Fear

by L. Ron Hubbard

  “No, I do not frighten you, do I?”

  “What . . . what are you?” said Lowry.

  “Why, a child, of course. Have you no eyes?” And pensively, then, “You know, you are a very handsome-looking man, Mr. Lowry. So big and rough—” A dreamy look came into her eyes and her small pink tongue flicked out to dampen her lips convulsively.

  “You wrote that message?”

  “No. But I come to tell you about it. You are quite sure now, Mr. Lowry, that you do not want to find your hat?”

  “No!”

  “It was a very pretty hat.”

  “I never want to see it again.”

  She smiled and leaned back languorously, her little shoes making occasional thumps against the side of the desk. She yawned and stretched and then looked long at him. The full little lips quivered and the pink tongue flicked. With a seeming effort she brought herself to business.

  “If you are through with all such nonsense and disbelief in us,” she began, “and if you will aid us against the others, then I shall tell you something you should be glad to hear. Are you?”

  Lowry hesitated and then nodded. He felt very weary.

  “You visited your friend, Tommy Williams, just before you lost your four hours, didn’t you?”

  “You probably know more about it than I,” said Lowry with bitterness.

  For a moment she laughed, and Lowry started as he recognized the sound which had been near him so many hours. He looked studiously at her and found that her image seemed to pulsate and that the black aura expanded and contracted like some great unclean thing breathing.

  She swung her little princess slippers against the desk and continued. “Tommy Williams told you the truth. You offered us a challenge and said we did not exist, and we know more about you than you do. You see, all this was scheduled, anyway. Every few generations, Mr. Lowry, we even up accounts with mankind. Such a period has just begun. And you, Mr. Lowry, are invested with control, for we must have a human control.”

  She smiled and dimples appeared in her soft cheeks. She smoothed out her dress with little-girl gestures, and then, looking at him, she drummed her heels.

  “That is what we mean by ‘Entity,’ Mr. Lowry. You are the Entity, the center of control. Usually all life, at fleeting instants, takes turns in passing this along. Now perhaps you have, at one time in your life, had a sudden feeling, ‘I am I’? Well, that awareness of yourself is akin to what men call godliness. For an instant nearly every living thing in this world has been the one Entity, the focal point for all life. It is like a torch being passed from hand to hand. Usually, innocent little children such as myself are invested, and so it is that a child ponders much upon his own identity.”

  “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “Why,” she said demurely, “I am telling you that this is a period when we choose an Entity and invest that function in just one man. Your Tommy Williams, I believe, knows about it. So long as you live, then the world is animated. So long as you walk and hear and see, the world goes forward. In your immediate vicinity, you understand, all life is concentrating upon demonstrating that it is alive. It is not. Others are only props for you. This would have happened to you a long time ago, but it was difficult to achieve communication with you. You are the Entity, the only living thing in this world.”

  The globe of darkness around her pulsated gently. She touched her dainty little hands to her white hair ribbon and then folded them in her lap. She looked fixedly at Lowry, and that slow look of the wanton came into her eyes and her lips parted a little. Her breath quickened.

  “What . . . what am I expected to do?” said Lowry.

  “Why, nothing. You are the Entity.”

  “Hhee iiss tthhee EEnntiitty!” growled a chorus of voices in other parts of the room.

  “But why do you tell me?”

  “So that nothing will worry you, and so that you will do nothing rash. You are afraid of Tommy Williams. Well, Tommy Williams, as well as Jebson and Billy Watkins, is just a prop which you motivate yourself.”

  “Then how is it that this morning he came to me and leaned over me and stared at my face and I could not move?”

  She tensed. “What is this he did?”

  “Just stared into my face. And I keep seeing fangs when I don’t look at him directly—”

  “Oh!” she cried in shocked pain. “Then it is impossible!”

  “Iitt iiss iimmppoossiibbllee!” chorused the growls.

  “It’s too late,” she stated finally. “There is nothing you can do. Tommy Williams is the leader of the others. And you must somehow settle accounts with Tommy Williams.”

  “Why?”

  “He has already taken from you a part of your soul substance.”

  “He was here just a few minutes ago.”

  “Every time he sees you he’ll try to take some! You must prevent it!”

  “How?” cried Lowry.

  But the little child was gone, and the black aura turned darker and began to vanish at the top until it seemed like a small, round black thing. With a smoke puff it was gone!

  “How?” shouted Lowry.

  Only the echo of his own voice against his own walls answered him. And when he fixed his eyes upon the broken spot in the plaster, it was just a broken spot with no resemblance whatever to either a face or anything else.

  What had that thing been?

  Where was it now?

  Lowry buried his face in his arms.

  When the twelve-o’clock bell rang, Lowry got up more from force of habit than from any wish to leave his office. A gnawing ache of apprehension was suffused through his being as though he subconsciously expected a blow to smash him at any moment from the least expected quarter. With effort he put the feeling down; he squared his shoulders and slipped into his topcoat and strode forth with watchful eyes. But there was another feeling which was gradually coming toward recognition in him, a feeling that nothing could touch him. And as the first one was stamped out, the second one rose. It was not unlike a religious fanatic’s trust in a personally interested god, a thing which seemed very foreign to Lowry. And as he walked through the hurrying crowds of students in the halls and down the stairs, he began to be conscious of his own size and strength.

