Swamp Tiger is a little ziney minicomic I did yesterday and today (man getting a story done in two days is cool, I like this!) about one of my childhood fears. I don’t think our parents ever really think about the deeper impacts of some of the things they tell us for our own good. We were smart kids - we never really did things we weren’t meant to so I’ve always thought what my mother told us about the Swamp Tiger was unthinkingly horrific.
I don’t remember much about the house except that I think it was white - it was wood and there was a sandy crawl space beneath it we probably should have been afraid of. The cement circle was maybe something to do with sewage. It was always warm from the sun.
I remember watching my mother hang out the wash and do things in the shed from the cement circle. It was like a protective circle. I was afraid for her being so close to the swamp, to the Swamp Tigers. I didn’t want to not know if something happened. But I never, ever knew what was in that shed, or in that swamp. Or even down past the shed aside from the dip she was probably nervous we’d fall into and hurt ourselves.
She only told me later how I never slept well there, and played cards with myself at the kitchen table through the night. When I wasn’t playing cards I crawled under the bunk beds and slept there. The beds were little more than wire so they sagged and my hair would get snagged in the underside. I had a bad habit of sleeping under beds sometimes though, not just at Straddie, but it was the only place I played cards.
I don’t think the house is there anymore. It was sold a number of years back and probably knocked down. But every time someone mentions going back, or anytime I see a swamp or old wooden shed, the Swamp Tigers creep up on me again.