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I went into my son’s room to do some cleaning.

I thought it was dead.
Curled in the dust under my son’s bed, it looked like some kind of shriveled animal, a tiny armadillo or a mutant insect with a long, menacing spike. I froze, terrified he’d been hiding something alive – or worse, something dead. For thirty agonizing minutes I examined it, my mind racing, my heart pou… Continues…