Twas past he stroke of midnight when they began their work. Wiley beasts from
Transylvania no doubt since blood was their goal. Taking turns they gave the
impression of being only one to their unsuspecting prey. One would swoop in
with a (seemingly) deafening whine upon the tender gringo they had found. He
tossed, he turned, he buried himself beneath the bedclothes yet they offered
no mercy. Their only goal to drink of his blood. Twas past three when he
finally spotted one reflected against the light. Watching it closely
(squinting, being not bespectacled at this hour) he traced it's movement to
the side wall 2 meters above the floor and 1 meter from the corner.
Stealthily he crept with hand raised, then with swift and sure motion --
splat! one less skeeter in the world. He retired to his bedclothes relieved
that the hunt was over and the battle against the bloodhtirsty critter finished.
As he drifted off into dreamland there came again the deafening whine of the
skeeter's comrade in hunting, seeking still what he strove to prevent him
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