When the children were younger, we gathered together in the evening with several families to Halloween, turning off the lights and telling terrible stories in turn. Who is scary about the black hand from childhood, who from books, and who from life. One comrade told me.

They returned from fishing in the autumn. Somewhere in Ukraine. There were no navigators. To cut, they turned to an unknown ground and lost themselves. It has darkened, the car is carried through the forest, a truck without rear lights is winding in front of it, the headlights are picking out of the darkness the crude pine, the bush, like a ghost, it is not clear what.

There is something big and winged flying in front of me. Whether it is a bird or a flying mouse, but strange, the body is too fat for such a wing span. Then another one. The next with a loud knock breaks the front glass, leaving a bloody spot on the glass. And one more, and yet, the whole forehead in bloody flooding, it seems the next to break the glass, it is hard to see where to go. Then the bodies of these birds begin to get on the road, more and more often, they are already so many that the driver has no time to get around, they crack under the wheels, the car drives. The driver stops, tries to get out, slides onto a dead bird and falls with a scream of horror. The rest jump out of the car, run into the forest, but the storyteller, overcoming fear and disgust, stops and raises one bird for the wings to look closer.

They were not birds. It was a rotten beetle that came out of the truck. In the darkness, the boat looked like wings.

Do not fear anything. All our fears eventually turn into a rotten beetle.