  He was, after all, a big fellow, but, being of a very shy nature, he had never taken much notice of the fact, thinking of his person, rather, as being somewhat underweight and undersize—without really thinking about the matter at all. Some of the athletes of the college came past him in a group, and he noticed, almost smiling, that he was taller and heavier than they. Odd he had never taken that personal quality of his into account. It was like finding a gold mine or having a beautiful woman suddenly confess her love, or hearing a million people stand up and cheer themselves into exhaustion for one.

  Outside, a student had taken a seat upon the steps so that the penetrating languor of sunlight could caress his back; in his hands he held a newspaper. As Lowry passed him he wondered for a moment what was going on in the world and so glanced at the sheet.

  For an instant he wondered if he were going blind.

  There wasn’t any printing on the paper.

  It was just a white sheet, but for all that the student seemed to be reading it with avidity!

  Lowry, troubled a little, went on. But as he walked, the exhilaration of exercise restored the pleasant feeling within him, and he gradually forgot about the newspaper. Several small groups of students were standing along the walk, chattering among themselves. A man was pushing a lawn mower industriously. A boy was trotting along with a yellow telegraph envelope in his hand.

  Suddenly Lowry had a strange feeling about things, as though something was happening behind him which he should know about. He stopped and whirled around.

  The boy had stopped trotting, but started instantly. The man at the lawn mower had paused but was now mowing again. The little crowds of students had ceased gesticulating and laughing for the smallest fraction of time bu
t instantly went to it once more.

  Lowry pondered the matter as he walked on. Perhaps there was something happening in his head, like false memory. Certainly it was just his imagination which led him to believe that things had paused outside his observation.

  Old Billy Watkins, up earlier than usual, came limping by. He paused and touched his cap. “You feelin’ better today, Ji— Professor Lowry?”

  “Much better, thanks.”

  “Well, take care of yourself, Jim—Professor Lowry.”

  “Thanks, Billy.”

  Lowry walked on, and then again he had that feeling. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. Old Billy Watkins was standing like a limp scarecrow, but as soon as Lowry really noticed it, Old Billy went on swinging down the street. And the man at the lawn mower and the messenger and the students—they had all stopped, too, only to resume under Lowry’s glance.

  That was very strange, thought Lowry.

  And something else which was strange awaited him when he continued on his way. A horse-drawn cart had been plodding along on his right, and both the horse and the cart had paused in mid-action when he looked away, only to start plodding along again under his scrutiny.

  He had reached the small café where the professors generally took their luncheon. He opened the door upon silence. No clatter of knives and forks, no rattle of dishes, no jangle of talking. Silence. But only for an instant. Lowry stepped into the café and the rattling and clattering and jangling started in full blast like a soundtrack clipped on halfway through. Other than that, there was nothing unusual about the place. Other professors called to him in greeting, and the sprinkling of students nodded politely, and he was forced into a chair.

  “Damn shame what Jebson did to you,” said a young professor in disgust. Somebody evidently kicked him, for a spasm of pain went across his face to be swiftly erased. “I still think it’s a shame.”

  “Chicken salad sandwich and a glass of milk,” said Lowry to the waiter.

  He talked, then, with the men at his table about the petty subjects of the campus and told them an anecdote about his latest trip to Yucatàn. The feeling of self-possession, coupled with an “allness” of being, put him quite at ease. And a little later, when they were breaking up, he was aware of the fact that he had made his friendship with these fellows a little closer. But there had been something odd about this place all during lunch. He had, several times, attempted to listen in upon the talk at the table behind him, but it had all been sounds; just a jumble of sounds.

  It occurred to him that this was Monday and he experienced a feeling of relief. He would not have to lecture again today, for his heavy days were Tuesday and Thursday. He could go out and walk around and enjoy the clear sunshine and forget about these things which had happened to him.

  The place was almost empty when he left. He stood for a second outside the door, wondering which way he should go. And then it struck him that all was not well with this familiar street.

  Two cars were at a standstill in the traffic lane, their drivers apparently asleep over their wheels. A kid on a bike was leaning inertly against a tree. Three students were slumped at the curb.

  These people must be dead!

  But no. No, the drivers were sitting up straight now and the cars were getting in motion. The kid on the bike was pedaling away in a rush. The three students grabbed up their books and casually strolled toward the campus.

  Lowry turned around and looked inside the café. The cashier was sprawled over the glass case beside the register. A waiter was poised in the middle of the room with one foot in the air and a tray of dishes balanced on his palm. A late diner was almost face down in his soup. Lowry took an inadvertent step toward them.

  The waiter began to move smoothly. The cashier scribbled at a pad. The late diner began to make a great deal of noise over the soup.

  Puzzled, Lowry turned away from the college and went on down the street. What was happening to him now?

  He stopped at a newsdealer’s stand and bought a paper. There was nothing wrong with the newsdealer, for the old man did his usual trick of stalling to keep the customer from asking for the two pennies change he should get.

