There were only few things I was afraid of as kid, the casha tree at night being one of them.
My parents seldom went anywhere without Erva and me being towed along in their wake. There was no one babysit us. Consequently everyone knew if they invited Mom and Dad to a party it was likely "the grils" would be coming too. Occasional though, once Erva reached the ripe old age of 11 or 12, we got left behind. It was a BIG deal. I would follow one or the other of my parents as they got ready and ask the same series of questions over and over in a voice approaching high whiny. (Separation anxiety I think it's called.)
Me: Where you going?
Dad: We're going to Alaska.
Me: When are you coming back?
Dad: Next year.
Me: Can I come too?
Dad: Not this time.
Me: Why not?
Dad: We'll be gone too long. In fact we'll be gone so long we've decided to put you in the freezer and defrost you when we get back.
We had one of those big chest freezers and I had a tendency to take things very literally. Although it never happened, I was sure I was going to get put in the freezer. I knew what went in there and what happened to it so I developed a fear of falling into it and having the lid slam closed on me. I had mini panic attacks whenever Mom asked me to get something out of the freezer or when they were getting to ready to go out without us.
Somehow I managed to survive the living nightmare of that big white box of frozen food.
It wasn't until much later (well into my teens) that I told anyone how afraid I'd been of the freezer. As it was going to Alaska and/or being put in the freezer, became family metaphors for going out, particularly if it was going to be for a while.
"I'm going to Alaska, time to get put you all in the freezer."