The clock in the hall chimed the hour and once again Susan found she could not sleep. The passage of time had lost all meaning to her as she shuddered in her bed. She dared not raise the covers or stretch her legs though they lay cramped and numb below the blankets. The moon peeked through the window as the curtain filled and fluttered with a gentle summer breeze.

A slight noise and she stiffened with apprehension as her eyes darted left and right trying to find the source. A paper lazily made its way sea-sawing through the air to the carpeted floor below. The clock chimed the quarter hour and still Susan found it impossible to lay her head down on the soft sweet smelling pillow. Another breeze lifted the curtain and a shadow danced on the opposite wall as a brief moonbeam was revealed. Her gasp of fright left her trembling and on alert as she waited for it to have heard her and know she was near. She trembled so violently that the headboard rattled against the wall and tapped out her fright in a childish morse-code.

She wrapped her arms around herself and prayed for morning light. The clock in the hall chimed the half hour and still sleep would not visit her. A scratch. Was that a scratching noise she heard? No, the paper now on the carpet moved with the gentle breeze through the window. Susan's eyes fixed upon it's slow dance across the carpet. It came nearer and nearer her bed. It moved as if walking with a purpose across the carpet. Catching a corner in a tangle of the deep pile of the carpet as it did slow somersaults towards her. She shivered and shook as it made its way closer. She strained to keep it in sight. It shimmered and shook in the moon light as if with a life of its own.

Slowly it progressed across the carpeted floor until only a tip of it was visible to her, the rest lay below her and out of sight. She strained upward and forward, trying not to move the bed as she tried to see more of it. The wind whispered through the curtain again and the paper's tip seemed to give a final wave as it disappeared below her bed as if pulled by an unseen hand.

The clock chimed midnight. The wind sounded like labored breathing as it whistled through her room. It no longer came from beside her and seemed to wheeze from below. She could take no more, her eyes heavy and leaded with lack of sleep she bit back her fear and stumbled from the bed. She landed awkwardly on her knees and quickly looked left as a breeze again lifted the curtains and moonlight spilled through her room and under her bed, nothing. A sigh escaped her lips and she slumped to the floor. Asleep before her head touched the soft deep carpet below.

Please imagine Children's book illustrations.

There is a Spider in my room.
A creepy, crawly, nasty thing.

With eight yucky legs all covered with hair.
Plus two great big fangs, with poison to spare.

Mom says Spiders are helpful,
That they don't want to hurt me.

But I know that this one will wait till I'm asleep.
So it can eat me like a big candy treat.

It might crawl up the wall and over my head.
Then drop to my nose and bite till I'm dead.

Or maybe it will crawl under the covers and hide in my toes.
To make a big nest so it's babies can grow.

Then they will all hatch and crawl over my feet,
And have ten little toes on which they can eat.

But, I think it will make a web in my door,
To catch all my family up off of the floor.

So, they will see that this Spider is bad.
As it slowly eats them, my Mom and my Dad.

They will see I was right, but it will do them no good.
Because in a while they will be Spider food.

So, I'll be trapped in my room with no way to get free.
With a big hungry Spider that wants to eat me!

“Good night dear, sleep well, its all in your head.”
“No Spider will get you tonight, your safe in your bed.”

Mom says as she kisses me, but I don't feel alright.
Because I know that, that Spider will get me...

Tomorrow Night!!

The End.

“Goodnight Honey,” Mom said, as she always did, and pulled the door shut behind her.

It was a painfully clear night – the worst kind. I could see stars through my window in spite of the persistent glare of the moon. The cherry tree, covered in white spring blossoms, had seemed so beautiful just hours before… now it shed a malevolent glow, a veritable beacon beckoning to the soft, mindless swarm.

I waited for the telltale creak of the stairs to signal Mom’s departure, and carefully snuck to the window, the drapes so thoughtfully opened wide by my well intentioned, blissfully ignorant mother. As I reached forward to close them once again, my eyes were drawn to the streetlight, mercifully unseen from my bed. The dirty yellow cone of light descending from the lamp was filled with erratic comets, and I felt a scream welling up from my throat. I spastically grabbed at the drapes and quickly retreated to the bed, pulling the covers over my head, gasping and shivering uncontrollably.

As the shivering subsided, I peeked out from under the covers only to find the room showered in evil, digital green. Extending only my arm from the safe haven of my comforter, I blindly pulled Mr. Boots from his customary perch and tossed him in front of the alarm clock. Still, the window reflected the night’s many illuminations, and this I could not prevent.

