Lana's pocket wasn't any more comfortable than Lisa's; in fact, it was noticeably worse. The denim of Lana's overalls was rougher and more abrasive than the cloth of Lisa's pants, and the smell was a lot more powerful, undoubtedly resulting from Lana's less-than-stellar hygiene habits.

On the positive side, his trip was a bit shorter this time around. All Lana had to do was walk one door over to Lucy and Lynn's room.

"Hey, did someone here order a Lincoln?"

"Yes. I did."

"Well, I got one right here! Mint condition, too."

"Wicked. Just leave him on my desk, please."

Lincoln snickered, tickled by the way Lana decided to deliver him. It seemed Luan wasn't the only one in the house with a sense of humor.

Lana pulled him out of her front pocket, walked over to Lucy's desk and set him down. Lucy, who was reclining on her bed, gave him a wave.

"Have fun, you two!" sang Lana as she walked back out the door. Once Lana left, Lincoln took a cursory look around the desk, just to see if Lucy had started anything before he arrived. Judging by the completely blank sheet of paper in front of him, he guessed the answer was "no".

"I'm glad you could see me today," Lucy said as she walked up to her desk and sat herself down. "Lynn's at roller derby practice, so the timing's perfect."

"How so?" asked Lincoln.

"Well, Lynn's not exactly a supportive one when it comes to poetry."


Lucy leaned over her desk, opened her poetry diary and read her latest entry aloud.

"Darkness envelops my soul. Crushing, smothering, suffocating me, leaving me gasping for-"

"NEEEERRRRRRRD!" called a voice from the other side of the room.


"Anyway, as I think I told you before, I'm writing this for a contest," said Lucy. "I found an ad for it on the way home from the mall. The first prize winner gets two free tickets to Creepy Castle."

"What's Creepy Castle?" asked Lincoln.

"Only the most thrilling, chilling, goosebump-inducing amusement park in all of Michigan," she said, a hint of energy entering her voice. "I absolutely cannot pass this up."

"Mm-hmm. But why do you need my help, then? Doesn't poetry come naturally to you?"

"Usually, it does," said Lucy. "But this time I've been given a prompt to follow. Take a look."

She grabbed a slip of paper off of her desk and held it up in front of Lincoln. It said the following:


Get out your pencils and get busy! The Royal Woods Annual Junior Poetry Contest is right around the corner. This year, the theme is...

Fear

What frightens you? What does it feel like to be scared? How would you describe the experience? Draw from your own life and don't be afraid to think outside the box!

Send in your entries to 201 Savino Ave. P.O. Box 34740...


"I'm a little stuck, to be honest," said Lucy, as she turned back towards her blank page. "Fear isn't a feeling I'm very familiar with."

At first, this struck Lincoln as a bit odd; after all, how could a girl who surrounds herself with all things horror be unfamiliar with fear? But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The prompt specifically asked the contestants to describe what fear feels like, and Lucy wasn't someone who scared easily. In fact, Lincoln shuddered to think of what actually could scare her.

"That's why I need your help," she said. "You know what it's like to be scared. Describe the feeling to me."

Lincoln smiled, feeling a glimmer of pride at the way Lucy complimented him... which promptly vanished as soon as he realized what she was implying.

"Hey, wait a minute! Are you calling me a scaredy cat?"

Lucy shrugged, maintaining her flat expression. "If the shoe fits..."

Lincoln glowered at the goth and jabbed his pointer finger in her direction. "My shoe fits up your-"

Lucy swung her head back towards Lincoln. A single pointed look from her was all it took to shut him up.

"N-never mind," he squeaked. "Let's just get started."

Lincoln walked over to the page, and tried to think of a way to begin the poem. What does fear feel like?

His first instinct was to try to remember how he felt just moments ago, when El Diablo was trying to eat him. He closed his eyes, tried to reimagine the experience, and began to rattle off everything that came to his mind.

