Choo Choo Part Two

Circa when I was 5 years old

Mom asked: “Did you turn off the lights in the basement?”   I dreaded that question because I never remembered if I turned them on or off and then I had to go down two flights of stairs to the lower bowels of the house with the lighting positioned in three places for three sections.  As you turned off each set of lights, the darkness swallowed that area, and you had to time it right to shut the lights off and run to the next section so that the darkness wouldn’t capture you.  Then the double piercing headlight beam would snap on and Choo Choo would roar out of the boiler room, invisible tracks unfolding in front of him as he bore down upon unfortunate children.  My heart sank, but immediately lifted.  “Don’t worry Chris, I’ll come with you.”  I breathed a sigh of relief; my twin sister, Jules, knew the fear and two could always make a stand and extricate themselves from the basement with carefully planned teamwork.

Choo Choo was a 12-foot high, 9-foot wide, 8 car length, 480 foot long, 680,000 pounds steel New York City F train that haunted our basement.  Choo Choo could race down long hallways,  climb stairs without feet, shrink under the ½ inch seam between the door and the floor.  He would wait in our 13-step stairwell filling up the whole stairwell with his massive block steel body, lights off,  like  a crowded Lexington Line during rush hour where next trains wait in dark tunnels before allowed entrance into the station.   Choo Choo had a simple rule: when you were in the basement, his domain, you had no rights once there was no light.   When he shrank and skunked into the upper floors….he always saw you.  If you did not see him, he would not enter, but he rejoiced in your terror as he waited in the dark 4 am stairwell filling up every last inch so that it was impossible to pass.  I would run to the bathroom without looking!  My sister used a pillow to protect her peripheral vision.

The name Choo Choo sounds like the little engine that could, or Thomas, the little blue tank engine with big kind eyes.  But he was far from sweet and innocent.  He had an ice-cold stare, no smell, but if there were one, it would’ve been subway funk, a rank I haven’t had a bath in a year, mixed with rat and people sweat.  Choo Choo really should have been spelled Chew Chew.    He chewed and gnawed away every fiber of confidence, self-esteem and peace in your own home.  Parents just didn’t understand, nor could children explain how a subway tunnel 5 miles away on 179th street opens up in a residential 1950’s home boiler room.  It just does. 

“Are you ready?”  I looked at my sister poised at the stairwell.  I was halfway across the straightaway of the basement hallway.  I slammed the switch down and ran up like a commuter runs down as they hear the toll: “Stand clear of the closing doors!”   My sis hit the switch and slammed the door shut.

“Talk About The Monster”, the children’s story and app, is now live, May 2021, Mental Health Wellness Month.  It is a whimsical little story for children to face anxiety and fear before they have to face fear.  When you talk about the monster, you bring him down to size. Keep Talking…Keep Walking.  Have a basement buddy.

What was your monster? Comment Below