Mythical Monday: Hitching a Ride with the Ferryman, by Mae Clair

Posted on May 13, 2013 by Mae Clair

Let me start by saying this is not a gent I’d want to take a boat ride with!

Charon is the ferryman who provides transport on the mythical rivers of Styx and Acheron, bodies of water that separate the plane of the living from the underworld. It’s Charon’s job to gather the souls bound for hades and ferry them across the river (they’re delivered to him by Hermes, but that’s material for another post. )

Why anyone would want to pay for a ride like that is beyond me, but Charon wasn’t above profiting from the assignment. A shrewd or greedy guide (depending on your viewpoint) he required an obol for passage – - a silver coin placed in the mouth of the dead.

For this reason, family members would often bury their loved ones with a coin placed under the tongue, ensuring they carried the required payment for a journey to the netherworld. Those unable to produce the proper fee were turned away and forced to wander the banks of the river Acheron for a span of one hundred years. Ugh! Given the limited appeal of the place, I’m sure that got old quickly. Especially with Charon lurking around waiting for the next tour group to show up.

The son of Erebus (darkness) and Nix (night) in Greek Mythology, this was not a guy with a pleasant disposition. He’s often depicted as an ugly bearded man with a crooked nose. Let’s face it – - ferrymen in mythology, literature, and fantasy, generally do not fit the Good Samaritan variety. They’re sinister, creepy, and skulk about in raggedy cloaks of black or gray, perpetual mourners shrouded in tomb colors.

On a cool side note, Charon is also the name of Pluto’s largest moon (another is called Nix). In mythology, Pluto was the ruler of the underworld.

Bonus cool side note: the HMS Erebus was the name of the ship Sir John Franklin commanded on his expedition to discover the Northwest Passage in 1845. The other vessel was the HMS Terror commanded by Captain Francis Crozier. Both ships were lost after becoming trapped in the ice. The truth about what happened to the expedition and the crews remains one of the greatest unsolved nautical mysteries in history. Neither ship has ever been found.

Can you think of other examples where a mythological name has been applied to something in modern times or history – - such as Disney’s cartoon character, Pluto, the brand Nike, or the investment fund, Janus?

Or have you ever taken a ride on a ferry that you’d like to share? Believe it or not, I can’t recall ever ferrying across water. Apparently, I’ve been woefully deprived!

Mythical Monday: The Apple Tree Man and the Green Knight, by Mae Clair

Posted on May 6, 2013 by Mae Clair

The next time you venture into an apple orchard, if you’re very lucky, you may discover buried treasure.

According to legend, sun-ripened apples don’t simply occur at the whim of nature, or even due to attentive care of the trees which bring forth fruit. The Apple Tree Man oversees the blossoming and ripening of the fruit, ensuring a good crop.

This orchard spirit is shy, taking up residence in one of the trees while he performs his supervisory tasks. He brings treasure with him, which can be found beneath the tree in which he’s taken up residence. Many have tried to seek out the treasure, but the Apple Tree Man is easily frightened and will quickly depart for another orchard, taking his treasure with him if disturbed.

Some believe he is distantly related to the legendary Green Man of the English countryside, also called Jack-in-the-Green, the Green Knight and Green George.

Unlike the withdrawn and timid Apple Tree Man, the Green Man is a jovial but wild figure tied to nature worship and fertility rights. He is a spirit of trees, nature and foliage. And yet this symbol of early pagan practices is often seen carved into Christian churches, abbeys and graveyards. It’s thought early Christian missionaries tried to adapt local beliefs and absorb them in a manner that kept new converts from feeling alienated.

The Green Man is usually represented as a face peering from foliage; leaves for hair and beard, vines sometimes sprouting from his nose and ears. When he is depicted as a man, he is covered by leaves and vines, his skin the same green hue as the foliage which engulfs him.

I’ve read several books where the Green Man appeared as a character (most of them fantasy novels) and I vaguely recall a movie from the 1980s called Sword of the Valiant: The Legend of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

If I remember correctly, the Green Knight (played by non other than Sean Connery with that killer accent) challenges the knights of King Arthur’s court to play a game with him…a game of life and death. He will allow anyone brave enough a single stroke with his axe to behead him. If the knight is unable to kill him with one stroke, then the knight must take a blow to the neck in turn.

