Fear

by L. Ron Hubbard

  And then Lowry was made almost to cry out. For he saw what they were doing. As the circle of women passed behind the altar, the men would suddenly reach out with clawed hands, and the women, with abruptly lascivious eyes, would glance over the shoulder at the men, and then, with reformed innocence of expression, file past the front of the altar again. The men would jostle and snicker to one another, and then the next time reach out again.

  Sebastian prayed on, his tender eyes upon the square of light.

  Lowry tried to get away, but the floor was so slippery he could hardly stand and could not run. And then he saw what made the floor so slippery. It was an inch thick in blood!

  He screamed.

  Everyone whirled to stare at him. Sebastian stopped praying and bent a kindly smile upon him. All the rest muttered among themselves and pointed and scowled, an undertone of anger growing from them.

  The seven bulls upon the ledge came to life with a bellow. They moved their hoofs and the balls rolled, and it could be seen then that they had had human skulls there. Again they moved their hoofs, and the skulls came tumbling down from the ledge to strike in the midst of the angry mob, felling some of the women and men, but not touching Sebastian.

  Lowry could not run. He could not breathe. The mob was howling with rage now, and evidently thinking he had thrown the skulls, surged forward toward him.

  Just before they reached him he was able to make the incline. As swiftly as he could he raced up it. A sinuous shape shot out and barred his way.

  “Where are you going?”

  Madly Lowry ripped it away and raced on.

  A blow from behind felled him and a voice cried, “Where are you going? You must stay here and see it through!” But Lowry got to his feet and dashed away. He could hear the roar of the mob fading, but he knew that there were other things around him now, flying just above and behind him, striving to dive down and cut off his retreat.

  He crashed into a wall, and then when he rose up and strove to find a way out, there was none. The roar of the mob was growing louder. He tore his hands as he tried to find the exit. Then there were knives flashing, and the cold bite of one against his wrist was instantly warmed by the flow of his own blood. He pitched forward and fell from a height. There was grass in his fingers and moonlight above him, and he leaped up and raced away, running through sand which reduced his speed and made him stumble. He could still hear whirring sounds above and behind him. He was outdistancing the mob, but could he never get free of those shapes?

  “Sebastian!”

  But there was no Sebastian.

  “Sebastian!”

  And just the whir of the things overhead and the blurred glimpses of things that raced with him. The moon was white upon a wide expanse, not unlike a dried-up lake of salt. He was out in the open now, and there was neither hiding place nor refuge. He was out in the open and being hunted by things he could not see, things which wanted to take him back!

  A shadowy shape loomed ahead, still afar. He forced himself to slow down and turn off away from it. There was something about its hat, something about the dark cloak, something about the thing which dangled from its hand—

  Jack Ketch!

  There was a ravine, and he scrambled down it. He crept along its bottom and went deep into a shadowy grove which he found there. Something was calling to him now, but he could not tell what the words were. Something calling which must never, never find him here! There were white mountains around him and high above him, and they offered refuge to him and he went deeper into them.

  The trees were thicker and the grass was soft and protective.

  Something was beating through the bushes in an attempt to locate him, and he lay very still, pressing hard against the earth. The something came nearer and nearer, and the voice was muttering.

  And then the voice receded and the crackling sounds grew fainter and Lowry stretched out at length in the dewy grass, getting his breath. The moonlight made delicate shadow patterns about this place, and the night wind was warm and caressing. He began to breathe quietly, and the hammering of his heart lessened.

  It was an almost triumphant feeling which went through him then. He had not found his lost four hours! He had not found them! He raised himself a trifle and cupped his chin in his hands, staring unseeingly at the white thing just before him.

  He had not found his four hours!

  And then his eyes focused upon the thing before which he lay. He was conscious that he was lying half across a mound, and that there was the fresh smell of flowers too late growing for spring.

  There was writing upon that white stone.

  But what kind of writing?

  He inched a little closer and read:

  JAMES LOWRY

  Born 1901

  Died 1940

  Rest In Peace

  He recoiled.

  He got to his knees and then to his feet. The whole night was spinning and the high, shrill laughter was sounding again and the little dark shape dashed around to get out of his sight.

  With a piercing cry he spun about and raced madly away.

  He had found peace for a moment, peace and rest, before the headstone of his own future grave!

  Chapter Six

  When he awoke the following morning he knew by the position of the sun on the wall that he still had at least half an hour before he had to rise. Usually, when that was the case, he could lie and stretch and inch down in the covers and relish his laziness. But there was something different about this morning.

  A robin was sitting in a tree outside his window, cocking its head first to one side and then to another as it sought to spy worms from that ambitious altitude; now and then the bird would forget about worms and loose a few notes of joyous exuberance, to have them answered from another part of the yard. Somewhere, early as it was, a lawn mower was running, and its peculiarly cheerful whir was augmented by a careless, tuneless whistle. Somewhere a back door slammed and a pup yipped for a moment, and then evidently saw another dog and began a furious fanfare of ferocious warning. Downstairs, Lowry could hear Mary singing in an absent-minded way, going no more than half a chorus to a song he could not quite recognize. On the second-floor hall, just outside his door, he heard a board creak; somehow there was menace in the sound.

