Childhood Fears

by L. L. Soares

  Michael wouldn’t let go of my hand until we reached the bed. He loomed over me, waiting, while I crawled beneath the covers, careful not to touch the bear. I prayed Michael wouldn’t read me a bedtime story. I didn’t think I could handle that, but I needn’t have worried. He bent down so his face was close to mine, so close our noses were almost touching. Oh God, is he going to give me a goodnight kiss? It took every bit of willpower I had not to pull the covers over my face. If I were rude to him, Mom would never let me hear the end of it.

  “Listen, kid, I know you don’t like me, and you’re not exactly my choice for son of the year either.”

  I was shocked by his words, and suddenly frightened. This was the first time my stepfather had told me how he really felt. The cheerful tone he used around my mother had been replaced by a threatening growl.

  “But we’re stuck with each other, and if we can’t be father and son, we can at least try to get along and maybe be friends, okay?”

  I cringed back into my pillow in an attempt to put a little more space between his face and mine. Was he crazy? I would never think of him as a friend, ever.

  Satisfied by my response, or maybe just by my fear, Michael straightened. “Edgar means a lot to me, so I hope you treat him well. If you don’t…well…let’s just say I’ll know.”

  He walked to my door and shut off the light, leaving me in the dark.

  Chapter Three

  Scuttling to the far side of the bed, I pulled the covers to my chin and closed my eyes. I tried not to think about Edgar sitting on the other side of my pillow, leering into the dark. In a funny way Michael had helped distract me, because he’d given me a lot of other stuff to think about.

  A tear formed in the corner of my eye and trickled over the bridge of my nose onto my pillow. My heart ached for my dad. Dad would never have let anyone talk to me like that, and if he’d still been around, Mom wouldn’t have looked twice at Michael. In a weird way, she’d actually met Michael through Dad—Michael owned the funeral home where we’d held Dad’s service. Even then, I hadn’t liked him. He’d followed Mom around, asking too many questions, and whenever she’d cried and he’d tried to comfort her, his hugs had lasted a little too long.

  But it still hurt to know he didn’t like me. No grown-up had ever said anything like that to me before, and as I thought about it, the tears came faster. I buried my face in the pillow so Michael wouldn’t hear, wouldn’t know how much his words had bugged me. And then something happened that made me stop feeling sorry for myself.

  Something touched the back of my neck.

  I bolted upright with a screech, slapping wildly at my bare skin. There was nothing there, but as I sat up, I’d felt something fall over to rest against my hip. I was pretty sure I knew what it was.

  Flicking on the lamp, I covered my eyes until they stopped stinging. And then I sat that way for a moment longer. I knew what I’d find when I took my hand away. I knew, but I didn’t want to see it.

  Don’t be silly. It’s only a toy, and toys can’t touch you. You were moving, and he fell against you. That’s all.

  I peeked through two fingers and there he was. Edgar was resting against my side like he was snuggled in for the night.

  I could have sworn that damn bear was grinning at me.

  Sliding out of bed, I pinched one of his ears and ran with him to the closet. This time I buried him even deeper under the pile of clothes, and shoved the whole mess far to the back. Michael would have to work harder to find him this time.

  Only when Edgar was safely in the closet could I get back in bed, but I kept the light on. No matter how tightly I gathered the blankets around me, I couldn’t get warm.

  Edgar stayed in the closet for two days, and I was finally able to sleep again. Maybe everything had been my imagination after all. Even Michael acted like nothing had happened between us, like he hadn’t said that terrible thing about not wanting me for a son. He seemed to be in an extra good mood. He cooked pancakes for breakfast, making sure my bacon was crispy, just the way I liked it. The day after he gave me the bear, he came home with a bouquet of yellow roses for my mom. Yellow roses were her favorite, and she was so happy I decided it was only right that I try to be happy too. She’d been so sad after Dad died—why wreck her one little bit of joy? I tried not to think that Michael had probably taken the roses from someone else’s coffin.