None of the knights will take the challenge. Wanting to honor his king, Gawain, who is only a page at this point, bravely steps forward and announces he will play the game. He takes up the Green Knight’s axe and beheads him, but any elation in the court quickly sours – the Green Knight still lives. As the King and his knights watch, the creature retrieves his head and places it on his shoulders, announcing that Gawain must now suffer a blow as promised.

Gawain knows with one stroke of the axe he will die. But due to his bravery, the Green Knight proposes a riddle. He will return in one year. If, at that time, Gawain has not solved the riddle, then he must bare his neck to the Green Knight’s axe and suffer the consequences.

Unfortunately, that’s all I remember. So, of course, I hopped over to Amazon and ordered the DVD. I remember the movie as being kind of cheesy, but I’ve always loved Arthurian Legend and I’m curious to see how it ended.

Do you remember any books or movies with the Green Man? Do you have a favorite Arthurian Legend or Knight?

Mythical Monday: The HMS Friday, by Mae Clair

Posted on April 29, 2013 by Mae Clair

Hello, everyone, and welcome to another Mythical Monday. I’m still in a nautical frame of mind. :)

Last week, I shared a number of seafaring superstitions. Today, I want to focus on a single belief that spurned an entire urban legend.

Anyone remotely familiar with maritime folklore will tell you it’s considered bad luck to begin a voyage on a Friday. Why? Because bad things happen on a Friday.

Jesus was crucified on Friday, and biblical disasters such as the Great Flood and Adam biting the apple in the Garden of Eden supposedly occurred on a Friday. Whether the latter two are true, the fact remains that Friday is a day to avoid when setting sail.

This belief was so ingrained and so widespread, that in the 19^th century the Royal Navy took drastic steps to dispel it by commissioning a ship named the HMS Friday. The ship’s keel was laid on a Friday and she set sail on her maiden voyage on Friday the 13^th. If that wasn’t enough, she was commanded by Captain James Friday.

All of this Friday-ism would have certainly proved a point had it worked. Unfortunately for Captain Friday, his crew, and his ship, they were never seen or heard from again. *cue eerie music*

Isn’t that great fodder for an urban legend? As it turns out, the tale of the HMS Friday is precisely that – an impressive story for inspiring goose bumps, but without a shred of truth. False or not, it’s an intriguing snippet of maritime folklore I couldn’t resist sharing. It has all the perfect components of an urban legend with just enough what-if leeway to make you wonder.

To close, I’m sharing a snippet from my upcoming contemporary romance/mystery, TWELFTH SUN. In this scene, my heroine, Reagan Cassidy is having breakfast with the novel’s hero, Dr. Elijah Cross, a twenty-five year old marine archeologist who is brilliant, annoying and good-looking. :) Reagan considers their first encounter humiliating, and is still irritated over what happened. At thirty-five, she’s also thrown by Elijah’s age in contrast to his professional achievements. The scene picks up with them discussing the Twelfth Sun, a 19^th century schooner.

~ooOOoo~

“Getting back to the Twelfth Sun,” Elijah continued as if her interruption were of no consequence. “She was built in the 1790’s when Baltimore led the nation in shipbuilding, and came out of Fells Point like most clippers.”

“I thought you said she was a schooner?”

“Pretty much an interchangeable term. The Twelfth Sun was owned by the Wheeler Shipping Company and captained under Samuel Storm. During the war of 1812 she turned privateer and was responsible for single-handedly sinking or capturing ten British vessels. When the war ended, she floundered. The clipper era was on the wane. Changing maritime conditions and economic trends combined to make it almost obsolete.”

Reagan tilted her head. She vaguely recalled her uncle saying something along the same lines. She’d always viewed old sailing ships as poetic, romantic images, but had never taken the time to learn their history.

