Uncle John's the Haunted Outhouse Bathroom Reader for Kids Only!

by Bathroom Readers' Institute

  FFIRTH IN BEING WRONG

  Ffirth’s experiments caused scientists to look for another reason for the spread of yellow fever. That’s too bad, because yellow fever is extremely contagious. But it must be transmitted directly into the blood stream. It wasn’t until a century later that a Cuban scientist named Carlos Finlay showed that the disease was spread mostly by the bites of mosquitoes. (Which also explained why it was most common in the summer.)

  So why didn’t Stubbins Ffirth catch the disease and croak? It seems that the fluids he used came from late-stage patients who were no longer contagious.

  •••

  TRI-STATE TWISTER

  Here’s the story of one of the most terrifying storms in U.S. history.

  PANIC ATTACK

  It started without warning on March 18, 1925, around 1:01 p.m. No storms had been predicted. At the time, weather forecasters weren’t even allowed to use the word “tornado.” The word had been banned in 1887, when the U.S. Army Signal Corps forecasted the country’s weather. Tornadoes were too unpredictable, the Corps reasoned. If you couldn’t tell where they might touch down, why send people into a panic?

  When trees started snapping north-northwest of Ellington, Missouri, no one was prepared for what was to come. A funnel touched down three miles outside of town, killed a farmer, and then moved to the northeast at speeds between 62 and 73 mph. This was no ordinary tornado. It was a mile-wide monster with winds churning at speeds up to 300 mph. It would rage for 3½ hours and plow through three states: Missouri, Illinois, and Indiana. And it would leave a path of destruction 234 miles long.

  TODDLING TOWARD OZ

  Wallace Akin spent his career as a tornado scientist at Drake University in Iowa. In 1925, Akin was 2 years old. He lived with his family in Murphysboro, Illinois. Akin shared his memories of that terrifying day in his 1992 history of the Tri-State Tornado, The Forgotten Storm. It may read like The Wizard of Oz, but it’s real.

  An invading army of debris swept over the western hill—trees, boards, fences, roofs. Day became night. The house began to levitate and, at the same time, the piano shot across the room, gouging the floor and carpet where I had played only moments before. The walls began to crack as the roof ripped free and disappeared, joining the swirling mass of debris. But the walls and floor held as we and the house took flight.

  GHOST TOWN

  By the time the tornado spun out of Murphysboro, it had left the largest weather-related death toll within a single U.S. city in history: 234. The deaths included at least 25 students crushed under falling walls in three schools. But the twister had another 2 hours and 130 miles to go before it petered out.

  In all, 19 separate communities were affected. Two towns were wiped off the map: Gorham, Illinois, and Griffin, Indiana. Two others experienced 90 percent destruction: Annapolis, Missouri, and Parrish, Illinois. An estimated total of 15,000 homes were demolished, 695 people died, and 2,027 were injured. Parrish was never rebuilt—it became a tornadic ghost town.

  •••

  SOMETHING WICKED

  An Uncle John’s Eerily Twisted Tale.

  ARAW WIND BIT into the back of my neck as I hurried home after football practice. I shivered, but not because of the wicked wind. Because I’d made a really stupid promise to the team. We were trying to raise money for new football jerseys. And when Coach asked for suggestions, that cold wind sort of blew in one of my ears and out the other taking my brain with it. That was the only reason I could think of for the lame idea that popped out of my mouth.

  “Let’s have a kissing booth at the Halloween Carnival!”

  After the hoots and catcalls and kissy noises had died down, Coach had said, “Any other ideas?”

  That’s when Scot Turdle, the fullback who loved nothing more than sacking me in every practice, hooted, “Yo, Bradbury! Better keep that twin sister of yours out of the booth. Nobody’d pay to kiss her!”

  And that’s when Terry Wildman said, “I would!”

  And Mike Mitchell said, “Me, too!”

  And pretty soon all the guys were saying, “Heck yeah!” and “I’d kiss her twice!” and I got caught up in the excitement and said, “Yeah, so would I!” And then I felt my ears burning like a bonfire and stuttered around for a minute trying to explain that I meant, you know, Rae was kind of cute for a girl, even if she was my twin, so I’d kiss her if she wasn’t my twin, but she was, so no—no I wouldn’t. Bleck! And then I’d spit on the ground like I’d kissed a rotten cabbage or something.

