The baby awoke yelling in great distress. We sprinted upstairs and burst into his room. It was immediately obvious what had happened. His face and head was covered in fiery red blotches. I counted them all: 37 mosquito bites.
Tomorrow poor Sammy would look like he’d caught Bubonic Plague but here and now demanded swift action. While my wife sought out the Savlon, I set about hunting down our foe.
My trusty Bugblaster took care of most offenders and I then mopped up the survivors with a slipper, smearing ugly splats of blood across the soon-to-be-emulsioned ceiling. Seven mossies in total.