The girls squealed and hid themselves under the blankets. I sighed and waited patiently for them to come back out of hiding, the book resting in my lap. A few moments later Clara’s dark curls peaked back out from under the pink comforter. “Is he gone?” she asked. “No.” She ducked her head back under the waves. “Guys, he’s not going to do anything to you.” “It’s a HUGE mosquito!” they screamed, muffled by the covers. “I told you. It’s not a mosquito.” Clara appeared again. “It looks like a mosquito, and it’s going to eat us.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s not going to eat you, because it’s not a mosquito. Actually it’s pretty much the opposite of a mosquito. It’s called a…