You wake with a start. You sit up in bed, pajamas sticking to your clammy skin. This is the third night in a row nightmares have interrupted your sleep.

You're breathing heavily. There's no way you can go back to sleep until you've cleared your mind of fear.

You grab the remote control from your nightstand. Let's see what's on.

Channel 4: The Monster That Ate Maple Street

"My god... it's devouring our livelihood!"

"There's no way to stop it. It's unstoppable!"

"Not unstoppable, Douglas. Every monster has its weakness. Vampires have wooden stakes... Frankenstein, angry villagers. Think, people, think!"

"I've got the solution. It's obvious. The parallels are undeniable."

"Ghosts?"

"Exactly. Mother was wrong. Pacman wasn't a waste of time."

"The haunted house."

"Yes. But someone has to be the bait."

"It's gotta be Debby."

"What? Why?"

"She's got that fast sports car."

"Nooo! Daddy gave it to me for my birthday!"

"Get a hold of yourself, woman. This is no time to cry."

"Hey, Debby..."

"... y-yes, Josh?"

"I'd like you to know... if we survive this... I want to marry your money."

Channel 9: The Original

I've always been good at painting. I've been the official artist of the royal palace for, like, forever. There are none better. I guess you could say I'm the best.

So you can understand my anger when an idea of mine gets ripped off. It was my idea for an arch -- for a varicoloured transparency.

Mine. Mine.

God's a hack.

Channel 13: Philosophical Patty

"Mary... do you ever get the feeling you're being watched?"

"What -- like peeping-toms?"

"No... Kind of like, we're in a puppet show and there's this audience we can't see."

"You think I'm a puppet?"

"That's not really what I mean."

"I'm a pretty real-looking puppet, Patty."

"That's almost a tongue-twister."

"I think... when puppets recite tongue-twisters, and their tongues fall off, they can sew them back on."

"That's stupid."

"No it's not. Where do you keep your scissors?"

"In the cabinet over the sink. What do you need scissors for?"

"Gonna try something..."

...

"... okay, open up Patty."

"What're you do -- ow! -- ow, getoffofme!"

"Stop struggling; I just wanna try something!"

"Ack, ow, ge -- get off -- AHH! AAAAAHH! AAAAIIIHHH!"

"That's a lot of blood. That's a lot of blood, Patty. I don't think you'll be able to sew it back on. It appears people aren't puppets, Patty."

Channel 19: Grandma's Rocking Chair

Grandma rocks in her chair. Wires string out from the chair's base, winding along the ground before entering the walls to worm their respective ways throughout the house. A huge metal machine at Grandma's side towers to the ceiling. The fluorescent light above hums. Everything is bathed in a ghostly glow.

Grandma chews a toothpick, wiggling it around with her teeth. Her short gray-white hair is frizzy and sticks up in the air. The chair emits wooden creaks and groans.

The door opens, stage left. A young man, about 20, enters.

"Ma?"

"Eh?"

"Ma, we need you to go faster. The washing machine stopped."

"Eh."

"Thanks, Ma." He closes the door behind him.

She rocks faster. Back and forth, forth and back. She picks up speed gradually. She's hardly more than a blur now.

KZZZZZZK WHOOOOooooooooooooo...

The light goes out. Grandma lights a nearby candle while muttering to herself. She steps over to the machine and bangs on it with her hand. It sprays a cloud of smoke out of a pipe in response.

Grandma takes her toothpick in one hand and the candle in the other. She bends down and examines a control panel. After a moment's deliberation she jams the toothpick in a crack.

ZZZZZZKZZZKZZZZZZZZ.

She shakes, eyes bulging, before managing to yank the toothpick back out. This time she puts it in the right place.

Panting, she drags herself back to her chair and sits down with a sigh.

In a few seconds she begins rocking again. Back and forth. Back and forth.

But she's going too fast. She stops moving; she tries to drag her feet, to no avail.

The chair is working on its own. Grandma's face stretches and twists in the stress. Folds of skin ripple like waves.

She can hardly hang on. Her fingers grip the armrests desperately, but it's too much.

The chair flings her up. She breaks through the plaster ceiling and flies out into the dark sky. Air rushes past. She brings her fragile arms to her sides and holds them out like an airplane. Her skin is gradually turning black; her clothes are turning black. She has a big smile on her face.

Every part of her fades into the sky. Every part except her toothy grin, which falls to the ground, spiraling into nothingness.

Channel 22: Superman Adventures

"Clark, it's for you."

"Thanks... Hello?"

"Hello, am I speaking to Superman?"

"No, this is Clark Kent."

"Oh... Could you take off your glasses?"

"I guess."

...

"Clark?"

"Clark's not available right now. This is Superman."

"Oh, good. Listen, sir, w --"

"Can I take a message for him?"

"... no."

"Okay."

"Superman. This is General Swanson. Sir, the United States government has a mission for you."

"Does it involve truth or justice?"

"No, but it's a liberal helping of the American Way."

"Go on."

"You're invincible, sir. You realize that?"

"Yes. I get that impression."

"Ever thought of using that to your advantage?"

"Not really."

"Well, we have. We're working on a project. The jist of it is, we want you to carry a warhead in your mouth. The enemy can shoot missiles down, but they can't shoot Superman down."

"I never thought of that."

"How does it sound?"

"Fine, except that that's going to have to be a small bomb."

"We've already taken care of that."

"Listen, what if I swallow it?"

"Explosive diarrhea."

"With all due respect, that's just juvenile, sir."

"You wear tights. I think it'd be best if you kept your mouth firmly shut."

"Point taken."

[scene change]

"General, there's been a small explosion over the Pacific."

"I must've told him a million times, don't chew gum."