  On the third day, I had a friend over to play. His name was Sean. He wasn’t my best friend—that would be Tom, but Tom had been acting weird since my father died. He’d really loved my dad, who used to take us both on fishing and camping trips. Mom said Tom probably didn’t know what to say to me, but that made no sense. He didn’t have to say anything in order to come over and play. He only had to show up.

  If Tom wasn’t around, I hung out with Sean. I liked Sean okay, but I didn’t ask him over much because my mother didn’t approve of what she called “his language”. I think that was because Sean tended to swear. A lot.

  “Holy Judith, Mother of Hell,” Sean cried when he walked into my room. (Most of Sean’s swears didn’t make any sense.) “What in the blazing ass is this?”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but when I saw he was pointing to my bed, I instantly understood. It was Edgar, glaring at me from my own pillow. The flesh on my arms tightened into goose bumps, and I suppressed a shudder.

  “You’re sleeping with fricking teddy bears now?” Sean’s eyes gleamed, and I knew he thought he’d hit the kids’ version of a jackpot—something he could use to tease and embarrass me for the rest of my life.

  “No, it’s a dumb joke of my stepfather’s,” I said. Thankfully, my pajama top was still lying on the bed. I threw it over Edgar and gathered it around the bear, scooping up the top into a makeshift bag that I threw into my closet. Sean watched me with curiosity.

  “What was that about?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t like to touch it, that’s all. I don’t like the way it feels.”

  “Can’t blame you there. That is one ugly-ass bear.”

  I had a great time with Sean that afternoon. He used almost every toy I had, and even some stuff that wasn’t toys, to construct the biggest Matchbox track of all time. The track went around and around my room, guiding the little cars through dominos and a running shoe and even Darth Vader. Even though it was the most fun I’d had in a long time, I was eager for Sean to leave. Finally I pleaded a stomachache so he wouldn’t invite himself over for dinner, as he often did. I wanted to talk to my mom before Michael got home. Usually they were home from work around the same time, but today was Saturday and Michael had a funeral, so I’d be able to talk to her in private.

  “Is it a stabbing pain or an ache?” Mom asked once Sean had left, and for a moment I was confused. Then I realized my friend must have told her about my “stomachache” on the way out.

  I shrugged. “Just an ache, I guess.”

  She touched my forehead, feeling for fever. It usually drove me crazy when she was overprotective, but now I was grateful for the attention. It had been so long since I’d had her all to myself.

  “Why don’t you go up and lie down, and I’ll bring you some TUMS.”

  “Mom, I…” I took a deep breath. “I need to talk to you.”

  She smiled faintly, distracted. “Of course. I’ll be up in a minute, and we’ll talk then.”

  I thought of Edgar in the closet, listening to our conversation. My stomach lurched. Maybe I really was sick.

  “Can we talk here? It’s important.”

  Mom pulled up a chair at the kitchen table. “Of course. What’s this about, Josh?”

  “Well…” I checked the front window, making sure Michael wasn’t strolling up the walk. “It’s Michael. He keeps going in my room.”

  I knew those words would get her attention. My mom was a firm believer in a person’s right to privacy, ev
en if that person was a kid. As long as I made sure my room wasn’t a disaster, Mom had promised she would never go through my stuff. She was pretty cool that way.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How can you tell?”

  I told her about Edgar, and how I kept hiding him in the closet, only to find him on my pillow. Mom sighed as I spoke, shaking her head slightly. Once I was quiet again, she reached across the table for my hand and gave it a little squeeze.

  “Josh, I know this has been tough on you. It’s been a big adjustment for both of us, having Michael move in. But it’s been hard on Michael too—he just wants to be your friend. I don’t like that he’s been going through your things, and I’ll speak to him about that, but can’t you keep the bear on your bed? It means so much to him, and I’m sure you don’t really care one way or another.”

  The last thing I wanted to do was let her down, but this was my one chance to tell her how I felt without Michael looming over us with his sharky smile. “I really don’t like it, Mom. It creeps me out. I can’t sleep with it—it’ll give me nightmares. Can you get Michael to take it back?”

