The Hairy Toe (Campfire Story)

Once there was an old woman who lived all by herself in a cabin way up a hollow. One fall day she went out to her garden to dig potatoes for supper. And as she dug, her hoe turned up something strange in the dirt.

It was a toe. A big toe, as long as your hand, all covered in coarse black hair.

Now, a sensible person would have dropped that toe and run. But the old woman thought it over and said, 'Well, waste not, want not.' She carried it home and dropped it in the pot with her BEANS.

She sat down and ate the whole pot of BEANS, hairy toe and all. Then she put out the lamp and went to bed.

Along about the middle of the night, the WIND began to blow. It moaned down the hollow and whistled around the chimney. And far off in the woods, mixed in with the WIND, she heard a voice.

soft and far away; point to the audience to bring the chant in

The old woman pulled the quilt up to her chin. 'That's just the WIND,' she told herself.

But the WIND blew harder, and the voice came closer. It was coming out of the woods. It was coming across the garden.

a little louder

The old woman pulled the quilt up over her nose. She could hear footsteps now. Heavy ones. Thump. Drag. Thump. Drag. Coming up the porch steps.

louder

The WIND howled. The door creaked open. The footsteps came across the kitchen, right past the empty pot of BEANS, and stopped at her bedroom door.

loud, right outside the door

The old woman pulled the quilt all the way over her head and lay there as still as a stone. The footsteps crossed the room. They stopped right beside her bed. She could feel something leaning over her, close enough to touch.

drop to a whisper and lean in

wait in total silence for a long moment, then grab a listener and shout

Storyteller tips: teach the chant slow and creaky, and let the crowd be the voice coming closer, louder each time. The last two lines are yours. Whisper the question, hold the silence as long as you dare, then make them jump.

This is a cousin of The Golden Arm, so tell them on different nights. Mark Twain loved telling the Golden Arm version on stage, and he said the whole secret was the pause.