I used to react instantly. A flash of movement across the bathroom floor, something fast—too fast—and my first instinct was always the same: panic, then eliminate. Spray, shoe, paper towel, anything within reach. No questions asked. No hesitation. Just pure, automatic fear. And if you’ve ever seen a house centipede, you probably understand why. Long, spindly legs. Dozens of them. A body that looks almost too thin to be real. It moves like something designed in a nightmare—quick, erratic, vanishing under baseboards before your brain even fully processes what you saw. For years, I believed I was doing the right...
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