Fear Itself (standard:horror, 3400 words)
Author: A.M. Snead	Added: Sep 24 2002	Views/Reads: 3712/2516	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Six years after the brutal slaying of their best friend, two teenage boys watch the execution of the killer. But when it is over, one boy has reason to believe that some monsters cannot be killed.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

"You know."  Billy whispered with an unsteady gate to his emotionally
charged voice.  "Charley...he was so scared of the Tommyknocker Man." 

"We all were."  Larry interjected carefully.  The Tommyknocker Man.  He
wasn't sure when they had labeled him, it simply seemed to have 
materialized into their vocabulary.  Whether the title had formed from 
the killer's own name- Thomas Narker-  or from some dark conjuration of 
a Stephen King novel, Larry really didn't know.  But in a creepy 
way...it fit. 

Billy shook his head and his arms tightened around himself.  "Charley
came up to me a couple days after Narker was taken away."  He sniffed 
and cleared his throat nervously.  "He said  'I looked into his eyes, 
Billy...I looked into his eyes and I saw the monster'." 

Drawing a deep breath, Larry released it slowly.  But he said nothing as
he stared down at the dirty floor.  A hard dark clump, that might once 
have been someone's bubble gum, stuck firmly to it.  He nudged it with 
the toe of his sneaker.  How could someone sit in this room and chew 
gum?  You couldn't chew gum and remain serious.  The action itself was 
too devil-may-care. 

Billy shifted in his seat.  "Charley said he wasn't a man, but
something...dark and evil.  Not human at all." 

Shaking his head, Larry straightened in his chair.  The seat was hard
and uncomfortable.  "He seemed that way to all of us.  But he's just a 
man, Billy." 

"Charley didn't think so."  Billy rasped.  His face was white as a sheet
and his eyes were drawn.  He looked terminally ill, as if he were 
stricken with some form of cancer.  And maybe, in a sense, he was.  
Maybe Larry himself was too.  And Charley.  And that cancer was fear.  
Fear in its darkest, deadliest form. 

Nothing to fear but fear itself. 

Yeah, well, Larry had heard that one before.  Had heard it time and
again as a child.  But he'd found out different- they all had.  Franky 
most of all. 

"That night in the basement of the butcher shop."  Billy whispered. 
"That's when he saw the thing behind the Tommyknocker Man." 

"He was traumatized, for Pete's sake."  Larry hissed, then clamped his
mouth shut when the other occupants of the room turned to stare at 
them.  He wished Billy would shut up.  This kind of talk was giving him 
the freaking creeps.  Tom Narker was an evil man- how could he be 
anything less when he'd taken Franky and the other kids and skinned 
them alive, leaving only their faces untouched?  Then hanging them up 
on the meat hooks?  God, yes, he was dark and evil. 

But he was still just a man. 

But something had convinced Charley Downing otherwise and that's why
their third party wasn't here- he believed the Tommyknocker Man could 
not be killed. 

Larry Creed didn't want to know the facts behind his friend's reasoning.
 He didn't want to know what Charley had seen that night and he would 
never ask. 

~ Gordon Caine- the FBI agent who had fought to gain admittance for the
two fifteen year olds- had tried to prepare Larry and Billy for what 
they were about to see. 

But as the door behind the glass opened and his and Billy's nerves wound
out tight, Larry knew then and there that Caine's words were just that- 
words.  Meaningless syllables.  Only by personal experience could one 
understand the reality of something like this. 

He stared, not at the shackled man shuffling into the little room, but
at the object that had held his attention from the moment he'd dropped 
into the hard chair next to Billy, the same chair that was steadily 
numbing his butt cheeks. 

In Florida, he'd heard or read somewhere, they called it Old Sparky. 
But most folks simply referred to it as The Chair. 

Larry glanced at Billy;  the other boy's eyes widened as he watched- not
The Chair- but the shackled man being ushered to the center of the 
small room behind the glass.  It was fear bulging his friend's eyes and 
slackening his face.  And he knew that Charley's words from six years 
ago- I looked into his eyes, Billy...I looked into his eyes and I saw 
the monster-  was coursing through the deepest and darkest canals of 
Billy Hatherton's mind.  Larry knew, because the same words were 
rushing through his own head. 

The prison guards removed Tom Narker's shackles. 

Larry stared at the Tommyknocker Man;  his thick black hair had been
shaven down to his scalp.  But that was the only difference about him.  
After six years, that was the only difference. 

A woman two rows in front of Larry and Billy, huddled deep in the strong
and protective embrace of her husband, eerily silent.  The large, 
muscled man holding her looked like a mountain about to crumble.  And 
though Larry couldn't see his face, he knew it was pure hatred in his 
eyes for the prisoner behind the glass, and that no punishment that Tom 
Narker underwent would be painful enough to compensate for the loss of 
their child. 

Everyone in that small room was a parent or relative of one of the
children Narker had skinned and flayed, and a meager six years hadn't 
eased the agony of their loss- just as those meager six years hadn't 
lessened the fear and horror that had haunted Larry, Billy and Charley 
since that day in the basement with the Tommyknocker Man. 

