I can remember my 15th birthday like it was yesterday. Not because it was great or anything, but iy was the day everything for me changed. I used to think that everything was safe, that the world would always keeps its inhabitants safe. I used to think I could go anywhere and be untouched. Then I moved to Gotham City.
My 15th birthday started out how any kids birthday would start if they had just moved from a small town to a big city. I woke up, showered for half and hour, got dressed, ate a bit of breakfast that consisted of toast with excessively tangy margarine, and ran out the door to catch the bus. Now I wasn't the most popular kid in school, but I was very well liked, which is amazing if you're a new kid. I walked onto that bus and was greeted by all the kids in my class who happened to share that same bus with me. All in all, it was a good morning, except for the rain. But rain in Gotham is eternal, I know that now.
The bus rides were always entertaining back then. I was an out-of-towner and didn't know what went on in Gotham. The kids told me stories of all these weirdos who ran around and committed crimes, sometimes even murder. I thought they were wrong, that they were trying to scare me. Two minutes later I would be proven wrong.
Maybe it's because I was in a hurry to catch the bus, or maybe it was the distraction my friends and the their stories represented, but I should have noticed our bus driver looked a lot different than usual. For example where our bus driver had a bit of a weight problem, the new guy was very slender to the point that it was like he was nothing but bones with skin. Another example would be that he had bits of straw sticking out of his clothes. But I wouldn't have noticed any of this if he hadn't started cackling like a hyena. I didn't think much of it then, since I was a kid, but the laughter started when the others were telling me about the 'urban legend' called Batman.
He put something heavy on the accelerator, I don't remember what it was, and got up out of his seat and walked down the isle towards us. He started unbuttoning his shirt, which at first made me think he was an extremely messed-up pedophile. It made him coming at us that much more creepier. But underneath his shirt was another shirt, ragged with straw poking form it here and there and stitch markings. If it wasn't for the stories I'd heard I wouldn't have known who he was then.
The Scarecrow was his name. Master of Fear is what the kids called him. They said he could make you see whatever you were afraid of, which I thought was a load of bologna when they first told me. But that was until I saw him striding up to us, wrapped up in the rags of an actual scarecrow and placing a terrifying mask, or a sack with wholes and a face on it, over his head.
I was terrified. A kid my age, face-to-face with a convicted lunatic, on my birthday of all days. He must've felt the terror building in me because he walked over to me and pulled me out of the seat and into the aisle next to him. I remember he told me I was ripe with fear, making the perfect hostage. Then, out of a need to make me even more scared or to describe to us all his fate, he told us his plan.
The way he explained it was what made it worse. Basically, and I'm simplifying this, he was gathering data on how children react to fear. Our bus was chosen as his test subject. Once he was done explaining his plan he pulled out this spray can and started his 'experiment'. Within a few shorts seconds the bus was filled with a greenish grayish fog.
Sometimes, when I close my eyes or fall asleep, I can still hear the screams. No one was sitting down. They all ran about as much as they could in a crowded bus, screaming and crying. But no one was more terrified then me, because no one was being held onto by a man dressed in rags and laughing like he had been told the funniest joke he ever heard. His eyes, peering through poorly-cut holes, could barely contain they enjoyment of seeing all of us scared out of our minds.
The fears ranged from silly things like a failing grade or bad hair to legit fears like being unloved or an abusive father. Only reason I know these is because some of the others were screaming about them clearly enough for me to understand. What I saw, what I feared, were millions of tiny rodents, flying around and making sounds that would drive anyone over the edge. Scarecrow was enjoying my fears, saying he understood it all to well from 'past experience'. His words must've been a cue or something, because that's when he showed up.
At first I only heard the sound of the windshield shattering, followed swiftly by the thud of boots hitting the floor and what sounded like flapping. When I turned around to see what it was I was instantly in tears. It was one of them, black as night and snarling like it had come right out of hell. It's wings flapped about as it looked at Scarecrow, who was unflinching while he tightened his grip. I knew that what I was looking at was Gothams' urban legend, the Batman.
Like I said, I was terrified. But Scarecrow, he just looked at him and told him he was conducting research and to 'fly back to the cave he came from.' I don't know what he responded back, as I only heard snarls and growls coming from a fanged mouth that spewed fire. Without giving any notice at all he came at me and Scarecrow, screeching terribly. Like a rag doll I was dragged towards the back of the bus as Scarecrow ran away.
He wasn't fast enough. He got caught, his grip loosening up enough so I could slip away and hide. But even as I hid I could still hearing the screaming of the others, the screeching of the Batman, the grunts of pain from Scarecrow as he was beaten. The fear-inducing fog that filled the bus was leaving through the whole in the windshield, but the screams continued. And so I covered my ears, closed my eyes, and hid myself away from everything.
But my peace only lasted a few seconds. With a loud thud Scarecrow hit the aisle floor in front of me, passed out from the beating. Curiosity got the best of me though. I crawled out from my hiding place and looked around. The screams had died down a little, probably due to the gas leaving the bus. Suddenly I was flung forward with a pretty fierce jolt.
Turns out the Batman had managed to take whatever was weighed down on the accelerator and hit the brakes on the bus. Me and pretty much everyone went flying towards the front of the bus. But it was only me who hit the Batman. Or at least what I thought was the Batman. What stood over me wasn't a monster form hell at all.
Instead there was a man, his face hidden behind a mask except for a mouth that didn't spew fire. His wings were now a cape, wrapped around his body. As I looked at him he extended a hand to me, no claws at all. I took it and was hoisted up onto my feet. The screaming had stopped, but I remember the jabbering was just beginning.
I remember Scarecrow going on and on about his little 'project'. How it was a 'complete success' and that I was the perfect test subject. I remember the Batman walking past me and grabbing onto that pile of rags. I remember him being dragged past me, still jabbering on like a lunatic. But what really got to me, what really scared me, was when he grabbed my arm and squeezed it.
Our eyes met for a seconds as he told me we were just alike. That we shared the same fear, that we were one in the same. And then he was dragged away, still jabbering and leaving quite and impression on me. I watched as the Batman took him off the bus through the way he came. I remember hearing the sirens in the distance coming closer.
That was 3 years ago. 3 long, agonizing years. As I said before, he left quite and impression on me. My parents sent me to a psychiatrist to make sure I was alright. My doctor, Dr. Crane, evaluated me for about a month or so before deciding I needed to be put in a safe place for awhile. Apparently the safe place was a very secure cell in a juvenile detention center.
Since then I've had 5 nervous breakdowns, dozen of suicide attempts, and an incident involving an inmate and a metal lunch tray to the head. Dr. Crane sent me to Arkham Asylum, where I've stayed for the past year. Every year, on this very day, I get a visit from Dr. Crane. He makes me do this aroma therapy thing, but every time I inhale I see the same thing: a giant bat looming over me with a look of hunger. Once I'm done screaming or being held down my the orderlies to get shot to calm me down, Dr. Crane always gives me a smile and tells me the same thing before he leaves.
'Happy Birthday.'