On Thursday Afternoone

"Let's name our fears!" said Donny.
"Melvin," said Roscoe, barely looking up.
"Melvin?" Donny's face was like a broken record. "Melvin's not scary! I think VAMPULA!"
"Your fears are not my fears," said Roscoe.
"What?" Donny's face was like the bottom of a boot. It was dirty. "All fears are the same fears! Afraid of wild dogs. Afraid of dark alleys. Afraid of brain surgery. Afraid of stabbed with a knife. Afraid of Boogypeople. Vampula. All fears. Come on, Roscoe."
"Those don't scare me," Roscoe's eyes were hidden in razor slits of eyelid. "Those aren't my fears. Those aren't Melvin."
"Karumba!" hooted Donny. He tried to make a long whistle sound. It was like a whisp of dirty air. "What's it scares you? Nothing?"
"Finding drool on my pillow, when I know I didn't dool. Lobsters at the grocermart. Top hats by themselves, when you know the Magician is nearby. Haircuts. Melvin." Roscoe looked sick and sad.
"Balboa!" Donny smacked his forehead with a PAK! Then his hand dropped and dangled and he said, "No. Definately Vampula."
"Melvin."