  “Good.” Coach had slapped his hands together. “So now we know lots of guys would pay to kiss Rae, with the notable exceptions of Scot and Brad. Let’s do this thing! Brad,” Coach turned to me, “you get the girl, the rest of us will build the booth.”

  And that’s the moment I realized I was in serious trouble. Because no way was Rae gonna volunteer to kiss a bunch of football jerks or anyone else for that matter, especially not if I was the one asking her to do it. Why couldn’t I have kept my big mouth shut for once?

  “So, I was wondering…”

  “No,” said Rae.

  “But I haven’t even—”

  “I already know about your stupid kissing booth. Shakira called, and you can count me out.” Rae looked up from her iPad and I glanced at the Tweet she was writing: JUST SAY NO TO LAME KISSING BOOTHS! It wouldn’t be the Tweet that went ’round the world, but Rae had a lot of followers. So it would go out to pretty much every girl in Jackson Middle School.

  “Wait! No!” My shoulders sagged as she clicked SEND. “Why?” I whined.

  “Are you kidding? Kissing booths went out with Poodle skirts and penny loafers.”

  I had no idea what a Poodle skirt or a penny loafer was. But I knew one thing: if Rae didn’t volunteer for the booth, Turdle would pound me for it from now till the last football practice of our senior year.

  So…here’s the thing: If you thought the kissing booth idea was lame, you might think my next idea was lamer. But to me, it was a no-brainer—in a good way, not in a brainless way. After all, Rae wasn’t just my twin: She was my identical twin. With a few borrowed clothes and some makeup tricks from Teen Glam magazine, bam! Rae Bradbury would be sitting in the kissing booth on Halloween night as promised.

  That wicked October wind was still blowing on Halloween night. It wrapped around my ankles, crept up my knees, and poofed up my Tulle skirt. I slapped it down. How did girls have the nerve to wear clothes that could blow up over their knickers at any minute? It was terrifying—and cold! My teeth were chattering before I was halfway to the field at the edge of town where the carnival was being held. I’d turned my ankle twice in the high-heeled sandals I’d borrowed, and now I was doing this kind of shambling zombie walk instead of the Marilyn Monroe wiggle I’d started out with. It took awhile, but eventually I saw carnival lights winking in the distance and heard eerie music drifting through the trees. The wind blew harder, making branches jangle like skeletons and leaves rattle like loose finger bones.

  Somehow, I made it to the booth and limped inside. The guys had decorated it with stuff borrowed from moms and sisters: bright silk pillows, beaded lamps, and so many scented candles my head started to pound. And then…I realized that the pounding wasn’t in my head. It was my first customer, pounding on the counter to get my attention. “Yo, Rae!”

  My hands went cold and clammy. It couldn’t be. I turned so slowly you could hear every vertebrae in my spine click. And there he stood: Scot Turdle—the guy who said no one would pay to kiss my twin—waving a dollar bill and grinning wickedly. I took a deep breath and did the only thing I could do: I puckered up.

  Scot planted a big wet one on my lips, then stepped back, grinning even bigger. Then I heard footsteps, and a gasp, and I looked up to see Rae staring back at me. Half the football team seemed to have followed her to the booth, and they all stood behind her with their mouths gaping open. “Uh…hi, Sis.” I waved. “Guys.”

  Turdle turned around and spotted Rae. He looked back
at me, and then all the color drained from his face. “EEEE!!” Turdle screamed—I swear—just like a little girl. Then he started rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth and gagging.

  Rae gave me a killer grin and a thumbs up. “Well, boys,” she said, “since Brad here is obviously a terrible kisser, I’d better take over.” And she did…and that’s how we raised enough money for new football jerseys. As for Scot Turdle? He ran for the woods that night and was never seen at Jackson Middle School again.

  THE END

  THE FORGOTTEN GUEST

  BY MICHELLE R. WEAVER

  MEDIEVAL FOOTBALL

  Who knew the Middle Ages could be this much fun?