Cloaked in all the darkness I could muster, I tried to comfort myself with fantasies of the Orkin Man in Shining Armor, wielding giant bug sprayers in both hands, striding unafraid through a sea of dirty brown carnage weakly fluttering in their final agonies. My pathetic imaginings were soon interrupted by the inevitable soft thumping emanating from the window. I imagined the brainless little horrors battering against the glass, leaving their dusty, iridescent imprint. I could feel their shed essence wafting through the air like suffocating smoke, seeking out the chinks in the armor of my room, searching for me.

I clamped my pillow over my head and struggled desperately not to hear the now muffled intermittent thumps. Thump… thump, thump... I jammed the pillow even harder into my ears and yearned for the release of sleep and the onset of winter.

It’ll be winter soon, won’t it?

Thump… thump…

They were everywhere… All over his possessions… All over his clothes… All over him.

It had all happened so quickly. It was only last week that he had learned the truth. The horrible truth. The truth that would cost him his very life and sanity. The truth about them.

---ONE WEEK EARLIER---

Steve Jenkins. The name was synonymous with money, popularity, and power. Steve was the top dog in those parts and nobody dared challenge him. Nobody, that is, until Alison Reynolds confronted him that cold winter day.

Alison had been casually sitting at her desk, daydreaming like always in an attempt to escape the drudgery and monotony that she had endured every day for the past four years. She was suddenly awoken from her partial slumber when Steve came around the corner with that look on his face that said he was in one of those moods.

“Good morning Alison,” said Steve, a smirk crawling across his face. “Aren’t we looking pretty today?”

Unaccustomed to compliments, or conversation of any kind, from Steve, Alison looked up startled. “Oh, good morning to…”

“Pretty ugly, I mean,” said Steve, interrupting Alison halfway through her sentence. “With all that clown makeup on your face, I’m sure you won’t mind if I borrow this highlighter, right?”

Alison wasn’t used to people grabbing things unceremoniously from her desk and looked Steve right in the eyes. “Hey, give that back!” Alison stood up to try and take back her stolen highlighter, but forgot that Steve stood a whole head taller than her.

“What highlighter?” asked Steve while moving towards his own desk. Knowing it was no use, Alison gave up the fight and only hoped Steve would return the pen later. “That’s what I thought, shorty,” Steve snickered, pushing Alison to the ground with the hand that wasn’t holding the highlighter.

“You’ll be sorry, Steven Jenkins,” whispered Alison as Steve walked away, laughing extra loud. “You’ll be sorry.”

---PRESENT---

Steve was sorry, but too late. After the argument, Steve was warned by his buddies that Alison had a rare disease that was transferred only through physical contact.

“Why else would she sit by herself during lunch break?” they asked Steve. “It’s not like she chooses to be a loner.” They had even offered him the antidote, a shot that would stop the symptoms, but Steve laughed them off.

Over the next week, Steve noticed that former friends began to avoid him in the hallways and he wasn’t invited to the usual parties. Steve was beginning to get afraid, so he decided more time alone would help. "It’s not anything serious," he thought to himself.

But it became serious. Soon, Steve was cowering in his room on weekends, weekends he was supposed to be out with friends, friends who didn’t call any more. Steve knew they were right, but it was too late.

They were everywhere… All over his possessions… All over his clothes… All over him.

Name: Steve Jenkins
Age: 10
Diagnosis: Cooties

Thump.
Shuffle shuffle.
Jack lay in his bed with his eyes squeezed shut. He was afraid of the dark. Even more he was afraid of the dark under his bed. Things lurked under his bed. Scary things….creepy things. In the dark his room became a den full of unimaginable creatures. They swarmed and swirled in front of his eyes. Looming over him while he lay there petrified under his covers.
Thump – there it went again and it was coming from under the bed.

Most of the time Jack was a brave boy, nothing scared him. He could always climb to the highest branch of the tree, higher even than his older brother Max. On weekends he and his friends caught bugs and spiders. He would hold them squirming in his fingers without so much as a flinch, while the other boys looked on grimacing in disgust. But when it came to the dark and what lurked under his bed he was terrified.

“You have a wild imagination Jack” his mum told him whenever he complained about the creature under his bed at night.