[studio audience laughter]

Channel 29: Trust Your Gut; It's Visionary

"The welder?"

"Yeah, use that."

"Dude, you know how much that'll hurt?"

"Uh, yeah. But it's like getting a tat, man. A few minutes of pain for a lifetime of awesome."

"I dunno, bro. Seems like it could mess up your insides or somethin' wack."

"You seen a picture of a stomach? It's tiny. I got plenty of room."

"Won't it be kinda heavy? Like walking around with a baby."

"I won't have to walk. People'll come to me. And I'll be chillin' all the time."

"I still dunno. You sure?"

"Yeah! I'm sure. If something goes wrong, don't worry, I won't blame it on you."

"I'd hope not. Okay, lay down."

...

"Haha, that tickles..."

"Don't move around, man!"

"Ha... heh, sorry. Okay. Okay. I'm ready. Go."

...

"Ow! Oh, geez... eh... ah... crapcrapcrap this hurts like hell."

"Hold still... almost done..."

"Oh, man, that really is heavy."

"'Kay, one more side..."

"Ah... I -- I can hardly breathe. I gotta get off my back."

"Alright... alright, I'm done. You can get up now."

"A little heavy, but... dude! This is sick!"

"Haha, the reception is good, too!"

"I can't -- can't really see it very well, though..."

"Oh..."

"..."

"Oh, man."

"It's upside-down."

"Oh, man."

"I can't watch it like this! Dude!"

"You dumb -- listen, they were probably on acid when they came up with that show! I told you not to do it!"

"Then why didn't you refuse to help!?"

"'Cause you insisted!"

"Okay, you know what? Not good enough."

"Just trying to be a friend."

"Man..."

"... I'm sorry."

"Friends -- friends don't let friends watch Teletubbies."

Channel 32: Bruised But Not Beaten

The dog nips at the heels of the soccer players. It's a small dog, not big enough to cause any damage.

That doesn't stop them from kicking it.

"Stupid dog," one kid says, flicking it away with his foot. "Go home. Go home!"

The dog yips incessantly.

"Come here, Ishii." A girl calls to the dog from the edge of the field. The dog runs over to her wagging his tail. She kneels down and pets his head. "Ishii, you can't bug people like that. They're trying to play a game."

She stands up. "And you guys... don't mess with my dog. He can be a real monster."

They don't hear her.

[next day]

Ishii is still terrorizing the kids. It runs up, jumps, and clamps down on a boy's shirt. The boy screams loudly and tries to punch the dog off.

He finally manages to shake the animal's jaws loose.

The kids gather around the dog to decide what to do.

"It's a pest. Let's throw it in the river or something."

"What? No!" protests a girl. "It's just a puppy!"

"When a mosquito bites you, you kill it. Same thing."

"Not same thing," says another boy. "Mosquitoes and dogs have completely different levels of consciousness."

"Well, what would you suggest?" says the would-be killer. "I think it belongs to that girl who was here the other day. I dunno where she liv --"

Ishii interrupts by biting the boy's leg.

"Ow! Ow, get it off!" He falls backwards on the grass.

The kids wrestle the animal off the boy. Ichii squirms under the hands holding him to the ground.

"Ah... it broke the skin..."

"For all we know, it's rabid."

"For all we know, your mum's rabid."

"Uncalled for."

"So? You going to let me kill it now?"

"Fine," says the girl. "Kill it. But I fear you'll be a murderer from henceforth."

"Statistics agree. But I'm not an arsonist yet."

The boy takes Ichii to the river. He holds him by the scruff of his neck so he doesn't escape.

He plunges the dog's head underwater and holds it there as it struggles in vain. Bubbles float up and are quickly swept away. Ichii's big brown eyes look up at the boy and turn red.

[next day]

"Well, after I found the body, that's when I realized dog particles were floating in our water."

"But, detective, wouldn't those be filtered out?"

"That's what you would think, yes. But dogs are so good at jumping fences. And squirming through broken wooden boards. So there's no reason dog particles should be any different."

"Sir, that's not how science works."

"Science is a state of mind. Stick to reporting."

"What were the symptoms?"

"Increased fingernail growth. An inability to close doors. Lack of economic insight."

"I fail to see how that relates to canine behaviour."

"It doesn't at all. Which makes my connection between the two all the more remarkable and stupendous."

"He's a hero."

"I'm a heroic man, yes."

Channel 40: High on Helium

"Dad, where'd the birds come from?"

"Hehe, I suppose they are a new feature."

"Yeah. Where'd they come from?"

"Well, sit tight and I'll tell you a story.

"Okay."

"Once upon a time, there was a man who lived in a shack by the sea. Now, he had been an ordinary man all his life, and when he died, he wanted to be something extraordinary. So you know what he did?"

"What?"

"He tied a balloon full of helium around his neck."

...

"Why?"

"Because, when he died, he wanted his soul to float away on the wind. He'd be able to travel all around the world. But as you know, balloons don't stay full of air forever -- eventually they shrink, and so did his. When it couldn't carry his heavy soul any longer, the balloon dropped his soul into the ocean. The soul hit the water with a splash, and its essence was absorbed. It traveled the various waterways connecting the oceans and seas, until eventually it evaporated. It drifted about in the clouds, until it came to a range of mountains. Well, mountains collect rain, so out went the soul in the form of raindrops. The raindrops splashed on the mountain men living there, and ten years later, people first began seeing birds."

"So the men became birds?"

"That's what they say."

"Hm... I think the birds were just invisible before."

"Wouldn't they make noise?"

"No -- because -- because they have silencers on their beaks."

"Oh, okay. Silencers. What about the poop?"

"Um... Can't really explain that one."

"That's why the longest explanation is always the best."

* * * *

You're going to bed.