Tetch's Misadventures in Arkham Chapter 4: Ligyrophobia, a batman fanfic

"There's no sort of use in knocking," said the Footman ...

"...and that for two reasons. First, because I'm on the same side of the door as you are:

secondly, because they're making such a noise inside, no one could possibly hear you."

(Alice in Wonderland.)

That night was one of Tetch's worst, and he had endured a LOT of bad nights in his lifetime; nights full of worry, fear, doubt and pain… lots of pain. Yet that first night in Arkham was like all of his worst nights rolled into one.

And it was all thanks to a single act the other prisoners had committed.

Tetch had just been pushed into his little cell. It was very plain; soft grey tiled walls, ceiling and floor. He had a small cot with two thin blankets to sleep with. No sheets or pillow cover. He assumed the prisoners received only supplies made of a thicker coarser material such as cheap wool because it would be harder for them to hang themselves with it. But still, it was pretty stingy all the same. The room was not particularly warm, either. There was no window to reveal the outside world (but then, that was no surprise).

On his bed was a grey jumpsuit; evidently these were his bed clothes. He looked nervously towards the giant window facing the hallway. No way was he getting dressed now! Someone was right opposite him (he did not dare look up and see who). Instead he pulled off his socks and shoes (they didn't even have laces, just Velcro, like a child's). The hallway had become very quiet, as though everyone was watching him.

As he began to lay out one of the blankets to lie on top of (he wasn't lying straight on the mattress, it had mysterious and foreboding yellow stains on it) he heard a few sniggers. Were they laughing at his attempt at normality? That he wasn't an animal like them? Well, maybe that was funny. Look at the situation he was in!

"LIGHTS OUT!" snapped a voice over the speaker.

Jervis was promptly plunged into a deep darkness. The place had been so brightly lit beforehand, the contrast now somewhat hurt his eyes.

At first it was so silent he could hear his heart pounding in his chest. Even the blood flow in his ears made itself known.

He climbed quickly into bed, breathing short, shallow breaths, and willing himself to remain calm and focused.

Then it started.

It was Scarecrow who got the ball rolling. He had been in an ecstasy of malevolence seeing that timid little thing being practically dragged through the halls. If Arkham was a jungle and the likes of the Joker were lions, then Scarecrow was a hyena. He was a cold hearted scavenger. And he was mean – even meaner than the likes of Two Face and Killer Croc. He was mean because he was physically weaker and nowhere near as psychotic as they were (some of the others were crazed to the point of being also suicidal). Scarecrow had to work a lot harder at staying moderately high on the Arkham Food Chain. And the new guy was clearly a bottom feeder.

He swaggered up to his window, with that strange, jerky, and oddly intimidating walk of his. The darkness did not bother him – it was an ally. Curling a pale hand, he took advantage of the ensuing silence by banging melodiously on the window.

Bonk.

It echoed through the darkened halls.

Bonk.

Haha! They were already responding! Credit where credit is due: when it comes to torturing someone, the Arkham inmates are as one mind.

At the same time, three or four of them banged on their glass screens:

BONK.

Scarecrow withheld a snigger – he knew the Joker would be trying not to bust a gut.

Jervis gripped his blanket. What. The. Hell? Why were they all banging at their windows like that? Was it to some purpose? How long were they going to keep it up for?

He covered his ears but he still felt the vibrations strumming through his body. His bones shook. As it continued on and on, Jervis felt like it was sinking inside of him and violating his very soul.

"God, please," he thought desperately, "please shut them up, please, please."

Unfortunately God does not look down upon Arkham… or at least that was the general opinion of its occupiers. Arkham is strictly Satan's domain…

It carried on. And on. All of them were POUNDING on the glass walls now! Even the ones too stupid to understand were doing it.

BANG –

All silent but for that rhythmic banging; it was like an army beating its war drums.

"I have to do something," Jervis thought desperately, "I have to make them stop."

Anxiously he got up and walked to his window. "Please," he muttered, voice lost in the din, "please stop, I cannot… I cannot sleep…"

BANG BANG BANG BANG

This probably was not a good idea. He'd watched prison films, like, that one by Stephen King... what was that called? Well he had seen it… at some point. And what he remembered was he ought to stay quiet. Stay quiet and deal with the torment. But then what if this happened every night? Would he ever sleep again?

BANG BANG

"Dear God, Tetch, calm down," he reprimanded himself, sinking to his knees and gripping his hair. "I need to get away…

BANG BANG

"I need to escape… if only Alice loved me…"

BANG BANG

"...if only…"

BANG BANG

"Alice!"

BANG!

"A childish story take and with a gentle hand," sighed Jervis, his eyes glazed over. He was sitting on the floor of his cell, gesturing to someone only he could see. "Oh dear, oh dear I shall be late! No that isn't right… now let me think… if only I had some tea…" Slowly the darkness of night began to fade away. Spreading his hands on the floor he could feel the soft caresses of grass blades. The wind blew his hair ever so lightly.

Bang bang…

That was an annoying sound… best just ignore it... and fade away to this... a pleasant place of light and air... No doubt that distant banging sound was the ringing of some annoying school bell...

It was tea time of course.

"It's always tea time," he muttered, a sliver of saliva escaping his mouth as he looked blindly forward.

Scarecrow had stopped banging; most of them had, too, except for the idiots who were really getting too into it and now missing its purpose entirely. Jervis was muttering. With the noise it was too hard to tell whether he was whimpering or not.

Scarecrow smiled without humour. The kid's nerves had been shot to pieces already on arrival. He had clearly been daunted by his cell, intimidated by his fellow inmates, and then with the lights... Johnny had known something very small was needed to send the kid over the edge. And it had, on the first night in front of everyone.

He was as good as dead now.

They would mess with him for a bit and then wipe him out. Just like all the other pretenders, wannabes, and those unfortunate enough to be deemed dangerous enough for Arkham's C wing.

Johnny could smell the fear; it was like static, crackling in the air. If only he was in that little blond bitch's cell. To be able see his terrified face, his body trembling and twitching, cold sweat flattening his hair onto his forehead... To hear his terrified pleas for mercy, his gasps, his groans, his sighs of terror... Johnny loved the effects of fear on other people.

He could feel himself breathing heavily and he was beginning to sweat. He was unconsciously scratching at the glass. "C-can't get too… out of control," he whispered coarsely to himself. He slumped onto the floor similar to how Tetch had only recently.

Joker was beginning to make audible sniggers as the new prison bitch continued to frantically mutter in a high pitched voice.

Fear stretched out its dark, clammy, fingers and touched every object, including the shadows. The poor little man practically radiated fear!

Leaning forward Johnny licked the glass.

God, fear tasted good.