Just a quick oneshot to enjoy. this is dedicated to the author ScareyScarecrow, who inspired me to write this. Please review, and someone let Scarey know I wrote this for him? Anyway, enjoy!
Jonathan Crane sat up on the bed, and waited for it. It never came. The Fear. The Fear he so longed for but never received. He walked in circles rubbing his temples,, remembering what once was.
The Fear had been his friend once. They had spent nearly every day together.
Until it abandoned him. Now Fear never visited without his gas. And to gas himself, he knew, would be truly foolish.
He began to walk back to bed, but hesitated. Perhaps it couldn't hurt... could it?
Of course it would! Jon scolded himself, and began to go back to bed. Still,...
He walked to the bed, a sense of need overpowering him. He reached underneath and pulled out the suitcase. It clicked open, and he slid out the sprayers. He held one up to his face. He took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.
Mist sprayed out, and crane leapt back, coughing and sputtering. It tasted awful.
He took a seat back on his bed, and waited.
The minutes morphed into hours, and nothing happened. No Fear came. Nothing.
Jonathan sighed. How could he be so foolish? He would never feel that rush again. Never.
Hours later, a knock at the door awoke him. He groaned, then pulled himself out of bed. He squinted at the clock. What idiot was knocking at midnight?
He opened the door, only to find no one there. Odd, he could have sworn he'd heard something.
"What are you doing here, Crane?"
Jonathan whipped his head around, and saw a figure standing near his window. It was tall and skinny, and wearing a burlap mask. His mask.
"Get out of my house, you idiot!" he yelled, quite angry at the intruder.
While it should have been impossible, he could swear he saw the mask twist into a sneer.
" Do you think you scare me, Crane? Because you don't. You can't scare what you fear yourself."
Anger rose in Crane's chest at the thought that this arrogant bastard thought he scared him. Nothing scared him. While he missed it, fear was for the weak, and he was not weak.
He tried to say something back, but the figure was already gone. Until he felt the hot breath on his back. "Who do you think you are?!" he growled.
The figure merely laughed back in that deep, slurred voice of his. " Why I am you, Crane. I am all your fears, and yet I am fearless. I am a monster, just like you, Crane. I am you."
The room began to spin around him, and he fell to his knees, a strange sensation in his stomach. " I am NOT a monster." he said through clenched teeth.
" Oh but you are. Don't you remember Granny?"
Images flashed in Jon's head. Granny... he had killed her. he remembered the last words she had screamed at him as the crows tore at her flesh. Monster.
"No, no, no ,no..." he mumbled. The room was distorted now, everything a blur.
He looked up, and could only see a mirror in front of him. The figure stood within it, a symbol of his fate.
"And who, Doctor Crane, might I ask, are you? Really?"
"I-I'm..." Crane tried to say words,but all the air seemed to be gone from his lungs.
He smirked, realizing the familiar feeling of fear in his stomach. So it had come after all.
The hated calm returned, and he stood. He touched his face, but instead of smooth skin, he was met with the rough texture of burlap.
He finally answered the figure's question, though their voices were synonymous now.
"I am the Scarecrow."