"Well, when I'm scared," he said, "my heart starts pounding, my body starts shaking uncontrollably, and sometimes it gets pretty hard to breathe."

Lucy nodded and wrote down the following notes on the paper:

- Heart pounding

- Shaking

- Hard to breathe

"It's a start," she said. "But it's pretty low on detail. I really want to try to paint a picture with my words."

"Hmm..."

Lincoln paced back and forth across Lucy's desk, rubbing his chin in thought. "Fear is... it's like, your body's way of telling you that something bad's about to happen. That you're in danger."

Lucy started fidgeting with her pencil. "No, that's not it either," she said. "It sounds too much like a definition of fear. I'm a poet, not a dictionary."

Lincoln groaned and rolled his eyes. He could see her point, but that was such a pretentious way to put it.

"All right, all right. Lemme do a little more thinking."

Lincoln closed his eyes and tried to extract some more details from the snake incident, to little success. The problem was that the only time he felt truly terrified, instead of merely nervous or apprehensive, was when he was in El Diablo's mouth, and that moment only lasted for so long before Lana came in to save the day.

Let's see... what else was I feeling then? Pressure? Strain on my legs? No, that's fatigue, not fear. Determination? No, that's a response to fear, not fear itself. Um...

Lincoln's thought process was cut off by a deep gurgling sound coming from his lower abdomen. It occurred to him that he hadn't eaten since 7:00 that morning.

"Hey, Lucy? Could you please go downstairs and get me a little something to eat? I can't write on an empty stomach."

Lucy dropped her pencil, pushed out her chair and rose to her feet. "Sigh. Okay."

After she left the room, Lincoln took a moment to survey the world around him. It was odd, the way a setting so mundane could become so fantastical just by scaling it up. The baseball bat resting by the door was now a colossal monolith, the ceiling light a grandiose chandelier, Lucy's desk a plateau overlooking a thriving village.

Man, if only the writing prompt was about adventure or exploration, thought Lincoln.

Just then, the door swung open and Lucy strolled inside. After she retook her seat at her desk, she placed a slice of gouda cheese atop a Ritz cracker in front of Lincoln.

"I hope you like wagon wheels."

Lincoln sat down and started ripping chunks off the cheese and shoveling them into his mouth. "Mmm, I do! Thank you, Lucy!" he said in between bites.

Lucy let a little giggle escape. "I have to admit, you're pretty cute when you eat like that," she said. "You look like a little mouse."

Lincoln continued to stuff his face, so enamored he was with the food he was given. At his old size, this would barely qualify as a snack, but now, it was a full meal.

As soon as he polished off the last crumb, he leaned back and patted his full belly in satisfaction.

"Ahh, that hit the spot. Thanks again."

"You're quite welcome," she said. "Are you ready to start brainstorming again?"

"Yeah," said Lincoln, wiping crumbs off his lips. "Yeah, I think I'm ready."

"Good. Let's go."

Thirty tense seconds passed by, as Lucy hovered her pencil over the paper while Lincoln tried to set his mind back on the snake incident.

"I thought you said you were ready," said Lucy.

"No, I am. I just need a bit of time to think."

Lucy gave no immediate response, instead staying frozen in her writing position - eyes on the paper, pencil in midair. Then, after a long, drawn out moment of silence, she put her pencil down on the desk and slowly turned her head towards Lincoln, until her eyes were (presumably) pointed right at him.

"Lincoln," she said, her tone becoming sharper and more deliberate, "if you don't start giving me ideas, I'm going to be very upset."

Lincoln gulped, stood up and started shuffling towards the back of the desk. "U-understood, Lucy."

Lucy leaned over her desk, closing the distance between her brother and her. "Very, very upset."

Beads of sweat started to accumulate on Lincoln's brow, which he clumsily tried to whisk away.

"Do you know what I like to do when I'm upset?"

Lincoln started to tremble, knowing full well that he wasn't going to like the answer to that question.

