Never Fear Read online

  Blood streamed from my mouth, drooling onto my chest, then to the shower floor. I watched it pool there into a puddle that slowly trailed off toward the drain. “Sharp.” The word was hardly recognizable, mangled by copious amounts of spit, blood and mucus. “Sharp. Run. Sharp.”

  Dazed, I walked into the kitchen, leaving the light off, the soft blue glow from the digital clock on the microwave gave the kitchen the look of a bad B movie. I pulled a knife from the butcher block allowing it to ease out, felt its weight and perfect balance in my hand. I held it a moment, then pushed it back into the slot carved in-between the pieces of the wood. It slipped into place easily, nearly without sound. I felt a shudder rush through my body. I reached for another. The handle was smaller, cold, smooth. I let it slide silently out of its resting place, examined it closely, admiring the shine and gleam in the light. I held it up, taking in my reflection--a toothless, bloodied grin. Crimson saliva dripped from my mouth where my teeth had once been. Once straight, white teeth, perfected from years of braces that had been firmly planted onto my teeth, were now gone. Blood dripped from my fingers, splattering droplets on the counter and floor. A glimmering trail of droplets followed me. Sharp. The word echoed in my mind. Sharp. It would not stop.

  “Run!” Run Nickie,” I screamed the words as loudly as my toothless mouth and lips would allow.

  But no one could hear.

  8

  taphophobia

  Fear of being BURIED ALIVE

  E. McCarthy

  “Everything you want is on the other side of fear.”- James Canfield

  Eric Broadview felt sick to his stomach, his palms sweaty. He had expected the cemetery to be hushed, a sacrosanct village of silent inhabitants, where wildlife skirted out of fear and the modern world left it alone out of respect. But as he and Natalie, his girlfriend, slipped inside the property from the back by the ravine, he heard the low hum of the expressway that cut down the west end, and the overhead roar of an airplane. There was also very clearly the angry barking of a dog in the yard of one of the cookie-cutter houses that soldiered the east perimeter. Suburbanites in search of their square of land and colonial house with granite countertops didn’t mind abutting the cemetery when those lots came with a reduced price.

  The owner yelled at the animal to shut up and the night air filled with the sound of Jimmy Buffet looking for his lost shaker of salt.

  There was no romance in it.

  Death had lost its ability to shock.

  It wasn’t exactly how Eric had envisioned this night, where he would be conquering his fear, Natalie hers. It should have been more gothic, atmospheric. Silent except for the cawing of a distant crow, and dark save a full moon. Instead the headstones were mostly illuminated by glaring fluorescent streetlights, and everywhere surrounding them was the volume of average, daily life. It was disappointing. There was never a damn raven when you needed one.

  “This isn’t fair,” Natalie said, squeezing his hand tightly. “This is almost totally focusing on my fear, not yours.”

  “That’s not true. Sure, you’re afraid of the cemetery, but really, that’s an irrational fear. I’m afraid of something that has to do with follow through. It’s actually more likely to affect my daily life than yours is.” Immediately he felt that was a poor choice of words. He sounded selfish. He didn’t mean to discount her fear, even if he had a valid point.

  “Fear of commitment is not something more debilitating than the fear of being buried alive!” she whispered, her voice rising to a shrill keen at the end of her sentence. “It’s just more ordinary, but equally irrational.”

  He looked down at her, studying her beautiful face. “You’re right.” He cupped her cheek, stroking. She really was gorgeous. When he had seen her for the first time, at a Steelers’ tailgate party, he’d thought she was out of his league. Blond, petite, tanned, bubbly and full of life, excited about her brand new shiny RN and her first job at the hospital. She could have had any guy, really, and most people would have assumed she would go for the muscle dude, who sold insurance and laughed too loud, and made misogynistic jokes that she was supposed to ignore.

