|The cottage circa 2008 (before our most recent paint job)|
|The Witches' Cottage|
Okay, maybe it still creeps me out a bit.
Of all the people on the street, there's one place that used to fill me with fear:
We were all terrified of it. We'd hurry passed the place muttering, "Don't look. Don't look. DON'T MAKE EYE CONTACT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!"
And as kids, we did the only thing we could do: tried to take our revenge on the owners to the best of our abilities.
They owned a boat, you see. It was called Wishful Thinking and it was parked in a totally awkward spot that blocked our playing path in the water down at the beach. We hated it, and frankly, we already hated the Cheskwans because of their dog. Anyone who had a dog that evil had to be evil themselves.
So, we'd dig holes in the sand around the boat. We called them Cheskwan traps and did it for years. In fact, when I moved back from Japan, one of the first things I did when I got up to the cottage was dig a Cheskwan trap. Of course, you'd have to be careful about it, because every so often you'd forget where you'd dug a pit and go falling in one yourself.
Nothing worse than falling into your own trap.
Phil fell in to one of his two summers back. We still make fun of him.
But, for all of our digging traps, the Cheskwans didn't seem to notice. In fact, it seemed like he-Cheskwan only got more evil.
The Doberman died of old age and they got a small, horrible yappy dog that lunged at people.
And in response to a neighbourhood dog that got loose, he put up a sign that read:
Any dog found on this propertyWill be returned to its owner
In a paper bag
So, you see, his evilness wasn't just in our heads.
This summer, when my uncle, aunt and cousins were up, my uncle and he-Cheskwan started talking. Apparently he was upset about the holes dug around his boat that have been appearing for years.
My whole childhood has been vindicated.