Harold Thomas always heard noises in his room late at night when the moon seemed to glow. When this would happen his imagine would run wild sending thoughts of monsters and things waiting to drag him under the bed if he were to breech the safety of the blanket he would retreat to on these nights. However, as much as Harold disliked the dark, he loved to run and play outside.

He made it a regular sport for his mother to have to go to the store to buy him new clothes every two to three months because the clothes she would give him would be riddled with holes, but what didn’t make sense were the small attempts that were made by someone trying to sew the clothes back together. Harold’s mother couldn’t sew, neither could his father, so when she found the stitches she thought it was Harold trying to make up for putting the holes there in the first place.

A storm blew in hard and fast causing the lights in the house to go out. Harold did his best to stay away from his room, but couldn’t fight the lull of sleep forever. He passed out sitting at the kitchen table with his parents, so his father carried him to his room. The dream Harold was having had him sitting in the kitchen being served ice cream for breakfast.

Harold woke up in the dark and laid there trying to get his eyes to focus not realizing he was in his room in the dark until he heard the familiar noises, but this time the noises that he heard began to make sense.

“ I can’t believe a young boy could make such a ruin of clothing...tsk...tsk...tsk.”

“Mortimer, you know boys will be boys. I remember you were a handful yourself at this age.”

The voices seemed to be coming from over by the closet where Harold threw all of his clothes after school. The power in the house blazed to life revealing the voices to be from a little man no bigger than Harold’s thumb and a black widow spider residing on the man’s head sewing his clothes in the corner.