A Little Thing Called Fear
Chapter One: Stephen King Marathon
"FEAR" noun:
"a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc.,
whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid."
A neat and tidy definition offered by the dictionary. An accurate denotation of an emotion that was anything but easily explained. Fear wasn't just distressing: it was messy and painful, gut-wrenching. Imagined threats were no less terrifying than 'real' ones, especially if those threats were aimed not at oneself but at another – a person you loved more than your own being. Emotionally, physically, intellectually, and spiritually affecting, fear was so much more than the dictionary could ever describe. It had the power to bring you to your knees, to diminish you to hysterics, to push you over the edge and eradicate your humanity - an animal blind with panic. Fear could make you do things you never thought you would.
Fear: universal but varied. Childhood fears of monsters under the bed, and teenage fears of rejection. Adult fears of unemployment and making rent. Fears you're too afraid to even imagine: your worst nightmares come to life; demons disguised with skins of humans; policemen at your door in the middle of the night; bullets raining like a hurricane; destruction on a mass scale.
Sometimes the most courageous people have the most fear.
Stiles remembers the day he learned his father wasn't fearless.
He remembers the exact date too: Friday, October 13th 2006. The unluckiest day of the year. A day of dark magic, superstition, and mischief. Trouble was in the air that day, and if anyone was sure to find it, it was eleven-year-old Stiles Stilinski. He had always attracted trouble like a magnet – even as a child. The fact that he had sought out impish adventures on that night, dragging his best friend Scott along with him, probably hadn't helped matters either.
It all started the night before, on Thursday. There was a Stephen King movie marathon on: Christine, Pet Sematary, Carrie, Cujo, Children of the Corn, It. All the great horror classics he had heard about but never watched. His dad didn't want him watching scary movies. He knew Stiles had an overactive imagination and a deeply rooted belief in the supernatural the sheriff could never purge him of. Once an idea lodged itself in Stiles' mind, there was no getting rid of it. The last thing the sheriff needed was his son refusing to get in the car because it might be possessed, or running from every dog or clown he saw.
But the marathon was just too tempting. Stiles had dinner with the McCalls, same as he did most weekday nights, and then headed home. It was early yet, with plenty of sunlight remaining, and he knew his father wouldn't be home until late. He turned on the television, and settled on the couch with a bag of potato chips, a box of sour candies, and half a liter of Pepsi. His mother never would have let him eat so much junk food, especially so soon after supper, but since her passing the nutrition level of the Stilinski men's eating habits had diminished significantly.
Stiles was half-way through Carrie when Scott called. Stiles held the phone to his ear with his shoulder and shoved a handful of chips into his mouth. "Dude, are you watching this? It started out pretty boring, but it's finally getting good!"
"No, Mom realized what I was watching and turned it off."
"That sucks," Stiles commiserated.
"Yeah. Is it scary yet?"
Stiles shrugged, though he knew Scott couldn't see him. "Not really. This is only the first one I've watched though."
"I wish I could watch," Scott sighed. "I gotta go. I'll see ya tomorrow."
"Later."
Stiles was transfixed. The images on the screen captured his attention and wouldn't let him go. He was starting to realize how many nuances went into great horror movies; how music drastically altered mood; how true creepiness didn't come from gore or violence, but from a latent, crazed darkness within human nature. He was beginning to feel sorry for Carrie – up until the point she went ballistic and killed everyone. He decided he was never going to a high school prom.
Pet Sematary was next. Stiles thought it looked better. It opened cheerily enough, with a man and his wife and their two children. A perfect little family in a picturesque country house. The scariest movies always began with the kind of happy scenes other movies ended with. When the daughter's cat came back to life – a demonic version of itself – Stiles thought that was pretty cool. Spooky, if not horrifying.
But then the little boy died, and Stiles wasn't scared, just sad and disturbed. He felt he could understand the father's grief. He knew how painful it felt to lose someone you loved. The sun was sinking over the horizon and daylight was siphoned from the room. Stiles didn't turn on a light. He watched through his fingers as the son came back to life and murdered his own mother. "Don't do it!" he screamed, as the father made the same mistake twice, and buried his wife in the mystical cemetery. Idiot! What did he think was going to happen?
Desperation, Stiles knew, was what drove the man to do it. Desperation and love. He had seen the same bewildered look in his father's eyes after his mom had died. He wondered if his dad would have tried the same, if such a thing were possible. His dad had really loved his mom – really, really loved her. If the sheriff knew of a burial ground with the power to bring the dead to life, even if the resurrected weren't their former selves, would he have tried to resurrect Claudia? Would he try to resurrect Stiles if anything happened to him? Stiles didn't want to think about it.
After that, Stiles found himself becoming more and more frightened by the movies, but he couldn't seem to stop watching. Night closed in around him. Stiles pulled a blanket over his head and shoulders, swaddled in its warmth as he allowed himself to be scared. Midnight was fast approaching, but Stiles lost track of the time. He was watching The Shining. He thought it was the scariest yet. He knew he'd be seeing the redheaded twins in his nightmares. His first movie with nudity – the woman in Room 201 – was ruined, as she transformed into a hideous, decaying hag.
