Moths

             They are nightriders birthed in Satan’s closet. They spin out of darkness to madly attack light like a flying army of deranged zombies. Whenever I see them, their sole desire is to sneak into my house, lurk on a wall or in a towel, and then drip hell’s poison all over my face while I sleep. Then they will kill me. They cannot smell, except they can smell human fear. Their bodies are dusty with the cinders of satanic fires and if I try to smack them with a hardback book they clog the room with ashy haze for weeks.