His head bowed, Narker's eyes rose slowly.  He seemed uninterested, even
unaware of the many pairs of hateful eyes glaring at him, silently 
cursing him to an eternity in Hell.  His gaze rested solidly on the two 
boys.  Lusting for our blood, Larry thought with mental agony, our 
souls.  They were the ones who got away...and he wanted them. 

Larry shuddered.  Beside him, Billy whimpered and Larry could feel the
fear that had trapped and tormented them- Charley most of all- for the 
last six years pressing in around them. 

The Tommyknocker Man's restful gaze didn't waver from the two fifteen
year olds as the guards sat him down in the heavy oak chair. 

Larry had read in a story- The Green Mile by Stephen King- that the
reality of a condemned prisoner's fate came to him from the ankles up, 
or something to that effect.  But as Tom Narker's ankles were cinched 
tight to Sparky's oak legs, Larry didn't see so much as a shadow cross 
the man's face. 

He's not afraid, Larry thought uneasily.  Shouldn't he be squeezing out
bricks at this point?  Larry needed to see his fear, feel it wafting 
off him like sweat, see the sweat glistening his face- any damned human 
reaction at all. 

Instead, it was Billy's tension and fear that scorched Larry's left
cheek like a heat wave.  He wondered if Billy would make it through 
this, and prayed the other boy wouldn't leave him here to face this 
nightmare alone. 

Larry gasped and flinched hard when a hand reached out and squeezed his
shoulder with a measure of affection.  Gordon Caine had dropped into 
the seat next to him without the boy even noticing.  There was a look 
of trepidation on the agent's face as if he was suddenly uncertain if 
he should've fought so hard to get them in. 

Truthfully?  Larry wondered too.  Almost wished, in fact, that they'd
been turned away. 

"If you want to change your mind about this."  Caine said softly. 
"Now's the time."  There was a note to the agent's voice that almost 
begged Larry and Billy to walk away now, before they had to see 
something so ugly and disturbing at such a young age.  But hadn't they 
already witnessed the ugly and disturbing?  And at a much younger age- 
nine to be exact?  Hadn't the Butcher of Black Moon County shown them 
Hell in its purest form? 

Still, Larry was tempted;  certainly no one would blame them if they
left now.  He could almost feel Billy urging him to take the escape 
route. 

As he stared at the condemned man, though, he knew this was something he
had to see if he ever hoped to close this chapter of his life.  He had 
to face this fear and prove Charley wrong- that this man was, indeed, 
mortal. 

"I'm staying."  Larry said thickly.  "I have to." 

Gordon nodded in resignation.  "I understand."  He murmured.  "It takes
a lot of courage to face up to your fears so boldly." 

Not everyone in the room, Larry knew, agreed with Caine's belief that he
and Billy had a right to be here.  They could only see that two minors 
were about to witness an execution.  They didn't consider what Larry 
and Billy had went through- what the Tommyknocker Man had put them 
through by forcing them to watch him kill their best friend in the 
worst possible way. 

Somehow, Larry still wasn't certain, he and Billy had escaped the
butcher shop and brought back help.  But Charley hadn't escaped.  He'd 
spent that short time alone with the killer as Tom Narker finished 
Franky.  And it was in that time that Charley came to believe that the 
Tommyknocker Man was the monster of every child's worst nightmare. 

What if he's right and you're wrong? 

Larry shook his head then licked his dry lips;  he didn't want to think
about that now.  Because if Charley was right... 

He let the thought slink away and didn't try to draw it back.  Let it
go, for Pete's sake. 

Tom Narker's arms and legs had been secured with thick leather straps
and, as Larry watched, one of the guards shoved up his left pant leg 
and attached a metal electrode.  The electrodes, Larry had read, helped 
direct the currents of electricity so they didn't just go haywire 
throughout the body, slowly burning the condemned alive. 

The metal skullcap was pressed down over Narker's shaven head and the
chin strap cinched tight.  He was offered a moment for any last words.  
Caine had told them that the truest confessions came at this moment- 
what purpose did a dying man have for lying? 

"What are you?"  Larry whispered shakily, flinching at the sound of his
own voice.  Don't answer that, he thought quickly.  Please, God, I 
don't want to know.  Just let him die. 

A creepy smile curved the prisoner's lips as he stared back at Larry. 
His lips moved and, though Larry knew he couldn't possibly have heard 
the man's words- 

Ask Charley boy 

- from where he sat, an icing of pure terror laced his heart and sent
chills rushing through his veins like blood. 

The Tommyknocker Man's piercing gaze and unnerving smile was suddenly
covered with a leather face mask.  To prevent his eyes from bursting. 

Feeling suddenly nauseous, Larry remembered hearing of an incident where
a man's head caught fire as he fried in the electric chair.  There had 
been some malfunction or something. 

Behind the glass, the guards stepped away from the condemned man as all
eyes flickered to the circular clock high on the wall.  Larry didn't 
look at the clock.  He could feel the eerie smile on the Tommyknocker 
Man's face behind the mask. 

Ask Charley boy. 

There wasn't so much as a nervous twitch of Narker's fingers.  And that
gave Larry the creeps like he'd never had them before. 

