Virtually everyone has a story like this: the first nightmare. In that moment, the world had become deeper, darker, and truer. The creature “scratch everything to pieces,” taking its tailypo back, and the old man is never seen again.Įven now I can remember the nightmare that followed - the creature from the story, hunched in the darkness of my closet, eyes yellow and glowing - and waking in the night, screaming, tears hot on my cheeks. The creature returns again, whispering: “You know, and I know, that I'm here to get my tailypo.” The man protests: “I haven't got your tailypo!” But it's too late. Later that night, the creature returns, whispering to the man: “Tailypo, tailypo, all I want is my tailypo.” The old man sics his dogs on the creature, but they're quickly lost in the woods. Still hungry, the old man cooks and eats the tail, then goes back to bed. He quickly grabs a hatchet and chops off its tail, and the creature escapes into the night. One night, after a day of fruitless hunting, the old man awakens to the sound of a strange wolverine-like creature scurrying through his cabin. The book was The Tailypo: A Ghost Story by Joanna and Paul Galdone, and tells of an old man who lives in the woods with his three dogs. I was four years old when I heard my first horror story.
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