The Bunkhouse Incident and other stories.
When I was 12, my brother had his own living quarter if you like in a small bunkhouse that my father had acquired [from] who knows where.
The bunkhouse was small, about 8 feet X 10 feet, with cheap wood siding, and composition wall board on the inside walls.
In it was a wooden bunkbed, a drafting table, and a small closet.
This was my brother's bedroom. (Located on Nutwood property.)
It rested on skids.
It didn't take me long to discover that this where his 22 rifle was kept.
Being 12 years old, I was fascinated with anything to do with fire arms or bows and arrows.
My brother took me out occassionally and let me fire his rifle.
But knowing where it was stored I wanted to experiement more.
One day when noone was around, I found his rifle on the top bunk, covered with a blanket, and my
One day I wanted to shoot it more, but my brother wasn't there to take me out. So I figured that since the rifle only took 22 shorts, I could shoot it into the mattress, and the mattress would stop it, and
no-one would be the wiser.
Upon examing the results after that, I found two holes in the mattress where the bullets went in and then I found 2 bullets where the holes came out.
Further, looking for the bullets path, I found 2 holes where the bullets went into the frame of the bunkbed and where they came out.
Immediately, after that I discovered 2 holes where the bullets went into the flimsy wall board.
Now, starting to get a pit in my stomach, I went outside and discovered 2 exit holes in the wood siding.
When the bunkhouse was first brought in it was positioned rather closely to our main house, only 15 feet apart. With horror begining to mount, I turned around to see 2 bullet entry holes in the siding of the main house.
And then, 2 holes in the wall supporting the patio. The entry holes are small and the exit holes were larger. Seeing the exit holes on the interior wall of the patio, I knew I had to fess up to Mom and Dad.
And if that wasn't bad enough, one of the bullets clipped the electrical wiring, going to the outside wall light mounted a short distance away. I think it stayed that way for a year or 2. When I figured [I knew] enough that I could fix it.
The way the siding was put on the house, all I had to do was pry the verticle strips off, take out the damaged wire and splice a new wire to allow the light to work again.
Protective denial keeps me from remembering the punishment that was served after confessing to the deed. Dad was a pretty easy going guy. Mom was the disciplinarian.
I think it was along time before I got to shoot the rifle again.
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