I need to tell a story about why every child born into my family in the last 3 generations is scared to go down in any basement by themselves.
When My great gramma was a young mother, apparently she lived in a home with a root celler under her kitchen. The kids, including my gramma Margaret, would want to play down there but Great Grandma was scared that they would get hurt because it was very dark, without light of any kind. Great Gramma started telling the kids that the butterman lived down there and would catch children and keep them down there with him if he caught them. Presumably, the monster was called the butterman because she kept butter down there so it would stay fresh. Suffice it to say, not only did no one want to play down there but GG couldn’t get anyone to go down and get her a jar of peaches either.
Well the tradition lives on through me and if the grand kids are doing something that I dont want them to do, I tell them in my most trembly voice that I think I hear the butterman and they come running. The other day I heard one of my kids saying so one of the grand kids 'look out or the butterman will catch you'. I know this isn’t the nicest family tradition, but I like it, and apparently my kids do to.