“Wheeler Shipping fell on hard times and sold to a pair of brothers out of Massachusetts,” Elijah continued. “The Rooks were wealthy, but inexperienced. Samuel Storm stayed on as captain of the Twelfth Sun and continued making cargo runs. In 1836, Chester Rook sent his younger brother Jeremiah along as the shipping company’s onboard representative.”

“The Twelfth Sun sank in 1836.” That much she did know.

Elijah nodded. He eyed her fruit again. “Are you really going to eat that?”

Exasperated, she pushed the plate across the table to him. He grinned broadly and attacked the pieces of cantaloupe, honeydew and pineapple with relish. Munching contentedly, he continued his tale.

“The voyage was doomed from the start. Chester Rook ordered the ship to launch on a Friday in direct opposition to Samuel Storm’s wishes.”

Reagan waited, expecting to learn there’d been a horrible gale or unstable weather conditions.

Elijah simply let the sentence hang.

“So?” she prompted, annoyed by the lapse.

“Friday, Reagan. Anyone familiar with sailing lore knows you never begin a voyage on a Friday. It’s bad luck.”

She bristled. “Ms. Cassidy, please.”

“A little too proper for first names?”

“Just tell me what happened.”

He finished the last of the fruit and drained his coffee. Slumping back in his chair, he folded his arms over his chest and stared at her across the table. The thick black line of his lashes made his eyes intensely blue, as vibrant as cut glass caught in the sun. Dark brown hair curled in long, riotous waves against his collar.

For one unsettling minute, Reagan had the insane desire to lace her fingers through it. Disturbed, she sat straighter and lowered her eyes. She’d always had a weakness for men with tousled, unkempt hair, but so what? Elijah Cross might be good-looking, but he was also a royal pain in the posterior.

~ooOOoo~

I hope you enjoyed my excerpt. TWELFTH SUN doesn’t release until August 5, but I’m getting excited thinking about it! And, although my fictional vessel didn’t vanish like the HMS Friday, the mystery of what happened to her is at the heart of the novel.

Do you find old ships fascinating? What about the legends attached to them? Is there a particular ghost ship or legendary vessel that intrigues you?

Mythical Monday: Nautical Superstitions, by Mae Clair

Posted on April 22, 2013 by Mae Clair

Whether it’s ghost ships, sea lore, or whispered tales of phantom winds and water sprites, I’ve always been intrigued by the murky depths of the sea. From ancient times to present, the underwater world has harbored creatures both serene and foul. And, oh, so interesting!

The Old Testament references the leviathan, a mighty seabeast, while legends passed through generations speak of floating islands, vanished cities, and merpeople who live beneath the waves.

But what of the brave men and women who attempted to tame the sea or, at the very least, exist within its dominion? Even today, sailors are a superstitious lot, many of their beliefs retained from an earlier age when water haunts and sea serpents were commonly recognized and feared.

While writing TWELFTH SUN, a novel which centers around a maritime artifact, I had the occasion to sort through a host of nautical superstitions. I referenced a few in the book, but much of the research was strictly for fun. I grew up reciting “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning.” Remember that? I still often mentally conjure that sing-song verse when I notice a red sky.

But that tidbit of seafaring superstition wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the myth-monger in me, so I went diving for more. Here are some of my favorite nautical superstitions:

Untying knots in a rope bring favorable winds.

Knitting hair into the toe of a sailor’s sock will bring him back to you.

If a sailor dreams of a horse, it is an omen of high seas.

Disaster will follow if you step onboard a vessel with your left foot first.

A ship’s bell will always ring when it is wrecked.

If St. Elmo’s Fire appears around a sailor’s head, he will die within a day.

A woman onboard a ship will make the sea angry. Unless, she’s naked which will calm the sea. (Gee, wasn’t that a convenient superstition for sailors and pirates?)

Never rename a ship, for it is bad luck.

A ship’s name ending in “a” is unlucky.

Nail a shark’s tail to the bow of a ship and it will ward off other sharks. (Of course, you’ve still got the problem of convincing a shark to give up its tail. I don’t imagine there were a lot of volunteers for that job).

The feather of a wren will protect a sailor from death by shipwreck.

