That plastic bag, full of evil, on the table, in the middle of the tent, now stirred. Was it a breeze? Was it some evil thing come with the darkness? Something was afoot. The bag now did more that stir. It jerked and lurched, it quaked and snapped, but there was no wind in the tent. Then the bag fell off the table on to the fake sheep skin rug and stopped. But not for long. It wasn't jerking now, it was expanding, stretching, growing thinner. A tear opened at the top and out came four fingers, followed by a hand. Then another hand. Both were followed by arms. A head emerged, slowly and painfully, wrapped in cloth. Before long the entire body crawled its way out, a body wearing nothing but its own flesh and a red Speedo.
"Mother?" it said. "Mother, are you there?" And then, exhaused, it collapsed into a deep sleep.
