Never Fear Read online

  During previous sessions, the doctor had told him, mostly in generalities, what to expect out of today’s particular treatment. Other than the fact that today’s appointment would positively be the last one, Dr. Staum had told Devon that it would be very intense, much more than his previous sessions. But most importantly, it was guaranteed to succeed. When Devon Marler walked out of the clinic today, he would finally be free from the terror that had stalked him for years. That was enough for him to overcome his nervousness.

  Mostly.

  He looked again at the armrests of the chair and briefly wondered at the three thick Velcro straps attached to each arm support. At the moment, they were not being used. The nurse that had cheerfully set him up with the IV had done nothing to immobilize him and hadn’t bothered to explain what their function would be in the session. He wondered if they would strap him down for the procedure. Could it be that intense?

  At that moment, the door opened and a short and pudgy bespectacled man walked in. Dr. Henry Staum was as serious as anyone Devon had ever known. The man was also thorough and complete, if he was anything. Over the weeks that Devon had been undergoing Staum’s VR psychiatric treatment, the doctor had carefully explained everything that had been going on, including the official diagnosis, and recommended treatment options for Devon’s phobia. The only thing Staum hadn’t gone into depth about, was what was going to happen during today’s final session. For that, because of proprietary agreements on what amounted to a brand new and highly secretive technology, Devon had agreed only to the barest of information and that golden promise of being fully cured when it was all over. All he had to do on his end was be willing to undergo the final session and show up for it, at which time he would be told everything and also be well-paid for his trouble.

  That time had finally come and Devon was more than a little nervous.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Marler,” Dr. Staum said as he entered the room, his normally monotone voice showing the barest hint of excitement.

  That was new. Devon’s thoughts slithered back to the nightmare and the five monsters, but he quickly tamped it down and concentrated on the doctor. “Morning, Doc,” he replied, feeling the apprehension gnaw quietly at his insides. “So, this is it, right? We’re really gonna do this?”

  “Yes, Devon, this is it,” Staum said, pulling the stethoscope from his neck and placing it on the crook of Devon’s arm. He quickly inflated the blood pressure cuff the nurse had left in place and then listened silently for some seconds. “Your blood pressure is slightly elevated,” he added, looking at the reading. “143 over 86. But it’s well within operating parameters and not unprecedented. After all, this procedure has never been attempted before. I’m sure you may be a little anxious and probably have some questions about it.”

  “Sure do, Doc,” Devon began. “Since I’m here, can you finally tell me more about the whole thing? I mean, VR was one thing, but you kept telling me that this is deeper. How?”

  “You have signed all the proper forms, so I can indeed divulge more of the procedure now,” Staum answered importantly. “When we last met and you agreed to this final step, I told you that it was a medical procedure designed to force you to face your fears in a wholly new and unique way.”

  “Yeah, but what exactly will it do? That’s what I’ve been dyin’ to know.”

  “In layman’s terms, we will force you to become that what you fear most,” Staum replied, patting his hand and offering what Devon thought was the first smile he had ever seen the man give. “Out of the virtual world and into the real world.”

  “How will you do that?” Devon questioned, feeling somewhat confused. “Do you dress me up or something?”

  “In a matter of speaking,” Staum said, smiling again as he unwound the cuff and shoved it into one of the pockets in his white lab coat. The stethoscope went back around his neck. “In your earlier treatments, you were forced to become a virtual representation of your fear,” he went on. “We forced you to face that fear, as that fear, in a virtual environment. It is quite the revolutionary concept and has seen unparalleled success in treating phobias in a number of clinics now in the United States and around the world.”

  “And this?”

  “We are breaking new ground today, Devon,” Staum said, continuing to smile. The man was obviously excited about what they were doing and Devon felt himself go slightly cold at that thought, particular from a man who had been stoic during every other visit and treatment. “What this new treatment will do for you,” Staum went on, “will take virtual reality and bring it into the real world. Today, you will experience your phobia as that phobia, but it will be real this time instead of VR.”