Death comes with an ebb tide and birth with a rising tide.

Black traveling bags are bad luck for a seaman.

A silver coin placed under the masthead ensures a successful voyage. Pouring wine on the deck also brings good luck.

Gulls harbor the souls of sailors lost at sea.

There are a host of other superstitions, but these are a few of my favorites. Next Monday, I have one particular belief I want to share, including how it gave birth to an entire urban legend. Intrigued? I hope you’ll be back next week for the details.

In the meantime, are there any superstitions you adhere to, nautical or otherwise? I tend to knock on wood a lot and I’m freaky about the number thirteen. What makes you superstitious?

Mythical Monday: The Mysterious Statues of Easter Island by Mae Clair

Posted on April 15, 2013 by Mae Clair

Photo courtesy of Aurbina, Wikipedia Commons

What do you think of when someone mentions Easter Island?

If you’re like me, you probably think of the large stone statues that have long been a subject of speculation and mystery.

Called moai, these monolithic representations were originally carved from solidified volcanic ash known as tuff. From the year 1000 through 1600, the Rapa Nui islanders engaged in carving and erecting 887 statues, the largest nearly 72 feet long. It wasn’t merely enough to craft the statues, however. A third were transported to various spots on the island and placed on ceremonial platforms known as ahu.

So how did a culture that ancient not only create such gargantuan statues, but move them as well? Some theorists would have us believe extraterrestrials were involved. Others speculate Easter Island may be the Lost Continent of Mu, a landmass that was once part of earth’s oceans but mysteriously vanished at the dawn of history.

Mythology aside, Easter Island is a harsh lesson on the perils of obsession and deforestation. Once a verdant paradise, graced by giant palms, the island was destroyed by its inhabitant’s preoccupation with moving the statues around the island.

Countless palm trees were razed, their trunks employed to transport the massive figures. With the obliteration of the trees, resources grew scarce as topsoil was washed into the sea, leaving no way to raise food or even build boats. Overpopulated, their once fertile utopia in ruins, the islanders embraced civil war and cannibalism. In the process they toppled the moai themselves. Those that stand today are the result of modern archeological efforts.

It’s sad to think a culture could destroy itself through a fixation that resulted in utter mania. What would lead a whole race of people to become so preoccupied with a single undertaking, to the exclusion of all else? Perhaps, more than space aliens and lost continents, that is the greatest mystery of Easter Island.

I think it would be a fascinating place to visit…to stand in the shadows of those monolithic statues, surrounded by the ghosts of a lost culture. What about you? Are there any lost civilizations—Mayans, Incas, Celts, Phoenicians, Vikings—that intrigue you?

Mythical Monday: The Ghosts of Time by Mae Clair

Posted on April 8, 2013 by Mae Clair

We’ve often heard the expression “time stopped.” But can it really? As much as I love time travel novels and speculating about traversing centuries, time flows in a single direction–forward. Despite cold facts and scientific data, generations of writers, philosophers, artists and musicians remain bewitched by the abstract elements of time.

Consider me one. In the past, I’ve done several blog posts about what I call “betwixt moments,” but I’ve never shared where my fascination with time originated. I can easily trace it back to my father who had a passion for antiques, especially old clocks. I grew up in a house filled with them. I have memories of a large white captain’s clock, several squat mantle clocks, and a pointed steeple clock that would have been at home in a Sherlock Holmes novel. But the star of my dad’s collection was a grandfather’s clock he found at a garage sale. Built in 1902, the clock was his baby.

He pampered it…winding it, oiling it, adjusting the chimes, polishing the pendulum. It had a prime spot in our living room, its chimes resounding throughout the house on the hour. As a kid, I created multiple stories with clocks and would often lay awake at night listening for the deep bass bong of the grandfather’s clock.

When my husband and I bought our second home, the first piece of furniture I purchased for the formal living room was a grandfather’s clock. Never mind there wasn’t a couch or chair, the clock came first. That’s the romantic, impractical side of me. Every time I look at that clock, I think of my dad.

