I can smile now when I recall a particular childhood experience. Since, its details have recently taken on a somewhat new meaning for me. I am recalling a time in my childhood when my small solitary figure turned onto the sandy road that ran into the cypress swamp. I was a boy and late for my evening supper, returning home on a doubtful short cut through the swamp.

I walked down the road, kicking sand toward the swamp. I had with me an old trustworthy lantern. It produced a dull glow, the color of a pumpkin, drawing my attention to the highlights along the road ahead. In the swamps beyond, I heard the night sounds chirp and ratchet. Bull alligators beckoned to me in the distance. And that was not all. I imagined a swamp of dark and mysterious wilderness, and ghostly visions of huge swamp monsters, always black, that screamed with the voices of sudden death. I had the feeling that I'd have to fight off wild animals barehanded before this night was over.

Entering the swamp, my feet made sucking sounds as they walked through the wet ankle-deep sand. Wisps of fog floated past forbidding thickets, hip-deep water, biting insects, snakes and quicksand. Momentarily, I experienced an unsettling, dream-like feeling. I looked around at those yellow and green toadstools, and the overstory of trees draped with long gray tendrils of Spanish moss, wishing I were home.

A water hole, surrounded by swollen cypress knees, appeared before me. Its pool was completely overhung in places by brush and covered everywhere with what must surely be a primordial slime. The thick tip of a gator tail had recently been dragged across the sandy bank on my left. What was that over there, among the cypress knees? Couldn't be a gator, I told myself.

Suddenly, two huge swamp rabbits came crashing through the brush, announced by their loud, guttural cries. I was so startled that I gasped aloud. I stood motionless. Two mammoth swamp rabbits were making straight for me, splashing through the shallow pool, their teeth flashing and nostrils flared.

Instinct brought out my boyscout knife with a flick of the wrist. But, there was not enough time for my defensive reaction. The rabbits were upon me, knocking the knife to the ground. So, I snatched up a fallen branch that would beat back the beasts. A crushing blow to its skull met the largest rabbit. The other one flew at me, hitting my leg with terrific ferocity, his teeth ripping through my jeans. I lurched back, but I caught him with my boot and kicked, sending him back into the pool.

He hissed menacingly and flew at me a second time. This time he leaped high. I struck at him with my branch. He dropped to the sand. I kicked at him, but missed. He was too quick for me. I stopped to pick up my knife. Like lightning, he was on my hand, clawing and tearing at my flesh until the blood streamed. I grabbed frantically and found his throat. He let out one bloodcurdling squeal as my hands tightened on him. He went limp, but I hung on. I was afraid to let go.

I awoke from the nightmare, lying in a pool of perspiration that had formed underneath my terror-stricken body. My teddy bear lay limp upon the bedroom floor, strangled. I was home. Never again, would I take another trip without a buddy!