Naive Anxieties
The Revellations staff has another collective prompt this week. This task was to find inspiration in a thread about people’s childhood fears that they later found ridiculous. They were all very silly, and the product is similarly so. Enjoy!
The Curtain
By Natalie Lydick
The tile was cold under my feet and the condensation was warm on the mirror. I watched a single drop of water slide down my reflection like a phantom bead of sweat. Turning to the curtain, I confirmed that there was no shadow behind it, and reassured myself for the third time that morning. There was no one in my shower.
Although my brain compelled me to turn and check for the shadow again, I grabbed my toothbrush instead, dragging myself through my morning routine. I knew he wasn’t behind my shower curtain. He never was.
I kept my mind on the bristles as they hugged each tooth and then my gums when the bristles hit the front gap where my last tooth had fallen out. Mom said if I just thought about brushing my teeth that I wouldn’t have to worry about the curtain. It’s too bad she changed my toothpaste. I thought the Jimmy Neutron toothpaste tasted better, and I hated thinking about the gross citrus flavor in order to avoid my shower. Oh no, my shower.
Maybe worrying is good. Dad said he’s a bad man, and that I was a patriot for being scared. I didn’t feel very patriotic. There weren’t fireworks or hamburgers or anything like that. But I guess I have the fear of God in me. That’s what he said.
The shower curtain rustled in my peripheral vision, but I knew it was the wind. Or was it? What if he was in there right now, rubbing my loofah on his scraggly beard? He could be pouring all my bubble bath soap down the drain! I dragged my comb through my hair faster, hoping that I could finish getting ready before my terror got the best of me. I had to know if he was in my shower.
The gel slicked across my fingers as I swiped my hair down on my head. I used to spike it, but I found myself struggling to find the gumption to focus on spikes with the threat of eyes peeking over my shower curtain. With each swipe of the comb, ribbons of extra gel oozed through the slots and squished in between my fingers.
I turned to leave, opening the door and letting the cool air make the bathroom fog dissipate, but through the swirling shower mist, I thought I caught a glimpse of a shadow behind the curtain. I squeezed the doorknob, praying that I could just trot out the door and downstairs to the kitchen where I’d be safe, but I had to know. I quickly turned around and set myself in front of the tub. I would rip it off like a Band-Aid.
I felt a wave of shame as I tore the curtain back. He wasn’t there. He hadn’t been there every single time I checked, but I always had to be double sure because the man on the television said that he was trying to sneak into our good American homes. It was an invasion of our very ideals! He wasn’t there today, but someday I’d be prepared for when Saddam Hussein was hiding in my shower.
Danger: Plant Crossing
By Reese Welch
They say to watch out for deer crossing the road when you’re driving along a dark forest road at night.
They never tell you the deer aren’t the only thing you might see running across the highway.
It only happens at night. The trees bathe in the light of the moon, their branches creating sharp shadows along the forest floor. Small woodland creatures rustle the underbrush, dark eyes reflecting in the glow of your car’s headlights as you speed down the empty stretch of asphalt. You round a corner, slowing down to accommodate for the curve. It is then that you see it.
Lumbering across the road, you see it. Its branches stretch high towards the night sky, swaying with every step it takes. Green leaves flutter to the ground, and you notice the edges are just turning brown as winter looms closer. You slam on the brakes, your eyes traveling down the thick trunk of the creature and see an unnatural red glow emanating from inside. As you get to the bottom of the tree, you see how it’s moving. Roots — wriggling like thick and monstrous worms — shake off dirt as the tree crawls along. It almost reminds you of a centipede.
You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from the sight of this… thing. The tree seems oblivious to you, but you cut the headlights of your car just in case. You don’t make a sound, hardly even daring to breathe. There’s something inside of you, some innate instinct, screaming at you to not to let this thing know you are here.
The tree moves slowly, your heart pounding as you watch it complete its journey. Soon, but nowhere near soon enough, it disappears into the tree line and you can breathe again.
Your hand feels like lead as it moves to your gear shift, and as if in autopilot, you shift the car into drive. Your foot lets up on the brake, and you begin to move forward once more. Minutes pass, and you don’t see any more signs of life from the forest. You speed up. Now that the danger has passed, all you want is to get out of there before it comes back.
Your breathing comes easier, and as you near the end of the forest, you let out a sigh of relief. Your eyes flutter shut for only half a second as you sag back into the seat.
BAM!
Your car hits something. Your foot flies on the brake as you look around, trying to figure out what you hit. Cutting the engine, you jump out of the car and rush to the front to see if you killed a squirrel. Stepping towards the front of your car, you brace yourself for the sight of blood and fur strewn across the asphalt. Instead, you see leaves.
Underneath your tire, there is a bush. It could be dismissed as a tumbleweed, if not for the bright green leaves still clinging to the twisted remains of its branches. It’s half crushed and you can see it twitching as if being pushed by a breeze, but there is no wind anymore.