As kids he’d often tell us that when he died, if there was a way to come back, he’d find it. If the grandfather’s clock was running he’d stop it, and if it was stopped, he’d start it. I don’t think my dad intended on dying early—maybe he’d knew he’d have a short life—but the afterlife fascinated him. When I was thirteen, he passed away from colon cancer.

Sometime after that, the whole family was gathered in the living room. My father passed away in early September, so I believe this must have been Thanksgiving, because my married sisters were there with their spouses. My mom was the only one not in the room. I think she might have been in the kitchen. Someone went to note the time and realized the clock had stopped. There was a moment of goosebump-silence as we absorbed the impact. My sister immediately told her husband to ”start it, before Mom sees it.” We never told her about that incident until much later in life, fearing it might upset her.

Was my dad there? Had he stopped the clock as promised? I still wonder. Many people would chalk it up to happenstance, but it’s far too coincidental to me.

Today, the grandfather’s clock no longer works and is too old to be repaired. My brother took it to a few different clockmakers without success. Although it no longer runs, he displays it proudly in his home. One hundred eleven years after it was built, it has become an intricate part of our family history. We’ve passed the tale of my dad and his promise to the younger generation, a story often reflected on at family gatherings. The clock–like my father–is still touching lives, a testament of time and memory.

Is there a spooky story in your family history—one that has been passed down to you or that you’ve passed to your kids? Sometimes we don’t have to look beyond our own bloodline to find inspiration for a legend!

Mythical Monday: Easter Customs and Traditions by Mae Clair

Posted on April 1, 2013 by Mae Clair

I’m a day late with my well wishes, but I hope everyone had a happy Easter.

I’m especially fond of this holiday. After Christmas, it’s my favorite. Naturally, it makes me think of the Resurrection, eternal life and forgiveness, but it also resonates with shiny newness and fresh beginnings.

After a long winter, Easter is the gateway to spring. In many countries, bells are rung on Easter Sunday to herald the arrival of the new season, and drive away evil spirits. Given these same bothersome ghosts were also banished at Christmas and New Year’s, it’s a wonder any managed to hang around. Stragglers or loiterers who didn’t get the message the first two times, they were either extremely stubborn or exsitng on fumes.

If the bell ringing didn’t send them fleeing, painting Easter eggs often did the trick. Why? Because good ghosts like pretty things. So the ‘spirit cavalry’ would arrive, attracted by the colorful eggs and send the troublesome wraiths packing.

And how about our favorite bunny, known to go hippity-hopping about, delivering candy and eggs?

bigstock-Fluffy-foxy-rabbit-in-basket-w-42872128

Is this guy adorable or what? I simply couldn’t resist him when I went searching for stock photography. What a cutie!

He got his start in Germany and was introduced to America in the 1700s by German settlers who colonized Pennsylvania Dutch Country. The ‘bunny’ was actually a hare known as Osterhase. Especially popular with children, Osterhase laid eggs then delivered them to good boys and girls who’d fashioned nests for him from their caps and bonnets.

Perhaps that generated the tradition of Easter bonnets. I have many fond memories of Easter Sundays going to church in my new hat (normally beribboned with silken streamers), frilly dress and white gloves. When church was over, there would be Easter baskets waiting at home. I’m not sure how my parents managed the timing—getting the kids out the door to church, then having the baskets waiting when we returned. Since both parents were with us, we were convinced the Easter Bunny had delivered them.

There must have been some frenzied last minute coordination between my mom and dad, LOL!

I remember the goodies—milk chocolate bunnies, malted eggs, sugary marshmallow peeps, foil-covered chocolate eggs in bright gem colors, and a rainbow of jelly beans. We’d have an egg hunt, then later at dinner, an Easter ham.

Several years ago, I talked my husband into coloring eggs with me. The night before Easter he hid them around the house without telling me. He knew how much I’d loved hunting for eggs as a kid and arranged for me to have my very own hunt on Easter morning. I still remember finding the one he hid in the grandfather’s clock!

I’d love to hear any fond memories you have of Easter, how you celebrate, or even your favorite Easter candy (mine is marshmallow peeps).

