Childhood Fears

by L. L. Soares

  “You have to wash up. And that means a proper bath, Josh. None of this splashing around in the sink and telling me you’ve cleaned up.”

  “But that is cleaning up,” I protested. What is it about mothers and baths? If they had their way, we’d spend our whole lives in the tub.

  “No deals. Take a bath, or it’s liver and onions for dinner.”

  “You never make liver and onions. You don’t even like liver and onions.” I knew she was still teasing me, but I also knew she’d end up getting me to take a bath. Mom was relentless in her own way.

  “So I’ll start. You better head up,” she said, gesturing to the house with another spade. She hadn’t asked me about the other one yet, the one I’d borrowed. “There’s not much time until dinner.”

  “But Mom…I was just in the lake for hours.”

  “Even more reason to take a bath.” Mom wrinkled her nose. “You don’t know what’s in that water. You know how many kids pee in there?”

  I knew when to accept defeat. Trying not to think of the answer to her question, I broke into a run, making it to the house in record time. I’d have the fastest bath in the history of the world. It wouldn’t be so bad. And even better…

  If we were having hotdogs for dinner, it could only mean one thing. Michael wasn’t home.

  It wasn’t that I hated baths, exactly—it was just that they seemed like such a waste of time. There was always something else I’d much rather do. Mom used to let me take showers until she realized that the two minutes I spent under the water wasn’t enough time to get anything clean. She’d promised me I could go back to showers when I turned thirteen. By then, she said, I’d have gotten the hang of it.

  Our tub was actually kind of cool, for a bathtub. Mom said it had come with the house, so that meant it was over a hundred years old. It had feet like a dragon’s, and it was deeper than some kids’ wading pools. I used to love to sail boats in it when I was little. Now I hated how long it took to fill.

  Grabbing Mom’s bar of pink soap, I scrubbed all of the lake gunk off my skin. The water turned brown around my feet, which were filthy from running on the muddy banks with no shoes. As much as I hated to admit it, maybe Mom did have a point. I slipped beneath the water for a moment, closing my eyes. I wasn’t in a hurry to get out any longer. It would be a few minutes before dinner was ready, and the warm water felt so good.

  When my chest grew tight from the lack of air, I tried to let myself float back to the surface. But something was wrong. I wasn’t floating…it felt like I was pinned down.

  My pulse was thudding in my ears. My eyes flew open. Edgar was leering down at me from the edge of the tub. I knew it was him, even though he was soaked and covered with slimy lake weeds. My mouth opened to scream, and I choked on the dirty, soapy water.

  I thrashed and struggled, fighting to sit up, but it was like invisible hands were pressing down on my chest. The urge to breathe was irresistible, but I knew that if I took a breath underwater, I would die. My chest grew tight and painful. A snarl twisted Edgar’s muzzle, but his yellow eyes glowed with happiness. I realized he wanted to see me die. Nothing else would satisfy him.

  My legs were growing weak, but I flailed them around as much as I could, hoping Mom would hear the splashing and come to see what was wrong. I was feeling dizzy now. With what was left of my strength, I shot out my hand and knocked Edgar off the side of the tub. Suddenly, the pressure on my chest was gone. I burst out of the water, gasping for air. Soap burned my eyes, and I swiped at them with my hands, only to pull back when I realized something was still wrong. My hands were slimy.

  In a panic, I hurried to get out of the tub. I didn’t know where Edgar was, and for a moment, I didn’t care if I stepped on him. When I got the soap out of my eyes so I could finally see the water, I wanted to puke.

  The tub was full of the same disgusting lake weeds that had been wrapped around the bear. Water worms writhed, along with the occasional leech. Hopping around the room, I swiped at my hair and skin like someone possessed. A fat leech clung to my leg, and with a grimace, I used a tissue to pull it from my skin and flush it down the toilet. Blood ran down my leg where its teeth had sunk in.

