So maybe I thought it was Mothra

 

Adventuring rule #18:  Know your fears, so you can run away from them. 

     Here's a little known word fact for you. Phobia doesn't refer simply to a specific fear. It refers to an irrational fear. When one hears a mention of something called mottephobia, that suffix should flip a switch in the brain to indicate the explanation is going to be a little odd. The subject of this fear knows it is not sensible, not logical and somewhat immature to be held fast by this feeling. That knowledge does nothing to stop the sense of overwhelming helplessness and dread when faced with the cause of the fear: a moth, or even a butterfly. Please, laugh now and get it out of your system, because my panic is not something I can control.

     I was alone in my apartment in Salzburg, fresh off the bus from the train station (hauptbanhof, for the uninitiated) and was reaching for my laptop to upload photos from my weekend in Vienna. The movement snapped the long thread of a spiderweb, leading to a little spider effer in the corner which madly scrambled to remake its web. I bolted to the other side of my bedroom, barely brushing the long lace curtain covering the window. That's when the demon emerged. A brown moth the size of a silver dollar fluttered out and landed on the curtain. I dropped my laptop, screamed and ran out of the room. 

     It took a series of yoga breathing in child's pose to calm myself enough to assess the situation. A demon creature had taken over my bedroom, I couldn't sleep in there until I knew it was gone and there was no one to catch and release it for me. Part of my mind was begging to alert my landlords, but it was late on a quiet Sunday afternoon and we did not share enough language for me to relate the situation to them. I had to do this myself. With minimal screaming. There was no need to attract the police. Unless they would take care of the moth? No. 

     I formed a plan. If I opened a window in the living room, then took a glass from the kitchen and trapped the demon inside, I could release it outside into the growing dusk. The immediate problem was getting close enough to the moth to trap it. Glass in hand, it took a good twenty minutes of pep talks to inch my way to wall and cover the demon. The next problem was how to wedge a slip of paper between the wall and glass to transport the beastie to the open window. Standard printer paper caught on the texture of the curtain and crumpled before it completely covered the mouth of the glass. To make matters worse, moth-demon chose this moment to notice his prison for the first time. His frantic flitting triggered the panic in my chest and I screamed as hot tears fell. 

     This was true fear. I couldn't breathe. I was frozen, because leaving the wall meant releasing the beast. My salvation rested in a nearby towel, just enough to cover the glass and block the creature from view. I grabbed a handful of glassy tourist brochures and slowly worked them into place. Finally the demon was completely trapped and portable. I snatched up the whole bundle and chucked it out the open window, unable to keep to my plan of a calm release. The window was slammed closed and I dropped to the floor to let the tears and emotions drain out of me. 

     That's when I remembered the spider. I peered around the nightstand where he had made his web. There wasn't anything left in me to kill the tiny effer. I left him there and fell asleep on the other side of the bed.