As I rested in bed listening to the sky roaring and trying to catch a few winks I remembered all my funny little kid habits that developed to combat my fear of the things in the dark. Having an overactive imagination can really suck, and I could psych myself out about just about anything, still can, actually. Every huff of the air conditioner was the breath of some great creature lurking at the foot of my bed. The creaks of my bed were quiet warnings to beware of draping hands over the side of the mattress, because goodness knew what could grab them. Needless to say that in the middle of the night, especially a stormy one where there were even more strange, scary and inexplicable noises, getting to the bathroom was a very arduous and daring task. I would hold it until I went cross-eyed in concentration. Then I would imagine getting up and going a few times, almost convincing myself that it was real and then snapping awake again. Of course that phantom relief was just too terrible in the face of the growing pressure, and I had to get out of bed and face my house’s demons. But I was a smart kid. I didn’t go unarmed. No, I didn’t go in my obvious attire of girly pjs, but instead disguised myself under my white blankie, pulling it up over my head and tucking two corners under my chin with one hand. The only problem was that this left my legs exposed. So in order to prevent anything from making a grab for my tasty legs I would break into a run halfway to the bathroom. That way I kept them off balance. Would I walk? Would I run? The monsters never knew. Most of the time I ended up running ,though. I am still alive and whole today – except for the chunk in my calf that the neighborhood demon-dog ripped out – so all my effort must have paid off.