Moths. Ridiculous, I know, but when I was very small, I read a short story about a boy who collected moths. One day, he finds a very odd caterpillar. He nurtures it lovingly, caring for it as it fattens up and then spins its cocoon. The second it emerges from its chrysalis, he takes it and stuffs it in a killing jar. Oddly, he feels as though it's watching him as it dies. He pins it to the wall at the foot of his bed. One night, his parents come in to find that the moth is gone, and the boy has been wrapped in caterpillar silk, his mouth stitched shut.
Freaked me right out, that did. I've been terrified of moths ever since. They always flap right towards your face, the treacherous buggers. I usually put my hand over my mouth and run.
Freaked me right out, that did. I've been terrified of moths ever since. They always flap right towards your face, the treacherous buggers. I usually put my hand over my mouth and run.