No matter where he went, Donald imagined things. Donald was not delusional, nor ill, nor even particularly special in any way. He possessed a healthy imagination and knew when he was using it. But, sometimes - just sometimes - he wished he wouldn't use it so much.
Donald's imagination frightened him a little, because he couldn't always turn it off once he had turned it on, and now and then he didn't care for the way things went. Tthis time, for example. In the daylight it wouldn't have mattered so much, but after everyone else was asleep it could be terrifying to try to get into his own bed when a small boy already seemed to be there.
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