My uncle told me this one.
He said it's a monster. It's looks similar to an octopus, except flat like a piece of paper, and see-through so that it's only visible when the sun hits it just right.
And at night, you can't see it at all.
It almost always travels up against walls and floors, reaching out to pull itself around with its hundred arms.
But sometimes, if it suspects you, it might peel away from the wall and latch onto your shoe, so that it can tag along everywhere you go. To church. To the doctor. To school.
You never know when it's watching. You never know when it's listening. And if it catches you spilling a secret, it attacks.
Its tangle of arms move like lightning. Some strike out and pin you down. Some grab at your mouth and pry it open. And then two razor-sharp pincers reach in and *SNIP! SNIP!*
"So if you share our little secret with anyone, the Tongue Snatcher will get you," he would say. "It'll cut your tongue out in a heartbeat."
He told me that story every time he visited, every time he came into my room when my parents were gone.
That's how he got away with it for so long.
But when the Tongue Snatcher finally came for him, it was nothing like the stories. It used a dull knife, and it took its sweet time.