Imagination can be a horrible thing.
The Boy Who Drew Cats scared the Lucky Charms right out of me when I was little. I remember thinking about sleeping in a closet. About hearing those horrific noises in the room outside and knowing that I wouldn't be able to stay in the closet. That either curiosity or the feeling of helplessness would get the better of me and I'd have to bust out of there. I even went so far as to empty out one of the cabinets in our basement and sit in there with the door closed, just to see what it would feel like. I stayed in there as long as I could (which probably wasn't all that long) before I threw the door open and ran upstairs, knowing at any second that huge rat was going to wrap that cold,furless tail around me like big pink boa constrictor. Then, just before he sunk those two huge teeth into my skull like the sharp end of a claw hammer, I'd feel his whiskers tickle my face, and die laughing.
Yeah, I was a weird kid. Incidentally, it would be imaginative moments like this that would keep me from trying acid in later years.