  I scanned the room for Edgar, but he was gone. That left the problem of the tub. How on earth was I going to get all that stuff out of there without Mom finding out? I stared at the worms squiggling through the water and shuddered. Using the handle of the toilet plunger, I hammered on the tub’s plug until it released. You couldn’t have paid me to reach into that water.

  “Josh, did you die in there? Dinner is ready.”

  Almost, I thought. I’d almost died. Edgar was playing for keeps, and I might not best him the next time. I couldn’t go to sleep knowing he was in the house somewhere. Somehow, I’d have to end this tonight.

  “I’m okay, but…can you bring me some paper towels? I have to clean out the tub.” I’d been afraid I wouldn’t be able to speak, but I sounded fine, if a little hoarse.

  I could sense Mom’s hesitation from the other side of the door. “Clean the tub? Josh, are you feeling okay?”

  “Yeah. It’s just—I had some lake goo on me and stuff. It’s kind of gross.”

  She sighed. “Now do you understand why I don’t like you swimming in there? God knows what kind of parasites are in that water.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” I said, staring at the mess that awaited me at the bottom of the tub. “I don’t think I’ll go swimming there again.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it now. I’ll clean it up after dinner. You should eat while the food’s still hot.”

  “NO!” I sounded more frantic than I’d meant, but I knew I’d never be able to explain the disaster in her bathroom. If she saw this mess, she’d know I couldn’t have carried all that stuff in on my body. And if she found out the truth about Edgar—the real truth—she’d never be able to handle it. “I don’t want you to see it. Please, Mom.”

  She was silent for a moment. I leaned my head against the bathroom door and shut my eyes. I was so tired and weak I could barely stand. I couldn’t keep up the fight much longer. If she insisted on cleaning it up herself…

  “You must be the only ten-year-old boy in the history of the world who’s begged to clean the bathroom. If I get you the paper towels and some cleaner, do you promise me you’ll hurry and come down when you’re done?”

  I exhaled in relief—I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. “Yeah.”

  It took me ten minutes to mop all the squirming goop out of the tub. My stomach churned as I squelched the worms and weeds between wads of paper towel. I used the whole roll and filled the garbage bag. When I was done, I insisted on taking the trash out to the curb—I didn’t want Mom peeking inside.

  She wasn’t pleased when I could hardly choke down any supper, but I’d lost my appetite.

  I had a job to do, and there was no time to waste. I had to get it done before Michael came home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I should have done this from the start. I’m not sure why I didn’t.

  Finding Edgar was easy. He was on my pillow, just as I had expected. When I opened my bedroom door, the metallic smell of lake water filled my nose and I gagged. If I never saw the lake again, it would be too soon.

  Edgar’s eyes shone as he watched me cling to the doorframe, coughing and hacking. I could have sworn he was smiling at me.

  “Go ahead, smile while you still can, you cocksucking mofo,” I growled, using the very best of Sean’s swears. “You and me are done.”

  I threw a garbage bag over Edgar before I could second-guess myself. This time he fought like a wildcat, kicking and clawing and growling. Scratches and then holes appeared in the bag, which was thrashing around so much I had a hard time holding it. I’d come prepared, though, and threw the bag with Edgar into another, stronger bag.

  I think he knew
it was over. He was fighting for his life.

  Edgar howled, a sickening sound that twisted my insides into knots. I paused for a moment, worried. Surely my mom would hear him, and then what? What could I possibly tell her? But no one came.

  I slipped out the door, carrying the bag. The bag, and a metal container of lighter fluid in one of my pockets. Several books of matches were in the other. I wasn’t taking any chances.

  Like most houses in town, we had a burning barrel in the backyard. We burned what trash we could at home to save on trips to the dump. I should have used it a long time ago, except…

  I guess there was a part of me that shied away from burning something that seemed to be alive, even an evil bear like Edgar.