"I like to squeeze things."

Lucy laid her right hand on the table, palm facing him. The very sight of it began to turn him pale.

"I like to wrap my thick, sinewy fingers around an object, and constrict it. I like to push it to the breaking point and beyond, to feel it struggle to resist my iron-bound grip, until it finally gives in and crumbles before my overwhelming force."

By now, Lincoln's knees were buckling under his own weight, and his face was drained of any trace of color, leaving him with a complexion that matched hers. To hear those words coming out of an eight-year-old girl - in such a monotonous, emotionless tone, no less - was nothing short of eerie.

"What if I decided to squeeze you?"

Lincoln's heart rate started to quicken. This has to be a bad dream.

"How long do you think you would last..."

Her right hand started to curl itself into a fist. "...before your windpipe collapsed from the pressure; before your bones succumbed to my grip, and began to splinter and crack; before your-"

"Lucy, Lucy, Lucy!" Lincoln blurted out. "You... you can't be serious! I know this contest means a lot to you, but you don't want to crush your only brother, do you?"

Lucy withdrew her fist and turned away from him. "No, Lincoln. I don't."

Oh, thank God-

"Which is why I'm going to give you one more chance."

Dang it.

Lucy looked back towards the cowering boy and dropped her fist right in front of him.

"You have until the count of ten to come up with an idea," she said. "One."

Lincoln's brain went into overdrive, scrambling for anything he could pitch as an idea. Think, Lincoln, think!...Think of the snake. Think of the snake and just say the first thing that comes to your head.

"Uhm... fangs? Saliva? Hissing noises?"

Lucy cast a pointed glare in his direction. "Two."

Lincoln let out a little yelp and got right back to brainstorming. "F-f-fear is... fear is an automatic response to external-"

"I'm not writing an essay," said Lucy. "Three."

Crud, crud, crud, crud, crud!...Okay, brainstorming isn't working. Try bargaining.

"C-c-come on, Lucy. I'm at least trying. Don't I at least deserve credit for that?"

"No," Lucy said flatly. "Four."

Lincoln started to pace back and forth like a cornered animal. All of his efforts to start racking his brain again were met with failure; he was too panicked to think.

"I-I...I... um-"

"Hold on a second," interjected Lucy, picking up her pencil with her left hand. "I think I've got something."

Lincoln gasped. "R...really?"

A split second later, Lucy slapped her pencil back down. "No. Five."

Lincoln recoiled in pain; every count she made felt like a stinging jab to the gut. Having run clean out of ideas and lacking the capacity to scrounge for more, there was only one option Lincoln had left: begging.

"Lucy, p-please, think about what you're doing!" he choked out, his throat too dry to scream. "People will notice that I'm gone! And they'll know you were the one who had me last! You won't get away with it!"

Lucy just scowled at him, completely unfazed by his words. "Six."

Lincoln dropped to his knees, clasping his hands together. "Lucy, I'm begging you!" he cried. "If it's Creepy Castle you want, I'll take you! I'll look online for tickets and I won't stop until I find a-"

"Seven."

"Ghosts!" he blurted out, jumping to his feet. "Ghosts and goblins and ghouls that come for you at night! Hiding under your pillow- I-I mean blanket! Hiding under your blanket!"

In a desperate, last-ditch attempt to save himself, he started spouting off every word he could think of even tangentially related to the subject of fear. It worked about as well as you'd expect.

"Eight."

There were only two counts left, and he hadn't made any progress trying to appease her. At this point, all he could do was grovel, in the vain hope that she'd change her mind.

"Lucy," he whimpered, "please don't let it end this way. I don't want to die."

"Nine."

By now, his entire body was drenched with sweat, his knees were knocking together so violently that he could barely keep his balance, and his heart was hammering against his chest, threatening to break through. This was it. The grim reaper was closing in on his position, and there was nowhere he could run. He had just cheated death earlier today, only to see it come right back for him.