It almost reminds you of a dying animal.
Your eyes widen when you realize what you’ve done, but you don’t get a chance to say anything before you hear a growling noise coming from the forest behind you.
The next morning, your car is found abandoned, and you are nowhere to be found.
Clogged
By Matthew Gustafson
Gulp. I feel a pit in my stomach as the sticky wad slips down my throat. “Stimulate your senses,” the wrapper told me. Yeah, if one of those senses was mortal salience, then you hit the nail on the head, you shiny piece of trash. I don’t even know how I swallowed that piece of gum. Maybe I chewed it too much and it just slipped past my teeth. Maybe I had too much spit in my mouth and I felt the need to swallow. It doesn’t matter; what matters is that my life is officially over now.
The kids on the playground said that if you swallow a piece of gum, it doesn’t break down like the rest of the food you eat. Instead, it goes right down to your stomach. And when you feel the need to go to the bathroom, you won’t be able to. You’ll get all clogged up and all the nasty stuff in your system will build up until you die.
They didn’t say how you’d die, but I imagined it’d be like that episode of Spongebob where Squidward ate all those Krabby Patties and got super big. Then he blew up.
Guess that’s it, then. I’m going to blow up now. A tear starts to roll down my cheek as I realize this horrible truth. Then my stomach rumbles. Oh no. I knew I shouldn’t have had Mom’s leftover tacos for lunch today. They’re delicious, but they hurt your insides more than a bad night after eating at Chipotle.
I have to hold it in. There’s no other way. I mean, do I really want to blow up right now?
The bell rings. Lunch is over. Time to head to math class. We’re learning about shapes today, but all I can focus on is the gurgling of my stomach. I shift in my chair, uncomfortable. Some of the other kids look at me weird. The teacher asks if I’m feeling alright. Of course I’m not alright! “Yeah, I’m good,” I say through my teeth.
The bell rings. Class is over. Time for recess. Crap. I get all gassy when I run around on a full stomach. I try to sneak off to the bathroom to hide, but the teacher spots me and tells me to go outside. I sit by the brick wall near the playground, trying to contain myself. I see the kids playing around, not having to worry about mortality like I am. I cry a little.
The bell rings. Recess is over. Time to die. I can’t hold it anymore. I rush to the bathroom and shove the door open, bolting into one of the stalls to take a seat. This is it. My life is going to end now. I brace myself for the inevitable as I feel my body acting on its own. I close my eyes.
Plop.
I open my eyes. I’m in one piece. I feel a rush of relief run over me as I embrace the fact I’m still alive. Then I start to think, “Why didn’t I blow up? I swallowed that gum, didn’t I? At the very least, it must’ve just gone through my system.” I look between my legs. Nope. No gum there. I sigh. It must’ve just been one of those silly playground rumors that those edgy fifth graders say to freak out kids like me. I’m such an idiot. Oh well, I guess I didn’t look like any more of an idiot than I usually am. Best to finish my business then.
Plop.
There Are No Monsters Here
By Jeffrey Keller
“He seems to be developing well,” the man said, looking out at the park.
The woman nodded in agreement. “He’s making friends, having fun.”
They sat on a bench together at the edge of the park, watching the children play. Reuben ran around chasing the other children. It looked like they were playing tag. Reuben clambered up the ladder of the play structure, reaching out and tagging another child on the leg as he ran by. Reuben dropped back down to the ground and began running away.
The parents smiled, seeing their child have fun. Then they turned their attention back to their conversation.
“He had that dream last night,” the mother said, “that nightmare.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that,” the father replied. “Tell me the details.”
“He said he could hear voices. They were all around him. He tried running away but they followed him. Then a monster came from the dark and started tearing him apart, piece by piece.”
“No more detail?”
“He expressed himself as best as a five-year-old can.”
The father leaned back, looking up at the clear sky.
“If only we could see into his mind,” he said.
“That’d make our job a lot easier,” the mother replied.
“Dreams are one of those still- unsolved mysteries of the universe.”
“Yeah. What do they mean?” the mother sighed. “I was really surprised when he told me.”
“I wouldn’t have expected it either,” the father said, looking out across the park again. “What are dreams like for someone like him?”
“I’d imagine the experience is quite different.”
“Does it seem to have affected him?” the father asked.
“He’s acted normally today. He’s probably forgotten the whole thing by now.”
“True.”
Reuben jumped down from the play structure again, escaping from the boy chasing him. He landed on his feet in the bark and continued running.
“The child’s going to hurt himself at this rate,” the mother said.
“He’s a wild one, that’s for sure.”
“Hmm, it looks like he’s already hurt himself actually,” the mother observed. “Look at the line of red running down his leg.”
“Probably cut himself while running around like a maniac.”
“It still is the consciousness of a child in there.”
“Yeah.”
The mother watched Reuben carefully. Just watching him play, one could find no difference between him and the other children. But most did not know what she knew.