He knew it wasn’t just his imagination. He listened carefully now and faintly heard
the scraping of claws on the polished floorboards. He was sure of it. scriiiiiitch…scriiiitch and then a gnashing sound. The gnashing of teeth, rows and rows of sharp gleaming teeth. Teeth that were as sharp as needles and had bits of left over rotted meat clinging to them.
Jack rolled over in his bed careful to keep the covers on him. He needed to go to the bathroom but he was scared to get out of bed. It would give the monster the chance it needed to catch him and eat him for supper.
Jack lay there, his heart pounding, feeling his palms sweat. Another slight thump made the hairs on his arms and legs stand on end.
Jack pulled the covers over his head and held them there. He needed to go to the bathroom really badly now.
He pulled the covers back and opened his eyes. Immediately, in the darkness he could see shapes forming themselves into scary creatures. He squeezed his eyes shut again.
“Ok I can do this” he whispered to himself. He was a brave boy after all.
Slowly he pushed the covers off himself and hung one leg over the side of his bed. For a second Jack was sure he felt a furry hand clamp itself around his ankle.

Jack yelped and pulled his knees up to his belly. It was now or never. He jumped off the bed and landed in the middle of his room. At the same time he saw a dark shape coming towards him. Jack screamed and threw his hands in front of him. He ran for the door and flicked on the light switch trembling as he did so. Jack squinted his eyes at the bright light and looked down at the creature by his leg. Staring back at him was Fluffy his black cat.

Even in the deepest throes of terror, some distant part of Sarah's mind knew that it was downright ridiculous to be afraid. But that lofty intellectual side of the brain can never be reconciled with the gut. And whenever Sarah saw one of those blank little faces watching her, her stomach churned, her blood slowed, and goose bumps broke out on her skin.
When Sarah woke up one morning, she headed downstairs for some breakfast as usual. As she was reaching up for the rice krispies, she happened to look out the window over the sink, and she saw them. Five strange little figures, standing stock-still on her front lawn as if waiting for her to come out.
She screamed and fled the kitchen. When she got to the dining room, she looked out the window, expecting to see the creatures coming to get her; but they were frozen in the exact same spot, staring out on her suburban street.
Her father came down with a cup of coffee. "Like my cute garden gnomes, sweetie?”
Cute.
Sarah finally worked up the courage to go outside. She made a wide circle around the front lawn to see them better. They all had red plastic pointy hats and flowing white plastic beards. Their eyes -- the paint for their eyes was chipped, leaving only fractured blue on a field of empty white.
They were watching her with those blind plastic eyes. She was sure one had winked at her that first day.
Before, her nights were peaceful and empty; it was easy to plummet into dreamless sleep. Now, though, she sat up straight with her back pressed against the headboard and pulled the blanket in a tight cocoon around her trembling body. How could she possibly sleep when those strange sentinels were standing guard over her? As soon as she closed her eyes, their sturdy plastic arms would rip loose from their sides and their little hobnailed boots would tread lightly through the grass. One of them had a plastic pickaxe; it would be hard enough to break a window; and then they would seethe up the stairs like radioactive ants. They would take off their long, extremely pointy hats and use them like swords. And all the while those flecked blue-and-white eyes would stare madly, blindly, straight ahead.
Sarah felt terror to the point of nausea. She crouched in her bed, eyes on the bedroom door, waiting for the demonic figures to burst through.
In the morning, she crept downstairs. When she looked out the window, her knees almost buckled for shock.
They had moved.
She was sure of it. Before they had been arranged on the lawn like the dots on a die. Now the center gnome had moved back, so that they were in two rows of three and two. The fear was real. Soon they would take her.
It didn't matter that it was her father who had rearranged the gnomes. Sarah put on her father's football helmet, took her softball bat and sat in her closet until her father agreed to throw out the gnomes. Even then, she sat in her room and stared at the little red hats poking out of the trashcan on the curb until the garbage truck took them away. Only then could she breathe again, and begin to forget those mad eyes.
The gnomes...she feared the gnomes!

Diane moved the flashlight close to her face. The fire crackled, and the orange light pulsed and framed the faces sitting around the glowing embers. Diane looked at the wide eyes, the attentive stares of her fellow campers… “His teeth were yellow, and he breathed slowly like he couldn’t remember how to die” she said in a low gravely tone. The other kids didn’t say a word although the little girl with the blond curly hair gasped as though she couldn’t breath. Diane slowly looked at each of her friends and moved the flashlight closer to her face accentuating the shadows of her expression. Her eyes narrowed and she looked at each of the other children one at a time. She continued, “Slowly, he picked up the pliers… he smiled as if he knew how much she would suffer”! The red haired boy turned white as a ghost, and the freckles that appeared to be so prominent were not visible for a second while the chill ran up his back. Diane smiled, not a happy smile but a knowing, wicked, smile. Diane whispered, “The little girl couldn’t move, she tried but it was no use… she couldn’t feel her arms”. The fire crackled as sap exploded from a pine log and everyone jumped.