I hope your Easter was filled with fun, whimsy and grace!

Mythical Monday: Cryptozoology and the Yeti, by Mae Clair

Posted on March 25, 2013 by Mae Clair

It’s Mythical Monday! As I write this post, it’s a brisk Sunday afternoon but, by the time it publishes, my area will likely be in the midst of a snowstorm. Yes, a snowstorm. On the 25^th day of March, when temperatures should be in the mid-50 range, the forecast is for 2 to 5 inches of snow, possibly more in some areas. Mother Nature clearly didn’t get the message to “spring forward” with the rest of us.

As a result, for today’s Mythical Monday, I dug up the “cold facts” on a creature who is fond of ice and snow—the Yeti, also known as the Abominable Snowman. You probably remember the lumbering beast Bumble from Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer who lost his vicious bite when Hermie the elf removed his teeth. Poor guy. Fortunately, he was a softie at heart and ended up putting the star on Santa’s Christmas tree.

But the real Abominable is an enormous ape-like creature residing in the harsh terrain of the Himalaya Mountains. Yeti communicate by a series of whistling sounds and shrieks. Because of their size and backward pointing feet their capacity for speed is limited, but what they lack in agility they more than make up in strength. These ginormous, muscular creatures are able to hurl large boulders which they use as a defense (not that I imagine they have many predators!).

Like Bigfoot, the Yeti is one of the most popular creatures in cryptozoology, having spawned numerous expeditions. Oddly, some believe spying a Yeti brings ill fortune, illness or even death. That hasn’t stopped researchers, however, from venturing into the creature’s cold, inhospitable domain.

Sir Edmond Hillary was probably the most famous. One of the first two men to climb Mt. Everest, he later led a 1960 expedition sponsored by the World book Encyclopedia. Despite been equipped with trip-wire cameras, infrared and time lapse photography, the expedition failed to find definitive proof of the Yeti’s existence. The group returned with pelts and a scalp later identified as belonging to a rare blue bear and a serow goat.

One man, however, professes to owe his life to the Yeti. Captain d’Auvergue, curator of the Victoria Memorial in Calcutta, India experienced a bout of snow blindness while traversing the Himalayas alone in 1938. Suffering from exposure and on the brink of death, d’Auvergue claimed he was nursed back to health by a yeti.

Still the debate rages on. As with most famed creatures of cryptozoology—the Loch Ness Monster, Sasquatch, and the Colossal Squid (not to be confused with the Giant Squid)—the Yeti continues to inspire new research, dispute and speculation. I certainly don’t expect to see an Abominable in the 2 to 5 inches of snow forecast for my area, but on this cold and blustery Monday, the Yeti seemed a fitting mythical choice.

What is your favorite creature from cryptozoology or myth?

Mythical Monday: The Lore of the Leprechaun by Mae Clair

Posted on March 18, 2013 by Mae Clair

Top ‘o the morning to you! My friend, Christina McKnight, is splashing my cover for TWELFTH SUN on her blog today. Given I’m so besotted with it, I had to make sure everyone knew it was available for another gander. If you’re interested, you can find it here.

And yes, I know St. Patrick’s Day has passed, but I couldn’t let a Mythical Monday slip by without a tip of the hat to such a momentous celebration. Enjoy a virtual green beer on me while I trot out a much beloved figure from myth.

Remember when you were a kid, and you wanted to catch a leprechaun? If you were like me, it had nothing to do with that legendary pot of gold. What was gold to a kid? The allure was the idea of a magical wee creature who could move between worlds. Spying a leprechaun meant maybe, just maybe, the veil between everyday reality and a hidden otherworld grew thin enough to cross over. What child wouldn’t want to explore a fairytale realm where enchantment was king?

Shoemakers by trade, Leprechauns were mostly solitary, but they enjoyed a good reel with the fiddle and tin whistles at night. Kindred to the Fair Folk, they were descended from the great Tuatha Dé Danann, and squirreled their gold away in buried pots. If you were crafty enough to catch a leprechaun and kept your eye fixed on him, he’d have to reveal the location of his gold when asked. One blink, however, and he quickly vanished from sight.