As the second hand swept past the witching hour, every eye in the room
dropped to the prisoner as the fatal switch was thrown. 

He felt Billy flinch hard on reflex as Tom Narker jerked violently in
Sparky's lap, his body straining outward against the leather straps.  
Smoke and steam poured out from beneath the metal skullcap. 

Larry's stomach churned as Narker's fingers clenched the end of the
armrest then shot out straight in spasmic reflex, snapping like chicken 
bones as the currents sought escape through the knuckles. 

Every muscle in the man's body seemed to contract as if he were seizing.


"Oh God."  Billy moaned sickly when Narker's eyes suddenly burst behind
the facemask and oozed out the bottom in filmy, sizzling blobs.  Billy 
swung around, nearly stumbling out of his chair, his right foot 
striking out blindly and disheveling the empty chair in front of him as 
he vomited a wreaking, stinking mess on the floor. 

Larry's hands were at his sides, squeezed tightly into fists, causing a
throbbing ache to crawl up his forearms to his elbows.  A pulsing 
thumped in the center of his forehead, as steadily as if someone were 
tapping him a small, ball-tipped hammer.  His bulging eyes were glued 
to the killer as he fried. 

Narker's feet tapped out a rapid, rhythmic jitter on the floor like some
macabre tap dance.  And it was a dark sound that would dance through 
Larry Creed's dreams for years to come. 

A dark stain spread through the Tommyknocker Man's crotch as the
electricity cut short and his body and internal organs relaxed. 

As quickly as it began, it was over and they were staring at a
motionless, smoking corpse.  A prison doctor seemed to appear from 
nowhere, stepping forward and checking for a pulse with a stethoscope.  
He drew back and pronounced the man dead. 

That's when Larry saw it- or thought he saw it;  A faint twitch in the
pinkie finger of the Tommyknocker Man's right hand.  He stared at that 
hand as Billy- white as a ghost and the scent of vomit pouring off him- 
stumbled from his chair and left the room on shaky legs. 

Just a trick of the eye. 

Yeah, Larry thought.  Just a trick of the eye. 

A distant, rancid stench of burning flesh, mingling with the strong
putrid odor of Billy's puke, clogged Larry's nostrils.  His stomach 
lurched dangerously, but he determined not to puke his guts out.  Not 
here, anyway, and not now. 

~ He found Billy outside on the steps, head between his knees, and
dropped down beside him. 

The storm had calmed and now a steady drizzle was all the dark night had
left to drop on them. 

Billy's long, sandy bangs hung down in damp strands, stray bits of hair
glued to his cheeks.  "Sorry, man."  He whispered tightly, clearly 
embarrassed for his lack of control.  He raised his head slightly and 
spit out a lingering remnant of the foul vomit. 

"Forget it."  Larry sighed. 

"He's dead, right?" 

Licking his lips nervously, Larry leaned forward on his knees and stared
down at the wet concrete steps.  A cold wetness was soaking up through 
his faded jeans, chilling the back of his thighs and buttocks. 

"Yeah." 

His pinkie twitched. 

Just a trick of the eye. 

Billy rubbed his palm over his mouth and sucked in a deep, rattled
breath through his nose.  "What did he say...there at the last?"  He 
looked sideways at Larry through a veil of stringy wet hair.  "Did you 
hear?" 

Turning his face up to the dark sky, Larry closed his eyes as the light
rain wet his feverish face.  When he dropped back down, he shook his 
head.  "No, man."  He said quietly.  "I couldn't hear." 

Billy chewed his left thumbnail.  "Let's not do that again." 

"No way in Hell."  Larry whispered unsteadily. 

The two boys rose in unison off the hard steps.  Billy stuffed his hands
deep into the front pockets of his Wrangler Cargo's.  "You were right, 
Lar."  He sniffed.  "He wasn't a monster.  Just a man.  Just a dead 
man, now." 

There was a kind of relief in Billy's voice that hadn't previously been
there. 

Was I?  Larry wondered uneasily.  Was Charley really so wrong about the
Tommyknocker Man? 

"Nothing to fear but fear itself."  Billy grinned shakily. 

And monsters that can't be killed.  Larry kept the frightening thought
to himself.  Let Billy awake from this nightmare, this cold reality 
that Charley- and now himself- was trapped inside of.  Let him live a 
life minus that crippling fear. 

And when the thing hiding behind the Tommyknocker Man came back... Larry
Creed let the dark thought creep off into the dreary, sheltering night. 


He never asked Charley. 

Just a trick of the eye, he chanted to himself until he believed. 

Nothing to fear but fear itself.  That was his last clear thought before
he slammed the book shut on that night. 

Twenty years later it was reopened, quite unexpectedly, with a soft
chant drifting in on a warm summer breeze through the french doors of 
his Santa Ana bungalow.  Flowing in from the back yard where he caught 
the last few lines of his youngest daughter's soft words to Dolly- 
words she couldn't possibly be chanting.  Words that echoed- screamed- 
inside his head. 

Seven, eight, better be afraid. 

Nine, ten, of the Tommyknocker Man. 

~ The End ~ 

1 

9 Snead~ Fear Itself                                                    
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