  The knob of the door turned soundlessly and a minute crack appeared; another board creaked and a hinge protested in a hushed tone. Lowry half closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, and saw the door come open a trifle more. He became rigid.

  Tommy’s face, crowned by disheveled dark hair, was just beyond the opening, and Tommy’s hand upon the knob glittered with its class ring. Lowry lay still.

  Evidently Tommy was satisfied that Lowry slept, for he crossed the threshold with soundless tread and moved to the foot of the bed. For a little while Tommy stood there, looking out from an immobile face, as though ready to smile and say good morning in case Lowry awoke—and if he did not, then—

  Lowry’s eyes were very nearly shut, enough to deceive an observer but not enough to blank out Tommy. Why, Lowry asked himself, did he lie here faking like this? What strangeness was there about Tommy which bade such a precaution?

  The robin evidently spotted a worm, for he let out a call and dived out of sight toward the lawn. A housewife was calling after a little boy and adding to a hasty grocery order.

  Tommy stayed where he was, studying Lowry, until he seemed quite sure that Lowry still slept, and then, with a glance toward the door as though to make sure that Mary was still downstairs, he came silently up along the side of the bed.

  It was Lowry’s impulse to reach up and snatch at Tommy’s white shirt, but some latent protective sense combined with his curiosity to let matters take their course. Tommy’s hand moved gracefully across Lowry’s eyes—once, and then twice. A numb sensation began to creep over Lowry.

  Now was the time to move. He would awake and greet Tommy— But he couldn’t move. He seemed to be frozen. And Tommy leaned over until their face
s were not three inches apart. For an instant Lowry thought he saw fangs in Tommy’s mouth, but before he could gain a whole impression the teeth had again foreshortened.

  Tommy stayed there for more than a minute and then straightened up, a cold smile taking the beauty from his face. He passed his hand again across Lowry’s forehead and, with a quiet nod, turned and stole out into the hall. The door clicked slowly shut behind him.

  It was some time before Lowry could move, and when he did he was weak. He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling shaky, as a man might who has just given a blood transfusion. When he had assembled enough energy he approached the mirror and, gripping the bureau top with both hands, stared at himself.

  His eyes were so far sunken in his head beneath his shaggy brows that he could barely make out his own pupils; his hair was matted; his face seemed to have lost a certain pugnacity with which he had always attempted to compensate for his shyness; obviously he had lost a great deal of weight, for his cheeks were sunken, and a pallor as gray as the belly of a rain cloud gave him a shock, so much did it cause him to resemble a dead man.

  He forgot the cost of his exertions and swiftly tried to wipe out the ravages of nerve strain by carefully shaving and bathing and grooming, and when he again looked into the mirror, tying his cravat, he was a little heartened.

  After all, here it was a fresh spring day. Devil take Jebson; the old fool would be dead long before James Lowry. Devil take the four hours; as the knight had said, what were four hours? Devil take the phantoms which had assailed him. He had courage enough and strength enough to last them out. He had too much courage and willpower to cause him to back down upon his original assertions in the article. Let them do their worst!

  He trotted down the steps, buttoning his jacket, holding up his spirits with an effort which resembled the use of physical strength. The dark thing was just beside and behind him, and the high, shrill laughter sounded in the distance, but he was determined not to give them the satisfaction of heed. Despite them, he would carry on and act as he had always acted. He would greet Mary and Tommy with pleasantness, and he would lecture his class as dryly and lengthily as ever.

  Mary looked him askance at first, and then, seeing that he was apparently much better, threw her arms about his neck and gave him her cheery good-morning kiss. Tommy was already seated at the table.

  “See?” said Mary. “You can’t hurt the old block of granite. He’s chipper as ever.”

  “Darned if you aren’t,” said Tommy. “By the way, Jim, eleven-thirty at night isn’t exactly the time for a stroll. Hope you kept out of trouble.”

  He felt a momentary resentment toward Tommy for mentioning it. It was as though Tommy himself wished to keep these hateful events before his eyes. But then Tommy was asking in a very friendly way which could involve no harm. Still—that strange visit, and—

  “Here’s your breakfast,” said Mary, setting a plate of ham and eggs before him. “You don’t have to hurry, but I’d advise you to start now.”

  Lowry smiled at her and seated himself at the head of the board. He took up his knife and fork, still thinking about Tommy. He started to take a bite of eggs—

  Ever so gently, the plate moved.

  Lowry glanced to see if Tommy or Mary had noticed. Evidently they hadn’t. Again he started to take a mouthful of eggs.

  Again the plate went slightly from side to side.

  He laid down his fork.

  “What’s the matter?” said Mary.

  “I . . . I guess I’m not very hungry.”

  “But you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday!”

  “Well—” Bravely he took up his fork. Slowly the plate moved. And as he stared at it he was aware of something else.

  When he was not looking at Tommy he could see from the corner of his eyes that Tommy seemed to have fangs. He stared straight at the man, but there was nothing extraordinary about Tommy’s mouth. He must be imagining things, thought Lowry. He again bent over his plate.