  Discarding the evidences he had witnessed, Lowry went along. He looked at the paper. It did not particularly amaze him that this one, too, was blank, but he felt a kindling of wrath against the newsdealer. He whirled and marched back to the stand. Another man had been standing there buying a paper, but now both the customer and the newsdealer were without motion, slumped across the stand. They did not go into action until Lowry was almost upon them and then, casually, they transacted their business. But Lowry noticed that the customer’s paper was also blank. Disgustedly, Lowry tossed his own paper upon the street and returned to his way.

  Lowry wandered along in a northerly direction, taking a course which would soon lead him out of town; for he felt a craving for the quieting comfort of a stream in which he had long ago swum and the sound of a breeze in the willows which flanked it. Other manifestations, just enough apparent to make him wonder at them, were met on the way, people and beasts and birds which went into action a moment late. He was convinced that he was seeing late or that his mind, being wearied by the events of the two days past, was not registering instantaneously. He did not much worry until he reached the place where he had intended to rest. It had occurred to him belatedly that the spot was now the site of a cellulose factory; but, as he approached, no sign of factory or factory smoke was marring the sky.

  He found the place beside the pool in which he used to dive in defiance of a sign which read: City Water Supply. Do Not Contaminate. He stretched himself out in the cool grass and felt the sun upon him. How satisfying it was to come here and yet how different he was from the boy who had lazed in this cover throughout the long vacations. Little by little he slipped into a languorous happiness and idly reviewed the things he had thought and done as a kid in overalls. Then he had been in awe of his father, and now he was as his father had been, a professor at Atworthy.

  The thought amused him that he was the image of his own early awe, and he dwelt at length upon what he would have said to the boy in overalls who had lain long hours in this very spot, how he would have told him that the mystery of the elder world was no mystery at all, but an uncertain sort of habit of dignity, perhaps grown out of the image of youth, perhaps as an excuse for diminished physical vigor, perhaps as a handy shield by which one could hold off the world. How little that boy need have worried, after all. The state of being “grown up” was a state beset by as many worries, and just as false, as those of childhood.

  After a little he became aware of a swift hammering sound and the snarl of a truck engine. He tried to put the invasion aside, but it persisted and grew in volume and activity until his curiosity was aroused. What was going on in this vicinity?

  He got up and peered through the willows, catching a glimpse of a half-finished wall. What was that? He moved out of hiding and was astonished to see two hundred or more workmen carrying materials and hammering nails and laying bricks with a speed which excelled anything he had ever before seen. A factory was going up a foot at a time, yard, mud, tanks, stacks, wire gates and all! And what a sweat of rushing! He drifted nearer and was conscious of the eyes of workmen upon him. The men, as soon as they glimpsed him, looked bewildered. A foreman began to bray curses at them. And within a minute, the factory was done. The workmen promptly dived in through the doors and came out bearing lunch boxes and then, as though this was wrong, the foreman flayed into them anew and a whistle blew and a siren whooped and the workmen sped inside again to send out a great clamor of machinery and the roar of steam. The plant was going full blast. The willows had vanished. The stream of yesterday was a concrete aqueduct!

  Dazed, Lowry turned his back upon the place and strode swiftly toward the town. He was beginning to feel a nausea of concern about these events. How did his own appearance so affect conditions?

  The world continued to lag for him
as he entered the town. People were still until he was in sight and then they moved, just as if they were props in an artificial scene.

  A suspicion took form in him and he suddenly changed his course. What about all these houses?

  What about them?

  When he got halfway down a block that he had never traversed in his memory, he stepped abruptly into an alleyway.

  Just as he had expected. These houses had fronts but no backs! They were sets!

  He went on down the alley and here and there people made belated attempts to complete the false fronts and give them false backs, but they were fumbling and bewildered, as though Lowry’s presence and appearance set their knees to knocking.

  What of the main street? He had never been in many of the stores. Feeling he had to put this thing to complete test, he hurried along, unmindful of the effect he seemed to have upon these puppets.

  He rounded a block of the main thoroughfare of the town, but just before he turned the corner a terror-stricken voice reached him:

  “Jim! Jim! Jim! Oh, my God! Jim!”

  He leaped around the corner and halted, appalled. The whole avenue was littered with apparently dead people. They were sprawled against steering wheels and in the gutters. They were leaning stiffly against storefronts. The traffic cop was a rag draped about his signal. A two-horse team was down in the traces and the farmer on the box was canted over, slack-jawed as a corpse. And through this tangled carpet of props ran Mary. Her hat was gone and her hair was wild and her eyes were dilated with horror.

  He called to her and she almost fell with relief. Sobbing, arms outstretched, she threw herself upon him and buried a tear-streaked face upon his breast.

  “Jim!” she sobbed. “Oh, my God! Jim!”

  As he smoothed down her hair with a gentle hand, he watched the street come to life and resume the petty activity with which he was so familiar. The cop blew his whistle and swung his signal, and the horses leaped up and began to pull, and the farmer took a chew and spat. Buyers and sellers bought and sold and there was not one thing wrong with the whole street. But Jim knew that if he looked behind him those people who now passed him would be stopped again, slumped, their puppet strings slack.