  IT WASN’T ALL GRUEL AND GRIME in the Middle Ages. Games were afoot then, just as they are now. There was even a medieval version of football, a highly competitive game played between neighboring villages. There was no limit to the number of players. And the game had just one rule: Try to get the “ball” (usually an inflated pig’s bladder) past markers on either end of the town in which the game was being played. It was a rough sport. There were so many injuries (and deaths) that, in 1349, Britain’s King Edward III tried to have the game banned. Players refused to give it up.

  How violent was folk football? The first “balls” used in this game were severed heads tossed into a crowd after an execution. There was also a Scottish verse that warned of the dangers of playing:

  Bruised muscles and broken bones,

  Discordant strife and futile blows,

  Lamed in old age, then cripled withal:

  These are the beauties of foot-ball.

  FOOTBALL FOOTNOTE: Early footballs weren’t made from a pig’s skin. They were made from a pig’s bladder. A bladder is a hollow organ. It usually holds, well, pee.

  WATCH OUT FOR BARRY!

  An Uncle John’s Eerily Twisted Tale!

  NO ONE COULD REMEMBER who’d had the bright idea to sneak out of camp and hike to the haunted ravine. But everyone remembered why they’d never do something so stupid again. It all started when Eddie’s little brother needed to take a leak.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Eddie mumbled when Jake opened the tent flap.

  “Outside,” said Jake.

  “Are you nuts?” Eddie asked. “It’s pitch black out there.”

  “But I have to go.”

  “Can’t you hold it until morning?”

  Jake shook his head. “I won’t go far.”

  Eddie propped up on his elbows and turned on his flashlight. “Take this,” he said. “And watch out for Barry.”

  They were high up in the Adirondack Mountains for a week of roughing it at scout camp. Last night someone had pulled out that old legend about the boy who had wandered away from camp and fallen into a ravine. He’d screamed for his big brother Barry to rescue him, but no one heard his cries. By the time they found him, it was too late. The story always ended with a warning: “His ghost is still out there, just waiting to pull you into the ravine with him.”

  Jake figured the story was just something the older kids used to scare the younger ones. As he walked away from the campsite, the wind rustled the leaves in the trees, drowning out the other forest sounds. But then… he did hear another sound: a shrill soft voice calling, “Bah-reeeeee.”

  Barry? The voice sent a chill through Jake. No way could that story be true. Could it? There was only one way to find out. He would follow the sound. Seeing a ghost would be awesome. Jake walked several yards, then listened again. He heard the voice calling, “Bah-reee!”

  Carefully, Jake picked his way through the trees. Within a minute he was standing by the ravine. And the voice sounded close. Very close.

  “Bah-reee. Bah-reee.”

  Jake took one more step.

  “Bah-reee. Bah-reee.”

  He leaned forward, pointing his flashlight into the darkness below. Suddenly, the ground gave way and Jake was falling. “Eddie!” He screamed for his brother all the way down. Luckily for Jake, it had been a rainy spring. He landed with a splash in a vernal pool at the bottom of the ravine. It was deep enough to cushion his fall.

  “Bah-ree! Bah-ree!”

  Jake jumped. The voice was right beside him now. He poked around in the muddy pool. Where was his flashlight? “Bah-ree. Bah-ree.” His knuckles hit metal and he fumbled for the light. “Bah-ree. Bah-ree.” Jake’s hand shook as he swept the light around the ravine until he spotted a tiny movement.

  “Bah-ree. Bah-ree.”

  Jake laughed. The ghost wasn’t a ghost at all. It was a little gray treefrog. He had solved the legend of the haunted ravine.

  It took awhile, but Jake managed to climb out of the ravine. Then, just as he reached the top, a hand grabbed his shirt. The ghost! “Leggo!” he yelped, but the hand tugged harder, hauling him up to the top.

  “Are you nuts? Stop fighting!” said a familiar voice.

  Jake gulped down his terror. “Eddie?”

  Eddie and the others had heard his terrified screams echoing off the walls of the ravine and come to the rescue. As the boys hiked back to camp, they peppered Jake with questions: “Did you see the ghost?” “Did it trick you into falling?” “Were you freaked?”

  “Yes,” Jake answered truthfully, hiding a grin.

  That was ten years ago. Scouts still hike to the haunted ravine and pitch a tent for a spooky night in the forest. But if they have to go, they do their best to hold it in.