  I threw everything into the barrel—the bag of mess from the tub and the bag with the bear, which was still going crazy. The adrenaline racing through my body made me shaky, but I managed to empty the entire can of lighter fluid over the bags. My trembling fingers struck a match. It briefly flared to life, but then went out. That was okay. I had more where that came from, and I knew where Mom kept Dad’s old Zippo.

  The back door creaked open. “Josh, what on earth are you doing? You’re not supposed to…”

  Woosh! The book of matches in my hand caught fire, and I tossed them into the burning barrel. Flames burst high into the sky, and I fell backward onto the grass. It was over. It was finally over.

  Mom ran from the house to help me. “Are you okay?”

  I couldn’t help smiling at her. “I’m great.”

  The fire roared and crackled, sending a shower of sparks sizzling to the ground. Mom pulled me to my feet. Once she had us safely out of range, she turned on me.

  “You know I don’t like you fooling around with matches, Joshua Leary. What on earth did you put in there?”

  I shrugged. “Just some garbage.”

  I was having a nightmare. Someone was screaming. Mom! Mom was screaming.

  My eyes flew open, but I immediately shut them again. The room was thick with smoke that stung my eyes and hurt my nostrils. I wheezed. I could hear an ominous crackling noise that kept getting louder and louder.

  Someone pounded hard on my bedroom door, startling me. “Josh! Let us in,” Michael yelled. “Don’t do this, buddy. Let us help you.”

  I knew what to do. We’d been over this in school a hundred times. I rolled out of my bed onto the floor. Pain flared up from my hips and knees when I fell, but I didn’t care. I’d realized the awful truth. My bedroom was on fire. I gasped when I saw the planks of wood nailed across my door, trapping me inside. How had Edgar managed that?

  I’d been exposed to the smoke for too long already. Black spots swam in front of me. I laid my cheek against the floor, which was surprisingly cool. I closed my eyes.

  “Josh, please! I can’t lose you. Please open the door.”

  Mom’s voice broke me out of my trance. I began to crawl toward my art table. I could feel the heat on my skin now. I didn’t have much time. I got what oxygen was left in the room by pressing my face against the floor and inhaling as deeply as I could.

  At first I was afraid Edgar would have done something to my window too, but it was clear. With my last bit of strength, I threw my desk chair at the glass. The window shattered. I gulped the fresh air gratefully, but I could feel the fire gaining strength right behind me. There was a frightful cracking noise as my door and the floor around it started to give. I couldn’t hear my mom anymore.

  I hoped she had gotten out in time.

  I leaned out over my window. The driveway pulsed with flashing red lights from the fire trucks. The crimson glow made the faces of the firefighters seem demonic, but I recognized Mr. Gillies, the father of a girl in my class.

  “Hang on, Josh,” he yelled. “We’re getting a ladder for you. Just hang on.”

  My bedroom door gave with an earsplitting crack. It sounded like it had been hit by a giant’s ax. “Please hurry!” I tried to holler, but it came out as a strangled croak. No one could hear me over the roar of the flames. My eyes and throat burned with the smoke. I started coughing, and it felt like I would never stop.

  I could see the firefighters running to my window with a ladder. Mr. Gillies climbed up and stretched out his arms to me. His coat was rough under my hands, but I held on as hard as I could. As we made our way down the ladder, I craned my head to stare at the gathering crowd. Still coughing and choking, I fought for air.

  “Take it easy, Josh. You’re safe now,” Mr. Gillies said. He didn’t put me down until he reached the end of the driveway.

  “But where’s my mom? My mom is in there!” I started to cry, and for once I didn’t care who saw. I couldn’t lose her after what had happened to Dad.

  “Calm down, son. Your mother is fine. She’s right over there.”

  I saw her running toward me, Michael close behind. I felt my knees buckle, and another firefighter wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. Even though it was a warm night, I was shivering.

  Mom threw her arms around me and crushed me to her, sobbing. I let her hug me, watching in wonder over her shoulders as our family home burned.

