That last piece of yellow cake with fudge frosting has Patsy's name written all over it, but her mother declines Patsy's pointed request for it. Preoccupied all night with that slice, Patsy makes a scary midnight run to bag it, a smash-and-grab raid on the ice box. The road from her bed to the kitchen is no cakewalk, but a gauntlet of ghosts and skeletons and monsters, all lurking in the shadows. Unnerved but determined, Patsy nabs the cake and heads back to bed, past the bogeys again, while Powell lets readers--and not Patsy--see the source of the terrors: The skeleton is a bird cage, the ghouls no more than the dog playing in the laundry. After all that, in a clever twist, Patsy leaps under her covers, safe but cakeless. Patsy--a bug-eyed Kewpie doll, courageous and doomed--is a spark plug in a book a-buzz with energy, smart humor, and fevered artwork, from the hand-lettering that dances across the pages, to the explosive appearance of monsters, to that last shivering escape. A thoroughly accomplished debut.