  Instead, she had chosen him, the quiet tech guy who sometimes struggled with the unspoken rules of large crowds, mating rituals, and the all-too-confusing modern bromance. But she had flirted until he had finally figured out she was attempting to mate with him, and she had stuck in there even after he had messed up things like her birthday party (he told her about the surprise her friends had planned, because really no one liked surprises, but in fact, she liked surprises) and his complete inability to display any interest whatsoever in the reality TV shows she religiously watched. She said it was because he was loyal. That he was her Lassie who would always be by her side and would tear apart anyone who threatened her.

  Sure, he might metaphorically drop a dead chipmunk at her feet or get some mud on her skirt, but to her, it was worth it to know that he was there. He would always be there.

  Which was why it was so ironic that he simply couldn’t commit to her. He wouldn’t have expected it to be so hard.

  But that final step seemed impossible.

  Which was why they were here, conquering their fears.

  He bent down and brushed his lips over hers.

  She sighed. “What’s in that backpack of yours? Please tell me it’s wine and candles and the engagement ring that I showed you three weeks ago. Because nothing else is worth being here for, honestly.”

  Eric swallowed hard. He felt the cold fear creep along his spine again and the mealy tang of his anxious sweat. It was almost like he could feel the weight of that ring in the backpack, a thirty pound stone, instead of three quarters of a carat, ready to yank him backwards with a Reaper’s hand, and haul his flailing body down into death.

  That’s what marriage meant to him--the cessation of youth, of a promising life. The giving in to the weight of the reality of time, gravity and mortality. It wasn’t about monogamy. It was about accepting the very ordinariness of his existence.

  But he had promised Natalie. Promised himself. This was something he had to do. He had to push through and do it his way, so that he wouldn’t be ordinary. It wouldn’t be settling into a suburban manse and having pride over his ride-on lawnmower. “Shh,” he told her. “I know you like surprises. Let’s not ruin the surprise.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “That’s all I get? I’m shivering in a cemetery. Throw me a bone, babe.”

  “I’ll throw you a bone,” he said with a smirk, because she would like the dirty joke.

  She did. She giggled and reached out to feel across the front of his jeans. His body swelled accordingly. But he stepped back because if they messed around, it would just be an avoidance tactic on his part. He didn’t want to do that to her. Well, he did want to do it to her, but it wasn’t going to make either of their fears pass, and that was the goal here.

  “Boo.” She pouted.

  Natalie was a glorious pouter. She could have gotten her degree in it, and sometimes when he watched her doing that, he was inordinately fascinated by the power women had over men. Nothing about that expression should be appealing or arousing, yet it was.

  “Why do I feel a speech coming on?” she asked, as he took her hand and led her into the cemetery. “About how it’s not in male genetics to settle into human-created institutions like marriage.”

  She knew him. Or somewhat knew him. He felt the urge to lecture on why marriage was doomed to failure as men were genetically hardwired to procreate with as many women as possible. But that really wasn’t the issue he had with commitment. He was loyal, Natalie was right. He could easily be satisfied with just her physically for the rest of their lives. It was the finality of the thing that scared him. Finality.

  He needed to stop being a pussy. “I promise that on tonight of all nights, I won’t present you with the reality of science.” He scanned the cemetery, finding what he was looking for. “Tonight it’s all about you.”

  Natalie si
ghed. “I wish it could be all about me back at your apartment in bed.”

  He had no doubt. Natalie was used to getting her way and he had to admit she was a lazy lover. She wanted endless oral sex but could only muster up about thirty seconds with her mouth on him. But that wasn’t a complaint he had either. She was beautiful and he was awkward and he was frankly lucky that she let him poke her pincushion on a regular basis. No, that didn’t bother him.

  “Tell me why you’re afraid of graves,” he said, starting to get a hard on. His nerves dissipated a bit as he thought about Natalie naked. Maybe he did need the distraction of sex after all.