  But there could be no doubt about the validity of that impression. The second he took his eyes from Tommy’s face, Tommy possessed yellow fangs which depressed the outside of his lower lip!

  The plate moved.

  The little dark thing scuttled behind him.

  Somewhere the high, shrill laughter sounded.

  With all his courage exerted, Lowry managed to sit still. He looked at his plate. As long as he did not try to touch it, it was perfectly quiet.

  Then he saw something else. When he took his eyes away from Mary, she seemed to have fangs not unlike Tommy’s!

  He stared at her, but her face was its own sweet self.

  He looked away.

  Mary’s mouth was marred by those yellow fangs!

  If he could only see their mouths looking straight at them! Then he could be sure!

  The dark thing scuttled out of sight.

  He tried to eat and the plate moved.

  He sprang back from the table, upsetting his chair. Mary looked at him with frightened eyes. Tommy, too, got up.

  “I’ve got to see somebody before my first class,” said Lowry in a carefully schooled voice.

  He looked at Tommy and saw Mary’s fangs. He looked at Mary and she was herself, but he could see Tommy’s fangs.

  Hurriedly he went out into the hall and snatched up his topcoat, aware that Tommy had followed him and was getting into his. Mary stood before him and looked wonderingly up into his face.

  “Jim, is there something I should know about? You can trust us, Jim.”

  He kissed her and seemed to feel the fangs he could not wholly see. “I’m all right, dear. Don’t worry about me. There’s nothing wrong.”

  She plainly did not believe him, and she was thinking furiously, for it was not until he was at the bottom of the steps—and glad to find the walk solid—that she called, “Your hat, Jim!”

  He waved at her and strode out to the street. Tommy found it difficult keeping up with him.

  “Jim, old boy, what’s the matter with you?”

  When he wasn’t looking at Tommy he could see those fangs very clearly—and a sly, meaningful look on Tommy’s face. “There’s nothing the matter.”

  “But there is, Jim. You leave the table last night and then, at eleven or eleven-thirty, or whatever it was, you go chasing forth as though possessed by a thousand devils, and now you fling away from the table. There’s something you aren’t telling me, Jim.”

  “You know the answer,” said Jim sullenly.

  “I . . . I don’t get you.”

  “You were the one that started telling me about demons and devils.”

  “Jim,” said Tommy, “you think I have something to do with what is happening to you?”

  “I’m almost sure of it.”

  “I’m glad you said ‘almost,’ Jim.”

  “There was that drink, and then everything went black for four hours and I lost—”

  “Jim, there’s no poison or anything in the world that could cause such a blankness and leave no effect. Grant me that, Jim.”

  “Well—”

  “And you know it,” said Tommy. “Whatever is happening to you has nothing whatever to do with me.”

  “Well—”

  “Let’s not quarrel, Jim. I only want to help you.”

  Jim Lowry was silent, and they walked on in silence. Lowry was hungry now, and ahead the diner was full of clamor and the smell of coffee. He tried not to remember what had happened to him here yesterday.

  “You go on,” said Jim to Tommy. “I’ve got to see somebody in there.”

  “As you say, Jim. Will I see you at lunch?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Tommy nodded to him and strode away. Lowry went in and perched himself on a stool.

  “Well!” said Mike, relieved that he had not lost a customer through his garrulousness. “What’ll it be, sir?”

  “Ham and eggs,” said Jim Lowry.

  He was relieved to find that this plate
did not move. And it began to be born in him that Tommy must have quite a bit to do with what was happening to him. He ate like a starved man.

  Half an hour later he entered his classroom. It was good to be in such a familiar place, good to stand up here on the platform and watch the students pass the door in the hall. Presently they would come in here and he would begin to drone along on the subject of ancient beliefs in ancient civilizations and perhaps, after all, everything was right with the world.

  He glanced around to see if everything was in place, if the board was clean for his notes—

  He stared at the board behind the platform. That was strange. These were always washed over the weekend. What was that sentence doing there?

  “You are the Entity. Wait for us in your office.”

  What curious script it was! Not unlike that note he had gotten in some way, but this he could very clearly read. Entity? You are the Entity? What could that be about? Wait in his office? For whom? For what? A sick feeling of impending disaster began to take hold of him. What trick was this? He snatched up an eraser and furiously rubbed back and forth across the message.

  At first it would not erase, and then, slowly, when he wiped across the first word, it vanished. Then the second, the third, the fourth! It was erasing now! He finished it so thoroughly that no slightest mark of it was left.

  And then, first word, second word, letter by letter with slow cadence, appeared once more. He began to quiver.

  Again he grabbed the eraser and rubbed the message out. Slowly, letter by letter, it appeared again.

  “You are the Entity. Wait for us in your office.”

  He flung the eraser away from him just as the first two students entered. He wondered what they would think about the message. Perhaps he could trump up some excuse, include it in the lesson— No, pupils were used to weird statements on blackboards, holdovers from past classes. He had better ignore it completely.