It was early evening, and we had just finished watching our Sunday family film, "Nancy Drew." I was dozing off on the sofa when my wife called me into my daughter's room.

"Pause whatever it is you are watching and bring in a flashlight," she called.

Naturally, I did as I was told and ran to the bedroom. My wife pulled opened the closet curtains and pointed to the floor.

It was a mess; there were little gray dust bunnies everywhere, but this was not unusual.

"So what?" I said.

"Look closer!" my wife exclaimed.

Again, I did as I was told and soon noticed that the little specks of dust were moving. The dust bunnies were actually tiny pumpkinseed-shaped creatures from which a tiny tentacle escaped from either end that it used to drag itself across the floor.

I had never seen anything like it. Maybe it was the movie or perhaps we were in need for some action on this lazy Sunday evening, but it seemed to me that we had a mystery on our hands.

Normally a bug or two in the house would inspire no more activity than a hushed scream and a whack with a rolled up magazine, but this was different for two reasons. First were the sheer numbers. By bedtime, we had bottled 33 of the little aliens. Second were the numerous bites running up and down the bodies of the girls in our house. For the last several days, they had become the blue-plate special.

Initially, we thought mosquitoes, then fleas, and finally bedbugs, but none of the likely suspects made any sense. I even considered cooties; how else do you explain the gender difference?

Sadly, the sudden infestation coupled with the nightly feedings was more than my daughter could handle.

She freaked out.

I found her sitting on the sofa, arms crossed, eyes moist, expression resolute, refusing to go into her room for fear of being eaten alive. To be honest, I was a little creeped out, too!

Not knowing what we were dealing with, I scoured the Internet and called my father, but learned nothing. In desperation, I made a late-night beeline to Borders while my wife washed the bedding and sprayed the room with every cleaner known to man. It did not take long in the Hawaiiana section to find my answer; the household casebearer. The harmless critter is some kind of caterpillar that weaves a home out of spider webs, dust and organic debris and hangs out in dark, damp locations like little kids' closets. Like many other caterpillars, it eventually transforms into a moth; the kind that has been buzzing around our humble abode for years.

I was relieved, and so was my wife, but it was too late for my daughter.

She camped out on the living room floor with the dogs right next to her, sitting sentinel. I assumed that with the mystery solved, everything would return to normal, but the damage had been done.

My daughter eventually returned to her room, and my career as a supersleuth, like the bites, came to an end. Still, it was an exciting night, filled with flashlights, magnifying glasses, and reference books.

Maybe it was the movie, perhaps it was simply a night that begged for something to do, but it was the most fun I had had in quite some time.

Not so for my daughter. I doubt she will become a detective, but it could have been worse.

Imagine if we were watching "The Amityville Horror." That would not have been fun for anyone.

Michael C. DeMattos is a member of the faculty at the University of Hawai'i School of Social Work. Born and raised on the Wai'anae Coast, he now lives in Kane'ohe with his wife, daughter, two dogs, and two mice.