Stiles didn't notice the police cruiser pull into the drive. Nor did he hear the unlocking of the front door, the slow twist of the knob, the sheriff quietly stepping into the house to avoid waking his son. The son who should have been sleeping, not camping out in front of the TV. "Stiles!"
Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin. Sheriff Stilinski turned on a lamp. "Dad!" He clutched at his chest. "You scared me!"
"What are you still doing up? It's a school night. You should have been in bed hours ago." Sheriff Stilinski stepped further into the living room and looked at the screen. Stiles quickly tried to grab the remote, but his father snapped it up. "What is this?"
"Um, a, uh, movie?"
"Is this This Shining!?" Stiles' sheepish silence was his answer. The sheriff sighed. He remembered watching this film in theaters. "What have I told you about watching horror movies?"
"That you, uh, didn't want me to?"
Sheriff Stilinski flicked off the television and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to get into this right now. Go upstairs and get ready for bed. Now." Stiles obeyed. He wasn't sure he wanted to know how that movie ended anyway.
Sheriff Stilinski spoke to Claudia – just as he had every night since their marriage and hadn't ceased doing just because she had died – as he undressed and prepared for bed. "I don't know what to do with that boy sometimes." He shook his head and unbuttoned his shirt. "He's curious and spirited, like his mother. Is it ironic that the same qualities that attracted me to you make raising him more difficult? I wish you were here, Claude. He'd listen to you. You'd take good care of him. I want to do you proud, but it's so hard without you. God, I miss you."
Sheriff Stilinski propped his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. Nights were always worse. During the day, he was distracted. The sun and his responsibilities warded off the grief and the loneliness, kept him strong. The night brought him hollowness and pain, the darkness of his thoughts, reminded him of the empty space in his bed.
Someone knocked on his bedroom door. The sheriff sighed. "What is it, Stiles?"
The door was opened, revealing a pajama-clad boy, a pillow stuffed under one arm. "Dad, can I sleep with you tonight?"
Sheriff Stilinski thought it best to say no: it would toughen Stiles up, make him stronger, help him learn to deal with his fears on his own, teach him to listen when his father advised him not to do something. But the selfish part of him wanted to fill the empty space, wanted to feel the warmth of another person beside him, wanted to hold tightly to the last person he loved on the planet. "Alright, kiddo," he conceded. "Climb in."
Stiles hopped onto the bed, placed his pillow on top of his mother's old one, and curled up under the sheets. He watched as his father put on a t-shirt, examining the strong muscles along his shoulder blades and flanking his spine. The sheriff was putting on a little weight. It wasn't that long ago Stiles had believed his father was Superman. "Dad?"
"Yes, Stiles?"
"Do you watch horror movies?"
"No. I don't like them."
"Because they're scary?"
Sheriff Stilinski snorted and crawled under the covers. He could sense the length of Stiles beside him, and thought his son was growing quickly. He'd probably need new clothes in another month. "No, because I don't enjoy watching terrible, disgusting things happen to people. I see enough of that at work."
"You're not scared of ghosts?"
"No."
"Zombies? Vampires?"
"No, Stiles. I'm not scared of things that don't exist. Now, go to sleep." Sheriff Stilinski turned off the bedside lamp. He settled deeper into his pillows, his exhausted body relaxing into the luxurious much-deserved comfort of his bed. He closed his eyes, and felt himself drifting off. Beside him Stiles was quiet, and he hoped the boy had finally gone to sleep.
"Dad?"
"Huh?" Stilinski grunted.
"Is there anything you are scared of?"
"Please, Sty, go to sleep."
"I bet you're not scared of anything. Nothing at all. Policemen are never scared."
"I'm scared of not getting any sleep and having to go to work early. Now shut up and go to sleep."
"That's it. I've made up my mind: you're not scared of anything." Sheriff Stilinski didn't feel like arguing the point. He had to be up at six, and it was already nearing one o'clock. All the coffee in the world couldn't make up for a lost good night's sleep.
"Good, now good night."
"Good night, Dad. I love you."
"I love you too." Sheriff Stilinski heard Stiles' breathing slow and dissipate into quiet snores. He tried to follow suit, but his brain wouldn't let him. How could he explain to Stiles that courage wasn't an absence of fear, but strength in spite of it? That he didn't need to be scared of silly supernatural creatures to understand the meaning of fear? That his worst fear had already come to pass the day he lost his wife, and as a result an even greater, more suffocating fear followed him around everyday, a crushing burden he endured on top of everything else?
He hoped his son never learned the meaning of fear. Hoped Stiles would always be more afraid of monsters under his bed than things found in the world. He hoped he could live up to this fearless ideal Stiles held of him, and he never had to show him just how terrified he was.
