Before winter every year, my dad and brothers would dig the new outhouse hole. They would move the outhouse over it, and then cover the stinking hole filled with human waste.
During the day, I would not realize how alone we were in the wild desert. At night, it would be a different story. I would look out the window, looking for the howling beasts of the night. Even worse, it could be so quiet that I would only hear a “who, who” as I walked to the outhouse.
I usually took a flashlight with me, but sometimes the flashlight would not be at its place by the door. It was easier to run to the white bulk of the outhouse. Once inside, I was safe. Then later, I would run back to the house in a wild rush.
The rest of this story is here.