'twas the night before christmas eve, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

but there was one creature stirring. a bat buzzed on paint fumes. he was flying and fluttering all throughout the writer's bedroom.

he flew into the wall, he knocked a hat off to the floor, and he flew and he fluttered right into the door.

he flew into the wall one more time, and landed two inches from the writer's head. he squeaked, she screamed and bolted out of bed.

she dashed out the door, shutting it with a thud. her heart was going thudthudthud.

she curled up onto the couch, determined to get the bastard out in the morning.

she tossed and she turned all throughout the night. she was having dreams of bats that gave her such a fright.

she awoke in the morning, still freaked out. she grabbed a hammer and opened her bedroom door with a shout.

she leapt into her room, swinging her hammer about. but there was no bat anywhere.

and fuck that shit, she's sleeping on the couch again. she's too fucking young to die of a heart attack caused by a bat.

happy holidays you sexy folk.