  THE END

  FEAR FOOTNOTE: Eastern gray treefrogs are hard to see. They’re just an inch or two long. They can change color like a chameleon, going from gray to green to brown to hide themselves. They’re only active at night. And they do make a short high-pitched trill sounds a bit like “Barry.”

  MORE TERRIBLE TYRANTS

  On page 81, we told you about some of the most rotten tyrants in history. These guys were just as bad, so how could we leave them out?

  TYRANT: Hernan Cortés

  WHERE AND WHEN: Spain (A.D. 1485–1547)

  THE TERRIBLE DEEDS: Starting with a small army of Spanish soldiers, this conquistador wiped out three-quarters of the Aztec population in the area that is now Mexico and Central America. And that caused the fall of the Aztec Empire. How did he do it? With weapons these native people had never seen before: guns, crossbows, armor, cannons, steel swords, horses, military attack dogs, and smallpox. At first the smallpox was an accident, but when Cortés saw how effective a killer the disease could be, he spread smallpox germs on purpose. Then he sank his own ships so his men couldn’t run away.

  WHY DID HE DO IT? Cortés wanted gold and power—and Montezuma, the Aztec ruler, had plenty of both.

  THE TYRANT’S DOWNFALL: The Spanish government felt Cortés was getting too powerful, so they called him back to Spain. He was never able to regain the power he had in Mexico and died a bitter old man.

  TYRANT: Countess Elizabeth Bathory, “The Blood Countess”

  WHERE AND WHEN: Hungary (A.D. 1560–1614)

  THE TERRIBLE DEEDS: The Countess tortured and murdered more than 650 young girls from her region. In the winter, she made them stand naked in the snow and poured cold water over them till they froze. In summer, she covered them with honey till they were killed by insect bites. Then she took a bath in their blood.

  WHY DID SHE DO IT? The Countess believed the blood of young girls would keep her young and beautiful.

  THE TYRANT’S DOWNFALL: When the Countess tired of torturing peasant girls and servants, she branched out to noble women. That made the upper class finally sit up and take notice. The detailed journal she kept describing her murders proved her guilt. Countess Bathory was sentenced to live alone in a tiny, windowless room in her castle for the rest of her life.

  TYRANT: King Leopold II, “The Butcher of Congo”

  WHERE AND WHEN: Belgium (A.D. 1835–1909)

  THE TERRIBLE DEEDS: This Belgian king became the ruler of the Congo Free State in Africa by pretending to rescue the Congolese people from Arab slavers. Instea
d, he turned the entire country into a forced labor camp for harvesting rubber. Villages had to provide a certain amount of rubber, and if they didn’t, villagers’ hands would be lopped off. It’s estimated that between 5 and 15 million Congolese were murdered during this tyrant’s reign…but he never saw a drop of the blood spilled in his name. In the 23 years he controlled it, Leopold never set foot in the Congo.

  WHY DID HE DO IT? Leopold II wanted his tiny country to become a colonial power like England or France. Belgium wasn’t interested. So Leopold went private. He equipped an army of 19,000 men (black soldiers with white officers) with rifles, cannons, and machine guns, and sent them against Africans armed mostly with spears. Once the Congo was under his control, he murdered, tortured, and enslaved the Congolese so that he could stuff his pockets with money.

  THE TYRANT’S DOWNFALL: In the 1900s, pictures of handless children and rivers choked with bodies in the Congo spread to the outside world. The public outcry started the modern human rights movement. In 1908, the Belgian state forced Leopold to turn over his private ownership of the Congo to his country. He kept the furnaces near his palace burning for eight days straight turning the Congo state records to ash. “I will give them my Congo,” Leopold said, “but they have no right to know what I did there.” When the tyrant died, his own subjects booed his funeral procession.

  •••

  “There are wrongs which even the grave does not bury.”

  —Harriet Ann Jacobs, African-American writer

  A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH

  Victorians did everything they could to avoid vivisepulture. What’s that? Being buried alive.

  THE BURIED BARON

  Most people are afraid of dying. It’s human nature. But during the Victorian era (roughly 1837 until Queen Victoria’s death in 1901), fear turned to panic after a few people were reportedly buried alive.