I was making up my bed, and out of the corner of my eye, where all horrors dwell, I saw a worm on my bedroom carpet. I was horrified. I ran to grab protective tissues to pick it up, I imagined an infestation. Why would the worms come to my home uninvited? I worried about the worms I hadn’t seen yet. Where were they hiding? Mid-heart attack, I picked up the worm with a wad of tissues, and put it in the garbage. Now that the danger was contained, I timidly ventured forth to investigate the intruder. It was not a worm; it was a piece of string. I felt foolish but happy, as I now didn’t have to search for its worm family. I noticed that what I perceived as a threat didn’t exist. The fear that felt warranted at the time, was not appropriate for a piece of string, or even a misguided worm. It makes me wonder if what I fear is based on reality. Is what I think I see the truth? When I tell myself a scary story, I try to make sure that what I’m scared of is not just a piece of string.