Written for the April backtothefanfic challenge, in which a character has to face up to a fear/phobia
Blearily, Marty opened his eyes. Where was he? He was lying on rough ground – he scratched at it and felt dirt trickle between his fingertips. He squinted upward and saw a white moon glowing overhead. He appeared to be lying in a narrow space with raised walls – walls of dirt…
A grave! He was in a grave!
With a cry of fear he tried to scramble to his feet but his body refused to obey him. Just then, something landed on his face. A handful of dirt, obscuring his nose and mouth. He choked. They were burying him! Another handful, and another handful until his vision turned black and he couldn't breathe and he was choking and the walls of the grave were pressing almost unbearably against his sides and he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe –
With a yell, Marty woke up. His relief that it had only been a dream lasted for merely a split second – because his yell was obscured and he realised that he couldn't breathe. The covers of his bed were tangled around his face, hot and suffocating. Blind panic took over and he fought wildly against the covers, thrashing and struggling, his fear growing with every second – and he toppled right out of bed, still enveloped in the duvet, landing with a thump loud enough to wake the entire house. One last desperate scrabble and the covers were away from his face; gasping, he gulped in the fresh air, his heart still pounding wildly.
He had barely a chance to calm himself before the door flew open and the light flicked on. His mother stood there, her eyes sleepy and her hair tousled. 'Marty, what on earth is going on? Why are you on the floor?'
'Bad dream,' Marty said weakly, staring up at her from where he lay still wrapped in the covers.
'It must have been some dream,' George McFly commented, stepping into the room from behind his wife. 'You made enough noise to wake the entire street. Are you all right?'
Marty let George help him to his feet; he realised that he was trembling. 'Yeah, I'm fine,' he managed to say. 'I'm okay.'
'You don't look okay, Marty.' Lorraine looked concerned, and reached out to him. 'That dream has really shaken you up. Do you want to talk about it?'
Marty groaned as he flopped back onto the bed. 'Mom, I'm not eight.'
She threw him an exasperated look. 'Well, it's your choice. Just don't wake us up again if you have another nightmare.' She kissed him on the cheek to show him that she didn't really mean it, and left the room. George gave his hair a quick tousle and followed her, flicking off the light switch as he went.
I almost preferred them the old way! Marty thought as he pulled the covers back onto his bed and lying back, but he grinned to himself all the same.
The grin quickly vanished as the memory of the dream came back to him in the darkness of the room. The grave…its high, constricting walls…the dirt raining down on him…and then he had woken up to find himself caught up in the duvet. At that thought, he broke out in a sweat and thrust the covers away from him, back onto the floor.
He was going to be cold tonight. But just the thought of waking up to find himself again unable to breathe or unable to move made his heart quicken, terror gripping his insides and squeezing them tightly. He couldn't face that sort of panic again. He couldn't.
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'Your aunt is really nice,' Marty remarked as they walked down the clean, shining corridor.
Jennifer glanced back towards the ward they had just left. 'She's great, isn't she? I'm so glad that she's going to be all right.' She leaned into Marty and smiled up at him. 'Thanks so much for bringing me out here, Marty.'
Her boyfriend grinned and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her out of the way of a nurse carrying an armful of towels. 'I keep tellin' ya, Jen, it's no problem. I know you were worried about her.' He had driven Jennifer out to the hospital in Grass Valley to see her sick aunt, as her parents were out of town and she had been fretting about not being able to go and see her.
Jennifer squeezed his hand as they stepped into the elevator. 'Do you want to go get a coffee or something?'
'Sure.'
She eyed him critically, pressing the button for the ground floor. 'You look like you need it – you're really pale.'
Marty grimaced. 'Yeah, I didn't sleep well last night – '
The elevator door slid shut and his stomach jolted.
'Marty?' The elevator began to slide downwards. 'Marty, are you all right?'
He couldn't reply. His heart had begun to hammer inside his chest; his forehead felt hot and his vision blurred slightly. He stared at the elevator door, fighting a rising urge to pound wildly on it.
This is stupid. It's just an elevator. You've been in one loads of times before. So why are you panicking now?
Sweat prickled on his forehead.
'Marty?'
What if the elevator breaks down and you're stuck in here?
His knees abruptly knocked together; his legs were no longer able to support him, and he sank to the ground, covering his eyes with a hand. Jennifer dropped down beside him and grabbed his shoulders. 'Marty, what's wrong?' she cried, sounding scared
She made him feel even more confined and he wanted to push her away, but his limbs were paralysed and he was unable to move them. The four sides of the elevator seemed to be closing in on him. He closed his eyes, fighting nausea. He was going to faint.
I can't faint! Jennifer would freak out! God, please get me out of here…
He forced himself to open his eyes just as the elevator door opened. Gasping for breath, he tried to struggle to his feet; Jennifer slid an arm around his waist and pulled him up. She supported him as he staggered out of the elevator and over to a bench.