  She studied my face. Often it seemed like she could read my mind, but not today. “Can’t you give him a chance? He’s trying.”

  “This isn’t about Michael, Mom—it isn’t, I promise. It’s just the bear. I really don’t like the bear. Will you please ask him if he’ll take it back?”

  A strange expression clouded her features, and she too glanced out the window to make sure the coast was clear. That was the trouble with funerals—you never knew how long they were going to last. At any moment, Michael could be home again.

  I was surprised to see that she seemed nervous. What was she afraid of? Michael was her husband. She loved him…didn’t she?

  “To be honest,” she said, lowering her voice even though we were the only people in the house, “I don’t like that bear, either. It looks…evil.”

  I gaped at her in shock. My mother was a religious, God-fearing woman. She didn’t use the word evil lightly. In fact, I didn’t think I’d ever heard her say it before.

  She studied me for another moment and then made up her mind. “Okay, I’ll ask him to take it back. I’m not sure what I’m going to say, but I’ll think of something that won’t hurt his feelings too much.” Her brow wrinkled in concern. “You don’t look well. You should rest. Will you be okay with the bear for now, or do you want me to take it until Michael gets home?”

  A ripple of fear coursed through my body. It was so strong that it nearly knocked me to my knees. “No, don’t take it!” I yelled. It was something about the bear, about Edgar and my mother. As crazy as it was, I knew I had to protect her from Edgar. I could never leave her alone with that thing.

  Mom took a step back at my reaction and her face went pale, but she recovered quickly. “All right, then, we’ll leave it where it is. You go lie down now, and I’ll bring you those TUMS.”

  I thought of Edgar and his sinister grin, Edgar’s yellow eyes glowing in the darkness of my closet, and shivered. And what if it was worse? What if the bear was on my bed again? Michael wasn’t here to pin the blame on this time. If I walked into my room and saw Edgar on my bed, I’d die.

  “Can I stay in the living room?”

  It may have been my imagination, but I swear Mom was relieved. “I think that’s a good idea,” she said.

  By the time Michael got home, I was feeling much better. Mom had placed a cold cloth on my forehead and let me drink all the ginger ale I wanted. She’d put on my favorite cartoons too. As long as I didn’t have to be alone with the bear, I was happy.

  When I heard the back door open, I put down my glass and laid my head on the cushions. I could hear Mom talking to Michael in low tones out in the kitchen, and I knew exactly what they were talking about—Edgar. Closing my eyes, I pretended to be asleep. I stayed that way until they were done talking, even when I heard Michael come into the room and walk up to the couch.

  I could hear him breathing. His eyes were burning a hole in my face. I could feel him watching me for a minute, or five, ten—maybe twenty years. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I let my eyes flutter open, trying to make it seem like I had just woken up.

  Michael’s features were twisted into an expression of hatred so ugly that I gasped. I knew then that he wasn’t trying to be my friend—that he didn’t and had never liked me. At that moment, I wasn’t sure if he liked my mother.

  When he saw I was awake, that terrible sneer vanished so quickly that I wondered if I’d seen it at all. It was replaced by his usual bland expression. “I understand you’ve been having some problems with Edgar,” he said in that cheerful way of his, but it gave me the creeps. Why did he insist on talking about that bear as if it were a person?

  He leaned close to me then, so close I could smell the sourness of cigars on his breath. Michael often enjoyed a smoke with his grieving clients. Mom didn’t approve, but what could she do? Michael insisted the smoking was important for his business.

  “I told you not to put him in the closet,” he said. “Edgar likes to sleep in a proper bed.”

  I inched away from him, squeezing myself as far into the cushions as I could, trying to put some distance between his stale cigar breath and me.

  “You shouldn’t have gone through my closet,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as scared as I felt. “My room is private.”

  He smirked. “I think we both know I didn’t go in your closet. You do know that, don’t you, Josh?”

