When I was a child, my mother woke me up in the middle of the night. She was panicky and intense. She wanted me to get dressed so we could go see the doctor.
As I got dressed, I saw that my pillow was covered in blood.
At the doctor's office, I sat on the exam table as the doctor looked into my ear.
With a pair of tweezers, he pulled a blood drenched housefly from my head. He showed it to me, proclaiming that it was the problem.
Apparently sometime during the night I had turned over and trapped a fly between the pillow and my ear and the fly had determined that his only escape was to try to eat his way out.
I like to think he drowned in the river of blood created by his own efforts. But maybe he just got tired of fighting.
To this day, I'm not fond of houseflies.