Behind the Lines: by David Heiller

David Heiller When was the last time you heard a scary story? How about the latest presidential poll? (Just kidding, George.) This newspaper recently ran a contest, soliciting scary stories from readers. We’ve got some good ones, and have printed several of the best on page seven in this edition. I hope you enjoy them. The Heiller boys, before they started  telling little brother, David, horror stories I may be mistaken, but the best horror stories come from the minds of kids. As a member of the generation that grew up before axe-murder movies, I confess: I haven’t seen Friday the Thirteeth Part One yet, let alone Part Seven. And this Freddie guy doesn’t scare me—when I see those stainless steel finger nails, I think what a great job he could do working up our garden next spring. Wouldn’t even have to borrow a tiller. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre guy would be too tired for people after he finished cutting up the four-and-a-half cords of wood I bought from m...

David Heiller You can straddle the fence on a lot of subjects, but one thing which everyone has an opinion about is woodticks. One person may rejoice in torturing them, the next wouldn’t live in the same state as one. Woodticks are no laughing matter to many people, including my mother-in-law and her dog, Muffin. Muffin, as the name implies, is a poodle mix. She measures about 15 inches long, weighs maybe eight pounds after a haircut. In other words, she’s only slightly bigger than some of the well-fed woodticks of northern Minnesota. Muffin came for a visit last weekend, along with a bunch of other family members. She sprang from the car warily, her gray fur cut short, and a pink ribbon tied in a bow on top of her head. Binti, our dog, (followed her around as she staked her territory at several spots in the yard, as dogs (even poodles) are wont to do. From the very beginning; Muffin seemed to keep ‘one eye on the house at all times while she explored outside: She may have...

Language is a fascinating subject, even though it can be abused. Some abuses are obvious, but since this is a family newspaper, I won’t go into the details on that type of mistreatment. Other language aberrations come naturally. I’m thinking of some of the things my 22-month-old son comes up with. Parents—you know of which I speak. The worst series of words he has come up with could easily have driven Socrates to his hemlock. It goes like this: “Noah, sit down and eat your supper.” “No.” “Why not.” “Cuz.” “Because why?” “Cuz.” “Noah, sit down and eat!” “No.” And so on. Noah has no concept of the word “because” and all the reasons that are supposed to follow: “I’m not hungry. This food belongs to the dog. I have a headache.” A simple “Cuz” suffices. I wonder where he picked up that sequence? Another teeth-gnashing exchange: Dad is outside, fixing the garage steps. Noah is watching intently. “You doing?” This is a question but Noah says it like Gospel truth. “I’m fixing the steps.” “You ...