  He brought her to the edge of a freshly dug grave that was awaiting a funeral the following day. He had done extensive research and scouting to make sure the timing of this was accurate. In order for Natalie to conquer her fear, she had to step into the burial vault, the concrete box awaiting tomorrow’s casket. There were chains around the vault for safety.

  “I don’t know.” She was already hugging herself as they came up to the grave and stood there, staring down into the hole. “Maybe I saw that movie where Sandra Bullock was buried alive when I was way too young. But all I can think is that would literally be the worst thing that could ever happen to me. I’d rather be raped than trapped in a coffin.”

  Eric squeezed her hand in reassurance before opening his backpack and pulling out a bottle of red wine; a deep, rich Noir. Black as the night. It seemed fitting.

  He almost laughed to himself. When had he become so goth-romance?

  “Can you smell that?” he asked as he dropped to the ground and let his feet dangle over the opening. “Fresh turned dirt.”

  She reached down and grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t sit that close! You’ll fall in.”

  “I’m not going to fall. And if I do, it’s only four feet deep. I’m six three. I can easily get out of the hole.”

  “I thought graves were six feet under.”

  “Not in modern times. Now they’re only four feet deep because the burial vault prevents them from rising in heavy rain, and it prevents sink holes, so a six foot depth isn’t necessary.”

  She laughed nervously and sat on the ground behind him. “Why do you know so much about graves?”

  Looking back over his shoulder, he smiled at her. “Because I’m a nerd, remember?”

  “You totally are.” She grasped the wine bottle and handed it to him. “Open this for me.”

  “Sure.” Sometimes he stopped to think about the fact that she was really damn bossy, but again, it didn’t bother him. Pretty girls could be as nasty as they wanted, and despite the fact that she could be a raging bitch if she chose to be, she really wasn’t. She was petulant and demanding, but she was funny, generous and caring. She genuinely loved nursing, which he found admirable. He had zero interest in wiping someone’s ass.

  So he opened the wine and poured them each a generous amount into the plastic cups he’d brought. He took a swallow and tried not to make a face. He preferred beer. Natalie took hers down in two gulps. That amused him.

  “Are you doing shots or drinking wine?”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “So who goes first? Or am I done just because I’m here staring at this creepy-ass open grave.”

  “No, you’re not done until you actually get in the creepy-ass grave. Let’s go together. You get in the grave and I’ll propose to you.”

  Natalie stared at him. “That’s not how I want to get engaged.”

  “It’s what we agreed to. We’re moving past the fear together.” He tried to explain. “I don’t think I can do this unless it’s weird, does that make sense? If I have to do some elaborate proposal video with photographers in the bushes and shit, I’m going to crack. I want you. I want this. I just need a… push.”

  The question was if her need to be engaged, to announce on social media that she had achieved ring status, was greater than her fear.

  He could hardly wait to see.

  There was a long pause where all Eric could hear was the ragged anxious breath of his girlfriend, the hum of the highway in the distance, and the echoing silence of his own thoughts. His mind was a curious blank of anticipation; peace washing over him; discomfit scurrying off into the night.

  Natalie scooted closer to him and swung her legs over the side. “You’ll lift me out, right? I mean, you’re strong enough to haul me up, right?”

  “Nat, you weigh two pounds. Of course I can pull you up.”

  She closed her eyes. He watched her. If she could do this, then he could stop beating around the bush and commit. He couldn’t wimp out or change his mind.

  Her eyes popped open and she lifted the chain up with one swift motion and slid down into the vault. She landed with a soft thump.

  Now that was sexy.

  But immediately she started to panic, muttering, “Oh, God, oh, God, I can’t do this. Eric, help me up!”

  “You’re fine, baby. You’re fine.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out the ring box. “Stop clawing at the walls, you’ll break your nails. Step back so I can ask you something.”

  She looked wild in her irrational fear but she did quiet down and stare at his hands, eyes wide as saucers. Her chest heaved up and down and it occurred to him that his fear had been as unwarranted as hers. Tapophobia was ridiculous in modern times, with current science. And he had nothing to be afraid of either.

