Everybody said there was boy with a buckethead living in the house on the corner. My brothers and I listened to the neighbor kids as they told us about Buckethead. They said he was retarded, and he only came out at night. We wanted to see if it was true, and it was summer, so we were allowed to stay out after dark. We crept down to the house on the corner and watched and waited. The yard was all overgrown with weeds and the split-rail fence was falling apart in front. The front porch was filled with junk like a broken-down arm chair and greasy car parts and a refrigerator with the door swinging open hanging from the hinges at the top. But we saw no boy with a buckethead, so we went home disappointed. The next day, we were bored and went back to Buckethead's house in the afternoon. We were daring each other to run up on the porch and peek in the windows when a man who looked like he was in his twenties came out and yelled at us to get away. We ran off, scared.
I don't know why I wanted to see Buckethead so much, and I don't know what I would have done if I had.
