There are stories that stick with you, stories you know are not true, but last with you a lifetime.
In my childhood there was a water park filled with massive water slides. I was always afraid of going on the tallest, steepest slide because of one story another child told me. A man went down the slide and half way down, the water suddenly stopped running. According to the boy who told me that tale, it took off all his skin.
I can not remember if according to the boy, the slider died, or if it just caused an awful rash. But it left this image in my head of a skeleton at the bottom of the slide.
As I grew older that story stuck with me. Long after that kid moved away I climbed to the top of the water slide. I am not sure if it was five stories or six, but I couldn’t bring myself to slide down. I walked down the stairs in a fit of shame and took one of the less fearsome slides, one that lacked horror stories.
That water park has long since closed. I never had a chance to overcome the fear and I never will.