Downstairs beneath the kitchen floor, deep in the basement, I heard it. I lay awake listening. Scrape, scratch… and a low rumble echoed through the house. I lay as still as I could, waiting for the sound to stop, waiting for it to grow louder and closer.

Earlier, Daddy was in the basement working on his nets (he was a commercial fisherman). My two brothers and I had been playing in the basement and listening to our dad’s stories. We shrieked with laughter at his funny tales of old and trembled with fear as he described exotic pets of his childhood. “One still lived somewhere under the house.” I was sure that it was wandering around in the basement at night.

My brothers didn’t seem to worry about this strange and mysterious creature. After playing in the basement, they would scramble up the steps pulling me along behind them. Daddy, right behind us, would cry, “Hurry, hurry, he’s after me,” and through the door and into the kitchen we fled. We squealed with laughter and ran screaming to Mom.

Scolding, our mother would gather us around her and calm our fears. “Pondo, you are going to scare these kids and they will forever be afraid of basements,” she cried. “You kids are not to go down there again. This storytelling of scary animals has got to stop.” “No Mama, no, we have to go in the basement. Daddy needs us down there.”

We chimed the plea together and soon Mama laughed and realized that we weren’t really afraid of the make-believe pet. But then, all of a sudden, as Daddy stepped into the kitchen, something grabbed his foot. “Ugh, oh, umm, ouch!” he cried. “Get away, scat!” Daddy grabbed a chair and hung on. ”He’s got me!” he yelled, and he kicked into the darkness of the basement stairwell. John and Jim ran over squealing and took hold of his arm and pulled with all of their might.

Being the youngest one, and a girl, I watched from behind Mama. “Hurry Daddy, hurry, don’t let him get you!” I wailed.

After only a few moments, the thing let go and Daddy and my brothers stumbled towards us, the basement door slamming shut. “Whew, he almost got me that time. You boys saved me,” he said.

Mama released me and I ran into Daddy’s arms. “I wanna see him!” I shrieked.

My brothers joined me. “We wanna see Oscar, Daddy. Where did he go? Where does he live?” Our dad, now sitting in his chair surrounded by his fishing gear, opened his arms and pulled the three of us onto his lap. With a twinkle in his eye and a wink at Mama, he would explain to us again all about Oscar. “Oscar is a big old alligator who has been following me around since I was your age,” he began. “He used to live down on the Islands but he followed me home a while back. He lives down in that hole in the corner behind the “draw horse” that you kids play on. We all nodded, listening intently. “When I turn off the lights, he scrambles up out of that old hole and tries to grab me. Ah, Katie, don’t be scared. He only wants me to stay in the basement to keep him company. He isn’t going to eat me,” he promised.

 Of course, I always knew that Oscar was only make-believe, but I still listened intently in the wee hours of night for the sound of him crawling around looking for Daddy.

I am all grown up now and am married to George. Scott and Billy, our sons, fondly recall Grandpa and Oscar. Our grandchildren will never know the thrill of their great grandpa’s stories or his wonderful theatrics. Those were the best times of my childhood when almost every night Daddy would escape from Oscar, the old alligator that lived in a hole.