Childhood fears - Grace

I just discovered this amazing little piece by my mother.  It certainly merits reposting here:

                                                            F E A R 

          As a kid of five, six, seven and thereabouts, I spent every waking hour negotiating a minefield of threats to life and limb.

            First terror of the day: the witch in the toilet.  Every morning she waits for her chance: once you’re seated, she could grab you – to pull you in – flush – and so long! A horrible way to go.

            Another menace: bootleggers.  What are bootleggers?  They are knee-high rubber or leather boots that walk around all by themselves.  If you don’t keep the closet shut, they will march out and come and get you.  (I knew all about them from my sister Nance, who couldn’t get to sleep at night unless Miss Venable shoved a heavy chair against the closet door.  – Incidentally, the toilet witch looked a little like Miss Venable, who was a sworn foe of constipation.)

            It goes without saying that there was Something under the bed.  Only a fool would just walk over to the bed and get in: you had to jump from a distance; otherwise the Thing would catch you by the ankle and drag you into its underworld lair.  This creature was so unspeakably horrid that it didn’t bear imagining: I couldn’t describe it – the brain shuts down and refuses to speculate about anything so ghastly.