Diane turned the light off and slowly backed away from the glow of the fire, her face barely visible. “He took the pliers and slowly walked to the helpless girl”, she was now barely whispering and the other children were leaning in trying to hear. “He looked into her eyes, and told her not to cry” she said in a shaky voice, slightly louder. The kids sat around the fire with uncomfortable looks and wide eyes. “He took the pliers”… she paused and looked at each of them once again… “And pulled her front tooth right out of her head”! A mix of shrieks and laughter loudly filled the quiet campsite. The red hair boy grimaced, but tried to put on a brave face “I hate going to the Dentist” he blurted out… “OK, my turn” he stammered. Diane handed him the flashlight.

Run John Run
As Fast as You Can
The Pink Blob Comes
All are Damned

The Stench of Death
From it’s Gelatinous Mold
Nothing can destroy it
Not Heat nor Cold

So Run John Run
Do not Wait
The Pink Blob Comes
To Seal Your Fate

From the Jowls of Hell
It’s Evil Awaits
Crushing Your Bones
Till the Last Breath You Take

Run John Run
As Fast As You Can
For your Mama’s Fixing
That SPAM Again

Hello children. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.

Philip was a frog, and frog Phil feared frogs from France. His phobia for frogs from France was unfortunate because he was French too. His irrational fear of frogs was shared by many frogs across the sea in the fabulous misty island of England. Frog Phil's fear for frogs from France finally forced Phil to flee.

From France he fled as fast as a frog's legs could hop. He hopped onto a ferry one fine day and crossed the channel looking for frog refuge. And he found it.
He became an English frog and moved into an English frog family, in a place called Foor Ponds.

There was a froggy phrincess in Foor Ponds and Phil married her, and should have lived happily ever after.

But he didn't.
His "Listen with Mother" tale turned into a webbed nightmare, a cautionary tale for tadpoles around meres and moats and pools and ponds everywhere.
A phalanx of French frogs followed Phil from France and fell upon him one fine and foggy night.
"Off with his legs", they croaked, and off came his legs. "That will teach you to flee from your fatherland".

Phil dragged himself home. His wife rushed him to the famous frog orthopedic clinic near Fallowfield, but it was too late. Phil was legless for good, "completely legless" as the doctor put it.

And so Phil lived the rest of his froggy days out, unable to hop or swim, but surrounded by loving English frogs in a field not far from Frinton.

The moral of the tale is:
if you have a phobia for frogs from France, fleeing from them to fresh fields far away forces them to find and punish you, often forfeiting your four frog's legs in the phrocess.

Billy Watson puckered up. He was shakin’ like a leaf and had no where to go. He couldn’t believe the position he had put himself in. He looked to both sides and decided that he couldn’t escape.

Billy was about to lose it big time. He was going to set THE record. His only course of action was to keep playing and hope that he could hold out.

No doubt, this was his best run. No one could stop him or catch him. He did a 360 with an ollie half pipe. BAM! 280 points. It was braggin’ time and Billy was dancing and prancing like a Go Go girl in the 60’s. Another overhead double loop. WHAM! 450 points! Yeah!

Billy ran roughshod over his measly opponent, Travis. Everyone knew that Travis was a loser, even Travis. That’s why they liked him. He couldn’t win ‘cause he always choked. But Billy was about to lose. Travis was gaining on him and scoring some pretty boss stunts.

All Billy had to do was hold out for the finish line and he’d be the ULTIMATE CHAMP OF THE UNIVERSE! Barrel Roll, back 180! 300 points! Woo Hoo! But it was getting tight. Billy was about to lose it. The pressure was building up and Travis knew he had Billy on the ropes. If he could only win once!

Billy went vert and banged the flip-flop on the down side. HOO! 350 points! But he couldn’t hold it any longer. Travis was grinding Betty and pulling his yoinker. Bam! 250 and 450 points! Billy couldn’t stand it any longer. This was it. He had to do it or lose to THE BIGGEST LOSER IN THE UNIVERSE!

Billy stood up and twirled as he went toe-side with a Crazy Texan. As he did it he jumped as high as he could with out losin’ the control to the X-box. He was going to have to land this one perfectly. As his Skater made the landing, so did Billy. Nice and neatly on the pillow. He rolled and let go and ran the last twenty seconds down the slope.

Travis was still the loser, the BIG LOSER. That was until Patrick started laughing and yelling,
“Billy peed in his pants! Billy peed in his pants! Billy peed in his pants!”

“That’s OK, I'd rather pee in my pants than lose to Travis!”