  “Real,” Devon repeated, feeling his hands go numb.

  “Yes, as real as it gets. You will physically become your fear and you will do so in the real world.”

  “You’re going to really turn me into that monster?” Devon asked, feeling his blood pressure begin to rise. He silently wondered about the other four that had joined it in last night’s dream, but he didn’t voice his fear.

  “Now, Devon,” Staum assured him. “Take a deep breath. Remember what we have talked about before in all your other sessions. It wasn’t a monster, at least not in a physical sense. It was a man--just a man that dressed the part to play on people’s fears.”

  “Just a man,” Devon repeated, trying unsuccessfully to convince himself. He had seen it. Regardless of what the police had said when it happened, he knew it was more than just a man, more than what Dr. Staum was claiming it was.

  “Just a man,” Staum nodded, pleased at how quickly his patient had settled down. Some of that had to do with the solution being injected into his veins, laced with a mild sedative to keep him calm. But he knew that would change once they ramped up what was now inside him.

  “Then how come you can’t just dress me up?” Devon asked. “Wouldn’t it be easier to give me a makeup job and put me in some funny clothes?”

  “Playing dress-up would be ineffective for several reasons, Devon,” the doctor answered. “The biggest issue is that, even with makeup, you’ll know it’s fake. Your mind will know it isn’t real, that you aren’t real. It would be no different than an actor acting out the part in a play or a movie. It might be an intense experience, but it would still not be real. Deep down, you would know that.” Staum walked around the other side of the chair, more animated than Devon had seen him in the past. “This procedure,” the doctor went on, “makes it completely real. There is no makeup or costumes here; just real changes to your body. You quite literally become him.”

  Staum reached for Devon’s carotid and checked his pulse, then looked at the IV insertion point, as he continued. “You fear this thing in your head, Devon, but no amount of Hollywood work could create that which is in your mind, no matter how carefully you explained it to me. This procedure makes it so you don’t have to.”

  “Then how are you going to do it?” Devon asked, fearing what was to come. He knew he had to face his demon. He knew that he had to become the monster to finally be rid of it. That much, Staum had assured him of.

  Staum reached over and engaged the first strap, pinning Devon’s right wrist to the armrest. “Mr. Marler,” he asked easily while he worked, “do you know what a nanite is?”

  For a moment, Devon was silent, letting his mind sift through the things he’d heard about nanites. He wasn’t much of a technical guy. Making a living as a carpenter…and a good one, at that…had kept him away from science and other technical advances. But nanites…he had heard about, at least a little. Chelle would know a lot more, but she wasn’t here. “Aren’t they little machines?” he answered.

  “Yes,” Staum nodded, tightening down the strap on his left wrist. He had done it so inconspicuously that Devon hadn’t realized it until the doctor was working on the second set of straps, further immobilizing him. “Nanites are microscopic machines, programmable in any number of ways. They represent the key to so many discoverie
s for mankind, helping us heal the mind and body. In time, not to sound too grand in my optimism, they will likely even lead us to eternal life.”

  “I don’t get it,” Devon shook his head.

  “Imagine having your body full of these machines, floating along in your bloodstream. You would never even know they were there, but they could effectively repair every injury, remove any disease, and basically keep your body in perfect and flawless condition.”

  “So, you wouldn’t get sick or hurt or anything?” Devon asked, watching the doctor tighten down the last strap and then reach into his pocket and pull out a capped syringe.

  “Mostly correct,” Staum answered. “Oh, you could still get hurt, but if it wasn’t a catastrophic injury, the nanites could repair the damage quickly. You might still get sick. You could even get cancer. But the nanites in your body could eradicate diseases, too. It’s really quite an amazing technological breakthrough.”

  “And you’re using them to help me?”

  “Indeed,” Staum answered with a smile, expertly tapping the syringe, preparing it for use.