When I was a kid, there was a huge open field across the street from where I lived. It backed up to the rear yards of the houses on that side and stretched the entire length of the neighborhood. It was a magical place fully of whimsy. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was an enchanted realm all its own. There were walnut trees and wild flowers, clusters of honeysuckle and patches of sun-sweetened strawberries. When dusk settled, my friends and I gathered to watch bats launch from the tops of snarled dark trees. In the winter we donned skates and glided on frozen ground water beneath the full moon. Autumn was perfect for gathering acorns and trekking to the ‘big hill’ that sprouted from the earth like a mythical fairy mound.

I never did find a leprechaun in that magical kingdom, not that I ever put any great energy into the search. I preferred to imagine one of the wee folk watching from beneath a shaded leaf or a plump toadstool. The problem with magic is that when captured, the enchantment fades. Perhaps that is why leprechauns and pots of gold only exist at the end of rainbows. Rainbows have no end.

I don’t have a drop of Irish blood in my veins – - I’m Italian and German with a smidgen of Brit mixed in – - but I think all of us feel a connection to the Emerald Isle, especially during the month of March. So whether you’re Irish (Hi, Emma!) or just honorary for the day like me, here’s hoping your day is filled with rainbows and the blessings of the wee folk.

Was there place that held magic for you as a child?

Mythical Monday: The Boogeyman and Other Childhood Monsters, by Mae Clair

Posted on March 11, 2013 by Mae Clair

Childhood days are filled with fun, a time of delight and discovery. But children also have vivid imaginations for conjuring the denizens of make-believe. Like most otherworldly elements, the fantastical is inhabited with beings of light and dark.

Most of us remember the boogeyman under the bed, a malevolent creature born from the blood of midnight, dust and shadow. When darkness settled, the boogeyman left its realm, oozing to life through the floorboards beneath a child’s bed. We knew better than to dangle a hand or foot over the edge of the mattress. The temptation was a blatant invitation for the boogeyman to “get us.” Although it was never really clear what that amounted to, we knew it would be terrifying.

Trying to convince an adult of the boogeyman’s existence was pointless. Once a light switch was activated, or a parent peered under the bed to reassure us, the boogeyman retreated, seeping back through the floorboards before it could be spied. Clever and ghastly, it wasn’t the only menacing creature to haunt our bedroom.

Kindred of the boogeyman, the closet monster was every bit as sinister. Like the boogeyman it appeared at night, summoned when a closet door was left standing ajar. That crack, no matter how minuscule, summoned it with the lure of slipping into our world. Shut the closet and the monster would be trapped inside. For all its menacing presence, it was powerless to open the door on its own.

With the closet monster contained and the boogeyman prowling beneath the bed, that left only the dark enchantment born from the night. Wind, moonlight and shadow had the power to turn everyday tree branches into writhing snakes and skeletal fingers. When those same grasping fingers tapped against night-blackened window panes, we knew the danger lurking outside actively sought a way indoors.

In the morning, the touch of sunlight banished all dark creatures to their shadow-draped warrens and we could almost believe the danger wouldn’t return. Almost. In the bright wash of daylight, darkness and the denizens that inhabited its realm held no power.

We rode bikes, raced across open fields, picked wild strawberries and climbed trees. When dusk fell, we danced with fireflies, told ghost stories and played hide-and-seek. Twilight was magical, nothing to fear. But night eventually settled, forcing us to crawl into bed, certain the boogeyman had returned.

Somehow, despite all the ghoulish creatures that wanted to “get us,” we emerged from childhood unscathed. In time, we reached an age where they no longer existed, and ceased to trouble our sleep.

Maybe it’s just me, but dangling my hand over the edge of the bed is something that still gives me pause. Even as logic tells me there is nothing down there, I get that shivery sensation that has me snatching my hand back to safety after a short time. Silly? Yes. But a writer’s imagination is every bit as vivid as a child’s. How about yours?

Bet honest. How comfortable are you dangling a hand or foot over the edge of the bed? What nighttime creatures frightened you in childhood?