'Please say something, Marty,' Jennifer begged him as she helped him sit down. 'Will I get someone? Marty?'
He managed to shake his head as the dizziness began to recede. 'No, it's okay,' he said hoarsely. 'I'm okay now.'
'Are you sure?' Jennifer felt his forehead, biting her lip worriedly. 'You're hot.'
'Hey, thanks.'
She smiled shakily. 'Stop it, Marty. I thought you were going to faint in there.'
'So did I.'
'What was wrong with you? Are you ill or something?'
'No – nothing like that.' He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. 'Nothing's wrong. Nothing.'
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After that, it got worse. He was terrified out of his mind at the possibility of being trapped in any sort of confined space. Closets, the covers on his bed, his truck – he even panicked while pulling a sweater over his head. This fear combined with his confusion at why he was behaving like this made him nervous and jittery; he wasn't eating or sleeping properly.
It showed, too. That week he went over to Doc's; he knocked on the lab door and the scientist pulled it open. 'Hello, Marty – Great Scott, you look terrible.'
'Yeah, thanks,' Marty snapped irritably as Doc stepped back to let him enter. He was tired of everyone, from his family to Jennifer, commenting on his pale face and the dark circles shadowing his eyes. 'Nice way to greet someone, Doc.'
Doc shut the door behind him, eyeing the teen closely. 'You really don't look well.'
'I know,' Marty sighed. He glanced nervously around the room, tapping his fingers nervously on the workbench. 'It's just…something I have to work out.'
Doc nodded thoughtfully. 'I see.' He raised an eyebrow at Marty. 'Do you want to talk about it?'
For a moment, Marty hesitated. In some strange way he relished the idea of talking to his best friend about his strange new fear, seeking Doc's help – but he quickly pushed the notion aside, feeling – ashamed, almost? Embarrassed?'
'No, it's okay,' he muttered. Doc didn't pressure him, merely changed the subject, telling Marty about his latest invention. Marty nodded along as he listened, grateful for the distraction.
Later, though, as he and Doc were working in silence – making a modification to the DeLorean – he suddenly said, 'Doc?'
'Mmm?' his friend replied absently, struggling with a loose connection.
'You know when you have like a fear of something?'
Doc paused. 'Yes?'
'Well…' Marty strove to keep his voice nonchalant. 'How d'you deal with it?'
'A fear? Like a phobia?'
'Uh…I guess.'
Doc straightened up, his brow furrowed in thought. 'I suppose the best way to deal with a phobia is to simply face up to it – to confront your fear.'
Marty stared at him in dismay. 'Face up to it? You mean – do whatever you're most afraid of?'
'Yes, that would be my way of thinking.'
Marty was silent for a long time. Doc said gently, 'Marty, are you sure you don't want to talk about anything?'
Marty sighed. 'Yeah, I'm sure,' he replied glumly.
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But that night, as he was huddled on top of his bed, shivering – he was too afraid of becoming trapped underneath the covers again to risk sleeping under them – he decided that he'd had enough. If Doc thought that facing up to his fear was the best way to deal with it – well then, he'd try that.
Does that mean I have to get into a closet or something? he thought apprehensively. The very thought was enough to make his throat go dry. I'll go over to Doc's tomorrow and ask him. He can help me. I should have asked him today.
Reassured, he finally managed to drift off to sleep.
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He boarded over to Doc's house the next day – it wasn't that he was afraid of being in the truck, rather that he was afraid of experiencing some sort of unexpected anxiety attack while he was in it. Who knew what twists his new unpredictable fear could take? Marty cursed his own weird behaviour, but hopefully Doc could help him with it.
When he reached Doc's house he headed straight for the lab, figuring Doc was most likely to be in there – but no, the lab was vacant and silent. Marty was just about to turn and leave when something caught his eye – an empty cupboard underneath the workbench, its door open.
Marty stared at it. The most confined space imaginable. He was small; he could fit.
The best way to deal with his fear.
He took a step towards the cupboard, feeling weak.
It's just a little cupboard. It's nothing to be afraid of! You were never afraid before!
Another step.
All you have to do is get in and shut the door for a few seconds. That's all. What's the big deal?
He stood before the open cupboard, breathing heavily.
Go on! What are you, chicken?
'I don't care about that anymore,' Marty muttered to himself, but all the same, it was enough to make him get down on the floor and squash himself into the little space. It's only a cupboard!
It was a tight fit. His head was pressed against the top; his knees were crammed up against the side, almost in his face. But all things considered, it wasn't so bad.
That's because the door is open, isn't it? You can see the lab out there, all wide and sunny. You're not really facing up to anything.
On a sudden impulse Marty reached out and pulled the cupboard door shut tight. He was immediately enveloped in velvet darkness.