"Ten."

And now he was officially out of time. He threw his hands over his head, clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, waiting for the painful conclusion to his tragically short life, when...

"Hold it!" Lucy said sharply. "Stay right where you are. Don't move an inch until I tell you to."

Lincoln had to stifle a tremor of surprise. What was going on now? Was he getting a second chance?

Whatever it was, he didn't want to imagine what would happen if he disobeyed her, so he froze himself in place. As he did, he could hear her snatch up her pencil and start scribbling something down. His first instinct was to sneak a peek at what she was writing, but for his own sake, he suppressed that instinct.

Finally, after a few suspenseful minutes, Lucy spoke again:

"Okay, now you can move."

With his heart still racing, Lincoln peeled his hands away from his face and cracked his eyes open. In front of him was a smirking Lucy, holding a now-filled paper in front of him:


"Fear," by Lucy Loud

Fear

Knees wobbling, weakening, wavering

Blood drains from my face, leaving it a ghostly, pale husk

Fear

A torrent of sweat seeping out of every pore

Sloughing off, leaving me dry

Desolate

Parched

Too hoarse to scream

Fear

I throw up my hands in a vain attempt to shield myself

To keep the danger away

To hide the tears squeezing through my clenched-shut eyes

Fear

Can't run

Can't hide

Can't fight

Can't bargain

All I can do

Is embrace my grisly fate

Fear


"Lucy, this is..."

For the first time since the snack break, Lincoln's lips curled up into a smile. "This is wonderful!" he cried. "How did you come up with all this?"

"Simple," said Lucy. "I got it from you, Lincoln. All I had to do was look at you and write down what I saw."

And just like that, everything that had just transpired suddenly made sense. He looked the poem over a couple more times, and found that every other line was a lurid description of something he was doing. Lincoln was so overwhelmed by the oncoming wave of relief that he started doubling over in laughter.

"Oh, boy, you had me going!" he cackled, grabbing his chest in an attempt to quell his still-pounding heartbeat. "For a moment there I thought you- wait, hold on..."

Lincoln's laughter died down as he read the poem again. There was one line in particular that stood out to him:


To hide the tears squeezing through my clenched-shut eyes


"Hey! I wasn't crying!"

Lucy giggled. "You were a little."

Lincoln dabbed his finger around his eyes, and found that they were, indeed, a bit moist.

"Okay, a little," he admitted.

Lucy's smile broadened as she reached over and ruffled his hair. "All teasing aside, you helped me out in a big way today. Thank you."

"Y-you're welcome," he said, as he felt his heartbeat resume its normal pace. "Just please don't ever scare me like that again."

Having finally finished her work, she folded up her poem, tucked it into an envelope (which she already had stamped and addressed) and sealed it. "I just need to go downstairs to mail this," she said. "After that, I'll take you over to Lola."

But just as she stood up from her desk and turned towards the door, Lincoln called out to her.

"Lucy, wait! There's something I need to ask you."

She turned back around to face him. "Yes, Lincoln?"

"You... um..."

Lincoln averted her gaze and started twiddling his fingers. "You didn't really mean any of that stuff you said before, right? About crushing me?"

Lucy couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, Lincoln, of course I didn't. You're my brother. You mean the world to me."

Just to drive the point home, she picked him up, gave him a kiss that covered his entire cheek, and then set him back down.

"Now just wait here while I go mail this. I'll be right back."

With that, she pivoted around and strode out the room, envelope in hand. As soon as the door closed behind her, Lincoln fell onto his back and heaved out a contented sigh. At long last, the hardest part of the day was over. After this, all he had to do was join Lola for a tea party. How hard could it-

Wait, he thought. That's exactly what I was thinking before the poetry session, and look what happened.

...but even so, it's just a pretend tea party with a bunch of dolls and stuffed animals. What could possibly happen to me?