I don't sleep well at night. That's when they find you. They're patient. They wait until the lights go out. And if you leave the lights on, they watch your eyes -- and wait. The instant your eyelids shut, they creep out of the darkest corners and ooze from the murkiest puddles and slither under your closet door. They have a dozen red eyes that see just fine when you're completely blind. And two dozen tentacles waiting to seize you and pull you near... Some nights, I don't sleep a wink. I'm eleven, so I have to live by certain rules. When my mother sends me to bed, I bring a friend from Louisville under the covers with me. And I wait. And watch.

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