Hello Horace

He's back. Horace the Hornet. He comes out after the summer rain, when the air is hot and steamy. Only in the evening. He waits until the children have settled in their beds. Then he invades their sleep. And they dream of Horace the Hornet, his sharp white teeth, his red proboscis, his yellow and blue hooped body and his bright penetrating eyes. But, they feel no fear. Deep inside, they know: He's not real. He's not there. He doesn't exist. Horace is merely a figment of their slumbering imaginations. And mine. And yours . . .