I Am Fear

• Alix Crowe, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2013

Now

I am Fear.

The Fear that everyone feels, the Fear that everyone dreads. Everyone encounters me, and always more than once. Some people feel a shadow of me first, feel me creep up on them. They know. Some people are more lucky, and don’t realise I am near, until it is too late.

But everyone feels my strike.

And then I met someone. This story is the same of so many others. They were alone, they were afraid, and they were murdered. Like so many others. You must be asking yourself, then, why I chose this story to tell. Because, you see, you were the victim. You were going to be murdered.

And what a terrible murder you faced.

Then

It is late at night when I see you. I study you closely. You are leaning against a small tree, with some of its branches hanging down, brushing gently against your head.

You can feel me- I can tell. Your eyes are dart around, but otherwise, you are calm. This feeling is the kind of niggling Fear you get, at the very base of your stomach. A seed of doubt, the kind that you can ignore.

Until you hear the noise of something very, very wrong.

Breathing.

Behind you. Right behind you.

Frantically, you twist your head, and very slowly scan the trees behind you. Can you see anything? Can you see it? Nothing is there.

I move closer to you, and your niggling feeling grows larger, only slightly though. You think you are imagining things, and your Fear lessens.

It is not enough for me to enjoy.

So I move even closer to you, so that your heart starts beating fast. So very fast. And your skin prickles. And your eyes widen. And you don’t really know why, but you feel afraid. Finally, you feel me. You feel Fear.

You take a shuddering breath, through your nose, only to be met with the smell of death. The smell of something off, rotten. Too sweet, it creeps up your nose, into your mouth, your eyes, making you want to gag and run and scream because it is so wrong. It reeks of malice, and hatred.

And you know. Something is here.

You can feel it. You close your eyes, tears seeping from under your lashes. You want to scream. But you can’t. You have to be quiet.

Footsteps? Coming very, very close. Until they stopped. You hear him bend over, feel his breath on your neck.
“Did you know… that I love games?” a voice whispered. A harsh voice, it creeps into your ear, like a snake. It is a strange thing, to describe a voice to be like a snake. But it is true. Just like a snake, the voice slithers down your spine, wrapping around your body, making you feel numb and confused. It chokes your own voice, your own breath, your own mind.

He moves even closer to you, and rasps, “Let’s play a game.

You are wondering what game. But you don't want to ask. Because deep down, you know the answer. The game where you run, and he chases you.

You shake your head violently. You don't want to play the game. You want to go home. You want to be in bed, dreaming, sleeping.

Safe.

But you're not. Don't you understand? You are not safe, you never were. You thought that by reading this story, by learning about your death, you could prevent it.

But you can't.

And, no matter how hard you try to save yourself, you are not safe. And you have to play the game.