  “What’s that?”

  “This,” Staum said, holding up the hypodermic, “is the catalyst. What we have been putting into your body for the past hour is a full matrix of nanites. Those nanites will be the building blocks of helping you face your fears. They will help you heal your mind, on both a physical and mental level, Devon. That is what’s so exciting about this process.”

  “But why the shot?” Devon asked fearfully. “I don’t much like shots, Doc.”

  “You have coulrophobia, Mr. Marler, not trypanophobia,” the doctor answered with a touch of scorn. “It’s just a needle, and I will inject this into your IV line, not your arm,” he went on, doing exactly that as he spoke. “This solution will activate the matrix and allow us to manipulate it to achieve the desired effect. You will begin to feel warm inside, perhaps even hot. But it’s completely harmless, so don’t worry.”

  “Yeah…whoa,” Devon said, feeling a flush of heat flood throughout his body. He tried flexing his arms, but the Velcro straps held him tightly down.

  “What you are feeling is the activation of the nanites,” Staum said. “The feeling of being hot will pass after about an hour, when the matrix will shut down.”

  “So, it won’t last long?”

  “Not long at all,” Staum answered and then stood up. “It will last just long enough for us to complete the session. Once complete, the nanites will become dormant and eventually, your body will break them down and absorb them. You’ll never even know they were a part of you.” Staum paused briefly and looked at Devon. “Now, let us begin.”

  “But what if…”

  Staum raised a hand and cut him off. “No more questions, Mr. Marler. The time has come to face your fear.” The doctor reached into his pocket and withdrew a device that looked like a fancy TV remote. Devon saw him press several buttons and suddenly, his world went dark.

  Immediately a set of familiar eyes appeared in the darkness, reflecting back to him from some distance away. Then another. Then three. Four. Five.

  Six.

  The eyes drew closer and panic began to rise up within him, but just as suddenly, the fear drained away. The lights came back on and he realized he was no longer in the lab. He was in what looked like a kitchen. It was disgustingly filthy, with empty fast-food boxes and dirty dishes piled everywhere. Flies could be seen buzzing between piles of rotting food, and cockroaches were in abundance, scurrying everywhere. The smell was horrific.

  Devon wanted to recoil and rush out of the room, but his body wouldn’t respond. Instead, it was moving on its own. As he watched through his own eyes, he shuffled around the kitchen table, ignoring the putrid garbage heaped on top of it. He could hear sirens in the distance and felt himself moving toward the kitchen counter. As the sirens grew louder, he pulled open one of the drawers and looked in. It was full of knives, each one clean, gleaming, and in pristine condition.

  Taking a moment to scan the large collection, he selected one and pulled it out. It was a long-bladed butcher knife, the kind made famous when Michael Myers was chasing Jamie Lee Curtis around the house in the original Halloween movie. Ignoring his growing apprehension at the sirens, he carefully shut the drawer and walked through the kitchen and into the living room.

  The living room wasn’t much better than the kitchen. The room was filled with empty pizza boxes and fast food wrappers, buzzing flies, and crawling with cockroaches. He kicked aside a sack of garbage, sending rotted food, insects, and other putrefying items across the room, and began to mount the stairs leading to the bedroom. It dawned on him that he somehow knew the bedroom was his destination, that his victim was there waiting for him.

  The top of the landing opened into a hall, with two bedrooms on one side and a bedroom and bathroom on the other. The end of the hall held a dirty and cracked floor-length mirror, and as he walked toward the rear bedroom, the mirror reflected his image back to him.

  Inside his non-responding body, Devon Marler saw what he was and time seemed to freeze long enough for him to truly witness his own horrifying self. Many people in the world feared clowns, the very essence of coulrophobia. They feared Bozo and Ronald McDonald and Clarabell and the various clowns at the circus. But they were just clowns; people dressed up in bright colors and weird wigs under a whole lot of makeup. What many truly feared was the sensationalism of Hollywood and its plethora of terrifying depictions of clowns. That was what he was. And what he had become transcended simple fear and bore his psyche right into outright horror.

