In the dead of night on the loveliest of summer evenings great beasts come forth from the darkness, seeking man's blood. Sinking long proboscises into our flesh they then feast and leave behind itching welts and a niggling in our minds. To tear further at the flesh they have already defiled and so quell an itch with a sting, or to heed a mother's warning, "Don't scratch." Alas, I am weakened in my sleep and find my bedclothes blood stained when I wake .