Tha calm afternoon was shattered....

with a piercing, mournful wail.
From my daughter.

Now, if this had been my son, I would have waited to see if it continued on for more then ten minutes, then *Maybe* would have gotten him.
Since it was my daughter, I immediantly went to see what the hell was wrong.

I opened the door to find the following scene...

She is standing at the end of her bed, pointing at it like its possesed.
All her toys have been obviously violently pitched off it it.

and I can see - nothing.
So I move closer...and she shrieks, as if whatever is bothering her is about to fly off the bed, and attack me.
Im getting weirded out.

I kneel, and then I see it... the worlds smallest little beetle, looking desperately for a safe way down.
Smaller then a ladybug.

I leave the room to get kleenex.    She screams louder.
I come back into her room, and kneel beside the bug, reaching for it...
She screams louder.
I pick it up and flush it down the tiolet.
Silence.

I crawl onto the mattress, and lay down, holding out my arms for her.
She lays down, like a brick.  Flat on her back, arms straight, absolutely terrified.
I cuddle her for a few moments.
I get up.
Shes asleep - stiff as a board... every muscle, even in her sleep, primed for that terrible sensation of something *other* creeping along your flesh.

I sympathize.
But Im sstill aughing myself stupid, because - well -
you *have* to, I think.