  Just as I was about to put my hands over my ears and scream, my mother appeared. “Is anything wrong?”

  Michael straightened, giving her one of his big phony smiles. “Of course not. Josh was just telling me he’s feeling much better. Isn’t that right, Josh?”

  I nodded, feeling trapped but not knowing what else to do.

  “Well, that’s wonderful. Josh, Michael would like Edgar back. Do you think you could go get him?”

  Even my phys-ed teacher had never seen me move so fast. My heart was pounding when I got to the end of the hallway, but when I opened the door, no horrible face stared back at me. Edgar had stayed where I’d left him.

  I used the T-shirt trick again, wrapping the cotton fabric as if it were a shroud. Holding the bundle out in front of me, I hurried back down the hall, comforted to see that my mother was waiting in the living room with Michael. I felt safer with her there. Michael would never do anything crazy or scary as long as she was a witness.

  Thrusting the wrapped bundle at him, I felt an incredible sense of relief when my stepfather’s hands reached for it and lifted it out of my grasp.

  Michael gently unwrapped the bear’s face and cradled the teddy in his arms. My stepfather suddenly looked like the world’s biggest toddler.

  As soon as Mom left the room, the sneer returned to my stepfather’s face. “Edgar only wanted to be your friend, but now you’ve gone and made him angry.”

  The bear seemed to tilt in his arms so Edgar’s luminous yellow eyes could remain focused on me. “You really shouldn’t have done that,” Michael said. “When Edgar gets mad, he always gets even.”

  Chapter Four

  I didn’t sleep well that night. I dreamed of a bear with a snarling face and glowing yellow eyes. It lunged for me, its claws real and lethal amid the fuzzy fake fur of its paws. In my nightmare, it didn’t matter how fast I ran. It caught me again and again, latching onto my throat and killing me.

  I’d push the unsettling images out of my head, only to have them start again. The nightmare always began the same way, with the bear whispering my name.

  “Josh…Josh…Jaaawwwwossssh…”

  My eyes flew open. My forehead was slick with sweat, and I was panting like a trapped animal. I pulled the covers up to my nose for protection, my eyes darting this way and that, desperately tryi
ng to see in the dark.

  It was just a nightmare, and I’d had many of those since Dad died. I was too curious for my own good—whenever Mom said a movie was too scary or a book too violent, I was driven to seek it out.

  Nightmares were only bad dreams—they couldn’t hurt me. There was no such thing as monsters, or teddy bears that came alive and grew fangs and claws. But something had woken me up. I waited, barely daring to breathe, my heart pounding loud enough to be heard in the next room.

  I was almost asleep when I heard it again. A faint whisper, nearly drowned out by the hum of the furnace.

  “Josh…”

  Whimpering, I flung the covers over my head and stayed that way until morning, too terrified to cry out.

  I must have drifted off, because I awakened to my mother calling my name. She sounded furious.

  “Josh Leary, you get down here right now!”

  The tone of her voice made me flinch. Sometimes Mom got frustrated with me, but I couldn’t remember the last time she’d so much as raised her voice. We’d been careful with each other since we’d lost Dad.

  “Josh!”

  “Okay, I’m coming,” I called, pulling back the covers with reluctance. My room was as it had been the day before. Nothing was out of place, at least as far as I could tell. Maybe I’d dreamed all the strange noises in the night. Or maybe Michael had been playing another one of his tricks.

  I shoved my feet into my slippers and headed downstairs. Mom was in the kitchen—I could hear her voice, accompanied by the low rumble of Michael’s.

  Unprepared for what I was about to see, I froze in the doorway. A weird noise escaped me before I could stop it, a cross between a gasp and a shriek. The kitchen was a war zone. Mom stood in the middle of an entire week’s worth of groceries. Egg yolks and ketchup streaked the floor, dotted by piles of sugar and squished fruits and vegetables. Glass jars that had once held strawberry jam and horseradish had been smashed to bits.