Reuben sprinted along the sidewalk by the playground, running from another child. Then all of a sudden, Reuben’s body jerked forward and his body went tumbling to the ground. A cry went up. The mother and the father looked at each other. The mother shook her head slightly. They stayed put.
Then the bawling started. Reuben laid on the ground, screaming. His mother and father got up from the bench and rushed to his side. He had skinned his knees and hands, and there was blood welling up from the wounds. The cut on his leg was still bleeding as well.
The mother opened her purse and pulled out a roll of gauze. It’d become a necessity with the child’s frequent injuries.
“Reuben, it’s going to be okay,” the mother said. “Can you get up?”
Reuben responding by crying. Always a little drama king.
The father kneeled down by Reuben and took the small child into his arms. He brought Reuben back to the bench and the mother began wrapping the wounds on his legs. Reuben’s crying lessened. Maybe his wound was hurting less, or maybe he just got tired of it.
“Look at the cut,” the father whispered into the mother’s ear.
“Yeah, it’s still bleeding,” she whispered back.
“He got that a while ago, it shouldn’t be actively bleeding still.”
She nodded.
Soon, all of Reuben’s various cuts and scrapes had been bandaged up and he’d grown quiet.
“Reuben, can you walk, dear?” The mother asked.
“No,” he said. He probably just wanted to be carried.
“Okay then,” she replied, picking him up in her arms.
When they arrived back at the house, the mother and the father laid Reuben down on the couch since he still showed no willingness to move on his own. It was then that they noticed that the red blood had started to seep through all of the layers of gauze.
“I didn’t think the cuts were that bad,” the mother said, concerned.
The father picked up the roll of gauze and unwrapped the wounds.
“I don’t think they’ve stopped bleeding at all,” he said.
“Maybe it’s just taking a while?”
“I’ll rewrap them,” he said, taking new gauze and wrapping it around the scrapes on each leg.
“Mommy!” Reuben cried.
The mother sat up from bed and quickly rushed into Reuben’s room, to which they had moved him before bedtime.
“Is everything alright, dear?” She asked from the doorway to his room.
“There’s a lot of blood.”
She stepped closer and turned on the lights. The blood had soaked through the gauze, leaving no white remaining, and now the bedsheets had streaks of blood smeared into them. Dark red blood ran down Reuben’s legs.
“O-okay Reuben!. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m going to go get Daddy.”
She ran out of the room and shook the father awake. “There’s something wrong with Reuben!”
His eyes stared at her unfocused for a minute and then he hopped out of bed.
“What’s wrong?”
“He hasn’t stopped bleeding.”
“Should I call the Doctor?”
“Please!”
The father took out his phone and dialed a number.
“Hello, sorry for bothering you this late,” the father said into the phone.
He paused.
“There’s a problem with the child,” he said.
Pause.
“He won’t stop bleeding.”
Pause.
The father lowered the phone from his ear and turned to the mother. “He wants us to get the child and tell him what we see.”
Five minutes later, they had Reuben laid down on a layer of newspapers in the hallway.
The father set the phone down, putting it on speaker.
“UNWRAP THE WOUNDS,” came the strange voice from the speaker.
They complied.
“IS THERE ANY EVIDENCE OF HEALING?”
“Not at all,” the father said.
“It looks like more of the skin is peeling off,” the mother added.
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“THAT IS… NOT GOOD. I WILL BE THERE RIGHT AWAY.”
The phone went silent. And they waited.
Ten minutes later, there was a knock at the front door. The father opened it immediately. A man (if that’s even what it was) stood at the door, covered nearly from head to toe. He (it?) wore a long white coat that almost reached the ground. A mask covered most of the face, only allowing the eyes to be seen.
“WHERE IS THE SUBJECT?”
“This way,” the father said as he guided the Doctor into the hall.
The Doctor looked down at the now-unconscious child.
“YOU WILL HAVE IT BACK IN THE MORNING.”
The mother and father nodded.
“THE TWO OF YOU WERE IRRESPONSIBLE AND YOU NEVER SHOULD HAVE LET THE SUBJECT GET TO THIS CONDITION. THE SUBJECT CANNOT TAKE TOO MUCH ABUSE.”
They looked down, mute.
“YOU KNOW WHAT I HAVE TO DO NOW.”
“Yes…”
Reuben’s eyes fluttered open. Where was he? Not in bed. A man in a mask stood over him. He felt numb. The masked man held a tool that looked long and sharp. Reuben tried to move, terrified. But his body did not respond.
“DON’T WORRY MY CHILD. THIS WILL BE OVER SOON.”
Reuben felt a sharp pain in his head as the world went black.
Reuben woke up gasping in his bed. His body shook and tears ran down his face.
“Mommy!” He cried.
The mother rushed into the room.
“What’s wrong?”
“I had a bad dream.”
She held him close.
“There was a monster and voices and they were chasing me.”
“It’s okay dear. There are no monsters here.” she said, hugging him closer and smiling sadly.
