Chapter 3: Old Mo’s Nursery Rhyme

The atmosphere inside immediately grew tense.

It felt like the whole house was holding its breath. Every creak of the floor made us jump, and I could see my own fear mirrored in Derek and Grandma’s faces.

A cold sweat broke out all over me from fear.

The draft from the windows felt icy, and my skin prickled as if the cold itself had crept inside with us. I hugged myself tight, listening for every sound.

Old Mo is every kid’s nightmare around here.

Ask anyone under twelve in this town, and they’ll tell you: Old Mo’s as real as the bogeyman, and twice as mean. It’s the thing you whisper about at sleepovers, daring each other to go near the woods after dark.

There’s a nursery rhyme that’s been passed down for generations:

“Red eyes, green nose, four hairy hooves. Walks with a clop-clop sound, wants to eat live children.”

I remembered chanting it with my friends at recess, huddling under the monkey bars while we tried to spook the new kid. We’d lower our voices, letting the wind carry the words, watching for someone to flinch. Even the bravest would glance at the woods, just in case.

That’s about Old Mo.

Even the grown-ups get quiet when someone mentions the rhyme. It’s the one story no one laughs at.

Legend says Old Mo is over seven feet tall, with green eyes as big as lanterns. It can take strides over thirty feet at a time and especially likes to come out at night to catch and eat children.

Just picturing those glowing eyes peering in through a frosty window is enough to make your skin crawl. Parents used to say Old Mo could walk right up to your house and you’d never hear him coming—not until it was too late.

It eats people from the inside out.

The details were always a little different depending on who told the story, but everyone agreed: Old Mo didn’t just take you, he hollowed you out, leaving nothing but your skin behind.

First, it removes the organs. After eating them, the person still looks like a complete—like a person-shaped balloon left behind at the breakfast table.

That part always made me shudder, imagining someone standing at the breakfast table, looking just like themselves but really empty inside.

Then it pulls out the bones, one by one, and chews them up.

The way Grandma told it, you could hear the crunching on a still winter night, the sound traveling all the way across the lake.

After chewing, it props up the skin sack with straw, making it look like a living person.

It stands this straw man at your door.

It keeps watch beside it.

When a family member opens the door, whoever steps out gets eaten.

It keeps eating until the whole family is gone.

Only then does it eat the skin.

After finishing the skin, it goes to the next house.

If a child cries at night, as soon as an adult says, “Stop crying or Old Mo will hear and come catch you,” the kid goes silent immediately.

I remember freezing in my bed, biting my lip to stay quiet whenever the wind rattled the siding. Even my friends who claimed not to believe would go wide-eyed at the mention of Old Mo.

Originally, after I started elementary school, I didn’t believe Old Mo really existed. I thought it was just something adults made up to scare kids.

I’d roll my eyes at the stories, joking with friends that it was all just a way to keep us from wandering too far or making too much noise at night.

But seeing Grandpa Joe and Uncle Derek’s faces, I started to think it might be real.

The fear in their eyes wasn’t make-believe. It was like something from their own childhoods had come back to haunt them.