Moths. It's totally irrational, I know.
They're like zombie butterflies who only appear at night. They flutter around in the shadows making themselves appear 100 times larger. They surround the exits outside near porch lights so you get swarmed by them when you come or go.
Where butterflies bring about thoughts of sunshine and happiness, moths are nothing but despair and misery . . . and terror.
My dad owed a business in the NE, and the upstairs of the building was used as a storage when it wasn't being rented out to other businesses. It was a great place for my brothers and I to run around when we were kids. I mean a great place. There were machines everywhere, boxes, giant shelves of t-shirts to climb on, desks, stairs on wheels like they have at Staples--it was like a 40,000 sqft wonderland
One day on a weekend when I was about eight, we were playing hide and seek, and I made it upstairs and found an unlocked door to hide in. It was dark, and I stood there with the door creaked open with the lights off to keep a lookout, and after a moment or two, I closed the door, turned on the light and oh my god, there were moths everywhere. Thousands. Turning on the light startled them and they fluttered around and I panicked for a brief second while I was momentarily caught up in a tornado of fear. I remember I got the hell out of there and ran and ran and ran as ran as I could throughout the shop, turning sharp corners to outmaneuver them in case they were following me until finally I made buried myself in a pile of t-shirts (it was a silk-screening business.)
I hate moths.
Thankfully I have a dog who eats them. If one makes it inside, he'll sit there for nine hours until it gets close enough for him to chomp on. I also found that the vacuum makes short work of them, if I can muster up the courage to get close enough.
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