  His face was made up like a clown, but the makeup was blood red and muddy brown. He knew immediately that the coloring was actual blood, some of it fresh and some of it old and crusty. His clown nose, a dirty red ball of foam, was pressed into a nasal cavity that was missing the actual nose. It was just a rotting hole eaten into his head by something. But in the hole, the foam had been shoved, giving it a misshapen appearance. His eyes were two glittering black orbs, surrounded by smears of bright red blood. They were piercing and deep, enough to drill straight into a person’s very soul. But it was his mouth that riveted him, freezing his blood in terror. Oversized, it was filled with jagged teeth, each of them long and sharp. All of them were yellowed, where they weren’t smeared with blood and other bits of gore.

  Devon wanted to scream in terror at his visage, but his voice was frozen in his throat as he walked toward the mirror. He turned to face the door, giving him respite from the nightmarish image of what he had become. The sirens were right outside the house now and he could hear men shouting as he slowly twisted the handle on the door. He pushed it open and stepped into the room.

  Where the rest of the house was filled with trash and rotting garbage, this room had only a ragged bed, covered with a blood-stained sheet. All atop the bed where numerous balloon animals, all shapes, colors, and sizes--animals he had created. A young boy, bound hand and foot with duct tape, cowered on the bed amidst the balloons, whimpering up at him as he approached. The boy was all too familiar to him. The boy was him. He was the victim, just as he was the monster. It was happening again, just like it had happened when he was nine.

  On the bed, his childhood-self began to scream as he raised the knife. Inside his monster’s body, his adult-self screamed right along with him. Through the monster’s eyes, he watched the knife raise high and then plunge downward. His younger self abruptly stopped screaming.

  Leaving the knife embedded in place, he began reaching for his child-self with clawed hands. It was time to make another balloon animal. Maybe he would make a lion this time. Behind him, there was a loud crash and he was suddenly assailed with thunderous booms. His body jerked spasmodically as invisible hammers began smashing into him. Pain bloomed behind his black eyes and his head tilted toward the old clock hanging on the wall near the closet.

  It was a quarter to five.

  And then a new scream pierced his ears. It was a high-pitched shriek of agony
and terror, dissimilar to screams of his past victims--children he had heard so many times before. No, this was the shriek of a man. His vision began to clear and the room came back into view…but he was no longer in the bedroom. This room was sparse, with white metal walls. It was almost completely bare, with only a large doctor’s chair and a small stool as furnishings.

  There was something familiar about the room and the chair, like he should be sitting in it. But his mind was muddled, almost as if he was adrift in a sea of black, and his thoughts quickly scattered. But his eyes saw clearly. And his ears heard perfectly.

  A man was kneeling before him, a white-coated lab technician, screaming in unholy agony. At the moment, Devon was busy twisting the man’s arm into a grotesque representation of a balloon animal--a lion, it looked like. But it might have been a dog. He wasn’t sure. What he was certain about was the sound of the man’s screams and the popping crack of bone as he mangled the man’s arm.

  All around him were other white-coated men, all of them shouting in panic, trying to pull the injured man away from him.

  “Put him under!” a voice rang out over the chaos. “Put him under now!”

  Devon thought he recognized the voice, but like before, his thoughts slid back under the murk. As men swarmed around him, grabbing at his arms and sticking sharp objects into him, he continued to entertain as only he knew how. He reached for the man’s face, digging long dirty claws into his nose, thinking about how much the children loved the game of, “I’ve got your nose.” The mutilated man fell into garbled sobs as he tore the soft flesh away, opening up the nasal cavity.

  “I’ve got…your nose,” he said, his voice sounding like someone dragging rocks along the bottom of a pool.