He panicked. The four sides of the cupboard were pressing in all around him; it was completely black, he couldn't see anything, he couldn't breathe…He gripped the sides of his jeans tightly, digging his nails in so tightly it hurt. His breath came quick and short.
Okay, that's enough. That's enough! He pushed against the door.
It didn't budge.
He paused, fighting down the terror that was threatening to overwhelm him. It's just stuck, that's all. He pushed again. The door still didn't open.
With a moan, he struck out against the door as best he could while cramped into the tiny space. He hammered his fist against it, managed to kick it with one foot, even banged his head off it, anything to hide from the fear that was creeping up.
'Doc,' he said, his voice cracking and quavering. He licked his dry lips and tried again. 'Doc,' he called. 'Doc! DOC!'
He yelled as loud as he could, shouted until his throat hurt, but still no voice or footsteps came. He stopped yelling. Nothing but silence. Blackness.
'Oh my God,' he whispered as the stark reality came crashing down. He was stuck in here. There was no way out.
He thrashed out against the walls, kicking, thumping, forcing his body against every side of the walls. But all it did was serve to remind him how damned small the space really was.
Okay, I think I've faced up to my fear enough now, he thought and gave a laugh that quickly turned into a sob. He wondered if he was hysterical. He tried to catch his breath, but began hyperventilating.
Gasping and sobbing in the suffocating blackness, he thought he was going to go mad from the building pressure in his head. His heart was thumping wildly in his ears, he was sweating madly…his limbs were aching, crying out for release from the confined space…
He realised that he couldn't breathe if he carried on like this. He pressed his hot palms to the floor and forced himself to take one long, deep breath, sucking the air in – and then holding it, holding it, and then letting it out slowly. Another breath – another breath – another breath…
Gradually, miraculously, he felt himself become calmer, quieter. From time to time a sob still shook him and his heart was still beating faster than normal and he had to consciously keep himself from thrashing out wildly again, but he was beginning to relax ever so slightly.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, concentrating on breathing, on staying still. Deep breaths. In and out. Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.
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Marty didn't know how long he remained like that in the cupboard, half awake and half dozing, yet still focussed entirely on breathing and keeping himself calm. He was in there for maybe an hour. And then came the blessed sound of a door opening, of footsteps.
Marty's eyes snapped open. 'Doc,' he whispered. Then, louder, 'Doc!'
The footsteps halted and there was silence.
Marty rapped on the cupboard door. 'In here, Doc.'
'Marty?' Doc sounded bewildered. 'Where are you?'
'I'm in the cupboard. Under the workbench.'
'In the…?' The footsteps grew louder as they approached, and then light was streaming in as the door was pulled open. Marty squinted and threw a hand up to block the light. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Doc crouched down in front of him, his mouth hanging open.
'What in the name of Sir Isaac H. Newton are you doing in there, Marty?' Doc said in astonishment.
'Got stuck…'
'I can see that, yes. What were you doing in there in the first place?'
'Long story…' Marty felt incredibly sleepy all of a sudden.
Doc narrowed his eyes. 'Well, do you want to come out of there now?'
'Can't. My legs…they're cramped.'
The scientist understood, and slipped one hand beneath his knees and another beneath his shoulder to tug him out. Marty gave a yell of pain as he slid to the floor, pain blossoming in his limbs. He hissed through his teeth, reaching down to massage his muscles.
Doc was standing over him. 'All right, Marty. I think you should explain just exactly what you were doing in the cupboard in my lab.'
The teen winced, the pain fading just enough for him to feel embarrassed. 'It's your fault, Doc. You told me that I had to face up to my fear.'
Doc blinked, looking puzzled. 'And you decided to do this by getting into a cupboard? What exactly are you afraid of?'
Marty waved a hand vaguely from the floor. 'Just…y'know, being in…small spaces and stuff.' He could feel his cheeks becoming warm.
Doc frowned. 'Like claustrophobia?'
'Yeah, I guess.' For some reason the term had never occurred to Marty.
'Marty, why didn't you tell me about this?' Doc said in frustration. 'Locking yourself into a tiny cupboard seems an impractical and reckless idea. What if you'd had a panic attack or something?'
'I think I sorta did...'
'Since when have you been claustrophobic, anyway?'
'I dunno. It just kinda came on suddenly.'
Doc held out his hand and helped Marty to his feet. 'For the last time, Marty, I wish you'd talk to me about these things.'
'That's what I was coming over to do,' Marty said, scuffing his Nikes across the floor. 'And I just saw the open cupboard and decided to get in…'
'I suppose I have to ask if it had any effect whatsoever.'
'You know…' Marty glanced down at the cupboard, thought of a closet, the covers on his bed – and for the first time that week, felt no twinge of nervousness. A smile spread across his face 'I think it did.'