  “Why did you do it, Josh? Why?”

  I pulled away in shock. “What do you mean? I didn’t do anything!”

  That’s when I noticed the men. They were standing with Michael, speaking in the low tones adults use when they don’t want you to hear.

  “Mom, I didn’t do this, I swear. You have to believe me!”

  Tears ran down her face. “It’s my fault. Michael told me you were sick, but I didn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. It’s all my fault, honey. I should have gotten you more help.”

  She tried to hug me again, but I pushed her away, which only made her cry harder. “I’m not sick. I didn’t do anything wrong!” I tried to run away, but it was too late. The men surrounded me.

  “Josh, you need to come with us for a bit, all right?” one of the men said. He knelt so he was at my eye level and smiled. “Don’t worry. We need to take you to the hospital for a bit, make sure you’re okay.”

  I didn’t think. I just reacted. My fist shot out, and I punched that nice man in the face. I got halfway down the street before the men caught up to me. They hauled me back to the driveway while I kicked and screamed. They put me in a van with metal mesh on all the windows. I couldn’t open the door from the inside, but I pounded on the glass.

  “Mom, don’t let them take me! It wasn’t me. It was the bear! It was Edgar—”

  And that’s when I saw him.

  My mother was huddled on the driveway, covering her face with her hands. Some of our neighbors were trying to help her stand, to pick her off the ground, but Michael wasn’t paying any attention to them.

  He was stroking something he held close to his chest under his coat. Cradling something.

  I saw familiar yellow eyes glow in the night.

  Edgar grinned at me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I never saw my mother again. The Clear Springs Mental Hospital was my home for the next three years, but Mom never got a chance to visit. It was a freak accident, they said—some genetic time bomb no one could have predicted. Two nights after the fire, my mother’s heart stopped. The doctors could say what they wanted, but I knew the truth. I pictured her opening her eyes on that final night to see Edgar looming over her. I had nightmares about it for years.

  Michael tried to see me once, but Dr. Harvey told him it wasn’t a good idea, and that was that. Once my stepfather got the insurance money from our house and my mother’s death, he closed his funeral home and left town. Last I heard, he was somewhere in the Caribbean. I was grateful to know there was an ocean between Edgar and me.

  “Honey, are you all right?” My wife put her hand on my arm. Her brow was furrowed with concern. I forced a smile.

  “I’m fine. I was thin
king that my mother would have loved to meet him.”

  She wrapped her arms around my waist and gave me a squeeze as we watched the newest member of our family. Bradley was our first child, and I was still overwhelmed by the strength of my love for him. I would never let anything bad happen to him, ever.

  “I’m sorry. This is probably so hard for you.” Rachel slipped under my arm and leaned her head against my shoulder. She’d been home from the hospital for only a day and was still exhausted, but true to her nature, she was wasting her time worrying about me.

  “Are you kidding?” I lifted her off the ground and gave her a kiss. “This has been the best moment of my life. Nothing will spoil it for me.”

  I could feel her relax. “I’m glad,” she said. “I was worried for a second.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about me. This is what I’ve always wanted—to have a family again. I couldn’t be happier.”

  Rachel smiled, tilting her head to the side as we watched our son sleep. “Isn’t he an angel?”

  “He is.”

  “We should get some sleep while we can. You know he’s going to be awake again soon enough.”

  She walked down the hallway to our bedroom. As I was about to follow, something made me turn. I wanted to look at my son one last time.

  That was when I noticed it.

  There was something in the crib with my baby boy.

  Something black and fluffy with yellow eyes and a sneer on its face.

  Edgar had come home.

  About the Author

  Raised in the far north, amid Jack London’s world of dog sleds and dark winters, J.H. Moncrieff has been a professional writer all of her adult life.

  During her years as a journalist, she tracked down snipers and canoed through crocodile-infested waters. She has published hundreds of articles in national and international magazines and newspapers.