Your True Tales
October 2005 – Page 27

Dad's Little Red Devil
by Charlie

I have lived in Michigan for most of my adult life, but was born and raised in Middlesboro, Kentucky, and before my parents passed away, I, of course, visited them often. One summer day while we were all gathered around my mother's table, enjoying her wonderful cooking, my father told me of a chilling experience he had. You need to know that my father was a devout Christian, a Baptist deacon, and would never admit to believing in ghosts or other paranormal phenomena. His firm belief in "no such thing as a ghost," was based on his insistent faith that once a person dies, his or her soul immediately goes to heaven or hell. His belief in demonic influence was no more than personal evil in people that commit murders, rapes, etc. His belief in strange creatures was totally non-existent, so his story of a little demonic creature must hold some validity.

The house I grew up in had what we always referred to as the "under-floor." It had no cement walls or floors, just hard-packed dirt. One day while he was down there cleaning out trash that had gathered, he noticed a huge rock over by one wall. He was not aware of how it came to be there, but decided to move it outside. He pushed on the rock, which proved to be heavier than he realized, so he was only
able to roll it over. Beneath the rock, he saw a smoothly rounded hole in the floor. Getting down on his knees, he shone his flashlight into the hole, which turned out to be an opening to a little tunnel. His flashlight lit up the tunnel all the way back to where it made a turn. Puzzled, he stayed in that position, looking into the tunnel. Suddenly, he heard something running back beyond that turn,and knew that whatever it was, it was heading for the entry hole. He jumped to his feet, and stared as the running feet became louder – something was nearing the opening.

Then, quick as a flash, a little red being emerged from the hole. It stood on hind legs, had a long tail, pointed ears, and its hand-like forepaws were doubled up in fists. It glared at dad, and stomped its feet in rage. It hissed and spat at him, then turned and ran back into the tunnel. Dad referred to it as a little red devil. Knowing I was going to be sleeping in the house that night, and not relishing the thought of a possible night visit by this creature, I asked dad if he had put the rock back over that hole. His response was, "Huh! I poured cement into that hole!"

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