I was a toddler living in Goldsboro with my grandmother, mother, aunt, and a toddler cousin while my grandfather, father, and uncle were overseas. Wayne Tactical Airfield (now Seymour-Johnson AFB) was nearby. Two fighter pilots were practicing a dogfight and collided. The one that lost only his propeller glided back to base and landed. The other lost the tail section and parachuted out.
The plane dove, climbed, dove, climbed, and finally crashed—in our backyard!

There was a lot of commotion before the crash as the plane was headed for our house and at the last second climbed enough to miss the house. All of the adults ran out of the house and upon regrouping found I was missing. After a long search, they all thought I had run out into the backyard and was hit by the plane.

Then they saw my dog's leash and realized the dog was missing too. Following the leash they found the dog and me huddled in a closet.

Not much of a bomb-shelter, but it worked!