When the grandchildren were young, anticipation was high as we held our annual Leaf Party at a travel trailer (everyone’s favorite spot) parked on a lakeside lot a short drive from our home. Set along an area prolific with trees, dried leaves fell each fall to create a ground cover more than a foot deep. As Halloween approached, we took all five of them to the spot for our exhilarating tradition.

Even toddlers were handed a rake or broom and expected to do their fair share to clean up the campsite; everyone working hard and with gusto and excitement at what was to follow.

Once the leaves were piled high in the center of the lot, Grandpa took turns tossing them high into the air to land in the midst of the pile. Eventually my help was needed to help swing the older ones back and forth to gain momentum for their plunge.

Pure joy and glee were evident on their faces, and squeals of delight rang out across the lake. Once Grandpa tired, they fluffed the pile back up and burned it and also got a nice cozy campfire going. We sat in a circle around it, roasting hot dogs and marshmallows and sipping cocoa.

It was now my turn to share all the spooky tales I could, with sound effects and more. One grandson was a real scared-y cat, so his chair rubbed against mine.

Of all the stories, “Tailypo” was by far their favorite, so it was saved for last. Here’s a short synopsis of the legend:

A guy lived in an old rickety cabin in the middle of the woods, his only companions being his three hunting dogs that stayed under the floor. He hunted for survival and was sick of beans, and he dreamt of some meat as he finished his meager supper when he heard scratching at the back door.

Suddenly, this creature burst through the door. The man was so startled that he grabbed his big butcher knife and tried to stab the critter; instead, he cut off a large piece of its tail.

Hmm. “Meat is meat,” he told his dogs, so he skinned it out and fried it up. Late in the night, he awoke to scratching at the door. He pulled up the covers as if trying to hide. It broke through the door and inched across the room to the foot of his bed.

The man peered from under the covers and described it this way: “It had red fur like a monkey, yellow eyes like an owl, pointed ears like a fox, sharp teeth like a lion and a loud roar.” The man shook and quivered.

Finally, the Tailypo spoke saying, “Give me back my Tailypo.” The man shook even more and pulled the covers even tighter. A little louder and slower, it said, “Give me back my Tailypo.”

The man was literally scared stiff and unable to move or speak. Very loudly and gruffly, he roared, “Give me back my Tailypo!”

The dogs howled, so the Tailypo ran off into the woods, with the dogs barking at his heels. The man didn’t sleep much, but in the morning, there were only two dogs.

That night, the same thing happened, and the next morning, another dog was nowhere to be found. On the third night, it was repeated (with more enthusiasm, intensity and gusto as I added layers to the tale).

On the fourth night, the Tailypo returned, and you know what happened next? Nobody has seen or heard neither hide nor hair of that man since. (At this point, Grandpa would roar and leap at the enthralled children. They all screamed with combinations of terror and delight.)

One year, tricky Grandpa rigged up an empty bleach bottle, adding a handful of gravel to it and tying fishing line to the handle. The other end of the line was attached to his chair. Each time Tailypo appeared in the story, he gave the line a tug causing a rustling and rattling sound in the dry leaves. Near the end, in the soft glow of the dying fire, the kids detected movement of something underneath the adjacent trailer. On the final dramatic note, Grandpa yanked on that line and drug the bottle right over the feet of the most timid little guy.

In one fell swoop, he leapt onto my lap. That little guy is 33 now, and his three children share in the deliciousness of the Tailypo.

Are you creating unforgettable memories for young and old alike? Oh, I do hope so!

— A coal miner’s daughter born in Appalachia and schooled in Michigan, she currently lives in rural Athens. Hill describes herself as a cook and cookbook author, jack of all trades and master of none, a Christian wife, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. She shares her home with her husband, Bob, and their spoiled-beyond-belief dog, Molly.