  He opened the box and displayed the ring. “Natalie, will you marry me?”

  Her hands went up to her mouth and she nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.

  She rushed toward him, to collect the ring.

  He kicked her as hard as he could in the gut.

  With a cry, she doubled over in pain and he brought his fist down on the back of her skull, dropping her like a stone. Barely even breathing hard, his heart pounding only from adrenaline, not exertion, he tossed the ring box into the vault on top of her unconscious body. Then he stood up and carefully eased the lid down into place so he wouldn’t disturb the neighborhood.

  Then he sat and waited for her to wake up screaming. He took a swig of wine and relished the idea. See, it wasn’t so hard to commit to killing her after all.

  Maybe he should have told her when they started dating that he was a sociopath who had been fantasizing about murder since he’d been old enough to strangle a backyard bunny with his own hands. But if a girl couldn’t be bothered to ask, he wasn’t obligated to share.

  He had been hesitating for months to make Natalie his first kill because honestly, she was sweet and gorgeous and if he could love anyone he would love her. But that’s why it was so fitting. If he was going to cross that line, it couldn’t be with a meth addict hooker. That was so half-ass, so ordinary. Utterly lacking in style. Too easy. Prostitutes were basically asking to be killed. No, he had wanted to take the life of someone who had everything to live for, who would fight it.

  Glancing around to make sure he was still alone, he marveled at how easy it was to make someone trust you. He’d given her no reason other than that he was willing to do what she wanted when she wanted. He let her dictate their plans, their sex life, their relationship as a whole. But passivity didn’t equal sincerity. It was fascinating. He’d always found it fascinating that people let their phobias consume them, yet they were never afraid of what they actually should be--other people.

  He chuckled to himself and took another swig of wine. It wouldn’t be long.

  As he enjoyed the Noir and the cool October night air, sprawled out on his side next to the closed vault, he waited. Within five minutes he could hear her muffled groaning. Then a bang as she sat up. Then a scream. It was intensely satisfying, that deep feral panic she was emitting. He had thought he’d feel some guilt but there was none. He should have never been afraid that he would feel any. Hadn’t his mother always said he had zero genuine emotion? She was almost right. He didn’t have emotions regarding other people. But he certainly felt pride, satisfaction, excitement. They coursed through his ve
ins now.

  Pulling his cell phone out, he found Natalie under favorites, where she had placed herself, and called her. He could hear her scream cut off as she must have felt the phone vibrate in her pocket.

  She answered with a sob. “Oh my God, what happened? Where are you? Help me!”

  Didn’t she remember him kicking her? Most likely she did, but she was still unwilling to accept he was responsible for her predicament. This was why he didn’t understand people. They refused to accept the obvious. It had always puzzled him.

  “You need to stay in there, babe. How else will you get over the fear?”

  There was a pause, Natalie panting into her phone. “Are you kidding me? This isn’t funny, Eric! Let me out!”

  He wasn’t laughing. But he was grinning a little, then felt a slight sense of shame for it. That wasn’t nice. “Just lay down quietly for a little while. I’ll let you out in an hour, I promise. Before you start to run out of oxygen.”

  That was the truth. He did have to let her out because he couldn’t explain tomorrow when the family of the dead dude arrived for a funeral and they opened the vault to find Natalie. He would be a suspect, his fingertips and fibers all over the place. He wasn’t stupid. No, he was merely going to leave her in the vault long enough to have her begging him. To see if he could draw the crazy out in her eyes, and take Natalie from ordinary to extraordinary. The plan to kill her was to wait until she was teeth-chattering, freaked-the-fuck-out, then let her out. Take her home. Feed her pills as he hugged and soothed her.

  Walk out long before she actually died. It wasn’t exactly hard core and not what he preferred but given she was his girlfriend he had to be careful about police looking too closely at him.