suddenly, a fearsome howling began: a deep baying that caused me to gasp. Just at that moment, we both saw twin points of red at the bottom of the stairs that--holy cow!--blinked!

"Good lord!" my dad exclaimed in a hoarse whisper as I bit my lip to keep from crying out. He rushed downstairs, tube in hand. My heart was racing wildly.

After an endless amount of time had passed that was probably less than a minute, he came half way up and beckoned me. Timidly, I half-slid down the stairs and peeked out the hallway window next to the front door. A pair of taillights winked as a car--maybe a Chevy or a Plymouth--pulled away from the curb. The receding lights were reflected in the window and bounced off the light fixture that hung from the ceiling. The neighbor's dog let out one more howl and then, having expressed his displeasure to the elements, settled down for the night.

My dad was chuckling as he tucked me into bed. I heard him pad down the hall and whisper to my mother as he closed their bedroom door, "...bad dream...lights... that damn Sweeter's dog......"

Later that evening, I slipped out of bed and sat once more at the top of the stairs. There was something there; I was certain of it. I looked down into the dark and into the red eyes of my nightmares. With a tiny yelp, I scurried back into my room, jumped into bed, and pulled up the covers. I never told anyone about this second incident: something about crying wolf.