Prepare yourself. This story is straight out of a horror movie.
Picture it. At the end of the day, a tired me goes upstairs to get ready for bed. I pause by the bedside. There’s a lot of library books waiting for me, but I’m ready for sleep and decide to pick up an old book from the windowsill instead.
The book is an ancient paperback copy of The Blue Sword by Robin McKinley. It’s a well-loved book, one of my favorites, one I can dip into for a few pages then dip back out of and go to sleep. I’ve had it since middle school and it’s seen better days. The back cover is bent. The front pages are yellowed because of a lemonade spill circa 1988.
I take the book and get in bed. I lean back, open the book and…
HUNDREDS. OF. ANTS.
They’re everywhere, crawling in and out of the pages. They can easily do that because THEY ATE A HOLE IN THE BOOK.
I scream, of course. I fling the book on the floor, also of course. By then they’ve already spilled out everywhere on the bed and me. They’re teeming on the floor. They’re everywhere.
I spend the next half hour killing them, scrubbing the floor, changing the sheets and trying desperately to shake off that shivery disgusted feeling. So much for a good night’s sleep.
And the poor book! My wonderful, well-loved copy! Poor Harry! Poor Damarians!
If it were a horror movie, you know that as I pick up the next book, the audience would be crying, “No! Don’t!”
I Capture the Rowhouse 