Samhainophobia

General disclaimer: All distinctive characters and related elements featured in this publication are trademarks of DC Comics. I claim no rights or profits.
The text of the publication is intellectual property of myself, Lana Dragičević. Not to be used, altered or distributed without my expressed, written consent.

Notes:
Samhainophobia is a fear of Halloween.
Taphophobia is a fear of being buried alive.
Enjoy!

Chapter One: Taphophobia (Part 2)


The station near the naval shipyard complex was a perfect choice for Crane.
At one hour past midnight there were few people around, only the late shift industrial workers who were waiting for the train home.
Crane had quickly changed clothes in a public toilet while passing through the underground and had arrived at the station dressed in an ordinary cheap suit.
He now stood beneath the roof of the station, reading a newspaper to keep his face shielded from others.

He had picked a good time for his getaway from Gotham City. It was the beginning of autumn and although many people at this season were currently arriving back to work in Gotham, few were travelling in the opposite direction. This actually gave Crane an advantage to go unnoticed, since an alert crowd would sooner recognise him than a few tired workers or drunkards.
He hoped he looked unremarkable enough to be left alone. He didn't need any more trouble.

At one thirty-five, the train arrived. Crane boarded it and kept his newspaper in front of him while his ticket was checked. After the train left the station, he moved further down into an empty compartment and sat down heavily. He sighed audibly and ran his hands through his unkempt ginger hair. The landscape sped by through the gritty window. Crane saw only the district road which ran alongside the train tracks. The city was already just a mass of lights and smoke in the distance.
He had made it!

He realised his throat was dry and swallowed, gratitude for being safe sweeping over him. The entire journey across town had proved extremely stressful.
What would he do now? Going to the nearest larger city was the best option. He now had the money he desired, money he would use for buying all he needed for his experiments.
Of course, he'd have to take care, staying elusive to the police. A shame, but you couldn't have everything. Having at least something he'd wanted was a novelty in itself.

Crane still hadn't mentally accepted all these revelations. His heart was thumping loudly with excitement, and yes, leftover fear from the night's complications. He embraced both emotions and closed his eyes momentarily.
He mused on his ambitions. Professor Jonathan Crane would bring the psychology of fear to new levels, making advanced research such as had never been seen before.
He'd have to do with using lab animals for a start, but luckily, it mattered little, given his chosen subject of research.

Even dumb animals could feel fear; it was considered one of the most basic emotions.
Certainly by far the most powerful.
Everyone wished for the so-called positive emotions, yet in Crane's personal experience, happiness was hard enough to achieve and had a nasty habit of petering out the moment he thought he'd grasped it.

Love? Love was a cruelty, the sick little feeling of rejection in his stomach, inevitably coupled with the knowledge of being abandoned, even since his childhood.
Yet he could trust fear.
God knew he had a lot of it - enough to share around, as a matter of fact.
Inner phobias stayed for life, they were always there, to provide motivation and bring a whiff of liveliness into his heart.

He slumped in his seat. The adrenaline was wearing off, he now felt winded rather than elated. Every jolt of the train brought a throb of pain into his muscles. He briefly wondered if the Catwoman was experiencing the same problems. He grinned – she was probably a lot worse off than him.
Who would have thought she had taphophobia?

That being said, Crane mused, you could learn a lot more about a person from their fears than from their hopes.
He prided himself on being able to have a personal approach to his victims, erm, test subjects. Their plight was never in vain. He remembered it and dutifully recorded it in his notes.
One day, when he unlocked the secrets of fear, that greatest cerebral activity, they'd all be thanking him. Deep inside, he knew it.

Yes, in his opinion, fear was mankind's greatest asset. Would there be any of humanity's progress without it? Fear of the cold created the first fire. Fear of diseases created medicine. Nowadays, fear of boredom created what, among the common crowds, passed for entertainment.

Crane lifted himself from the seat and walked across the coupé, precious briefcase in hand. He entered the bathroom and washed his arms and face, ignoring the mirror. He was probably a disgusting sight at the moment. Crane winced as the water ran across the scratches he had received. Some were a bit deeper and were still oozing slightly.

One thing you learned while pursuing a criminal career in Gotham City was that it always paid to carry some form of first aid. Especially if you were as prone to cuts and bruises as Crane.
He placed the briefcase on the sink and clicked it open. He rolled up his sleeve and carefully bandaged his left arm, having retrieved a small cotton gauze.

***

Crane felt uneasy as he finished cleaning his minor wounds. What was wrong? He pricked up his ears, but couldn't hear anything except the train's steadfast movement. It was moving more slowly now as it passed over older railing. Then he understood. The sudden quiet was bothering him.
Crane closed his briefcase and slipped out of the bathroom. He looked through the window of his compartment and his heart skipped a beat. Outside on the road, the Bat's black vehicle was driving alongside the train.
Crane swiftly left his compartment, only to see the vigilante's outline through the glass door. Batman was at the beginning of the next compartment.
The other passengers were sitting in mute awe, the ones nearest to Crane pointedly edging away from the door to his compartment.
They now knew who was in there. The Dark Knight had found him...

His insides writhing with anxiety, Crane backed away and ran down the corridors, reaching the very last compartment. He circled the confined space, finding no way to escape short of jumping off.
Clinically insane as he was, Crane still marginally preferred the Dark Knight to Death.
He shut off the lights and hid behind a seat. He managed to put on his mask in the half-dark.
At least that way he would have the element of surprise.

Blood pounding to his head, the Scarecrow waited for Batman to enter. When he finally heard the door open, he felt dazed with dreadful anticipation.

'Crane? ' a voice boomed in the dark, 'I know you're here. Release your hostage and come quietly. It's over. Hurting the Catwoman will do you no good now. There's no way out, Crane.'

The Scarecrow opened his mouth silently. This was about her, then. The Bat actually thought the Cat had been abducted by him! Time to play a little game... The Scarecrow smiled madly and whispered:
'She isn't here with me, I regret to say. I am impressed how you located me so soon. Don't come near me, though, or you'll never find your little kitty...'

'Where have you taken her, Crane?' the Dark Knight said, with urgency in his voice.

'Ding, dong, bell,
Pussy's in the well.'

'I've no time for your nursery rhymes!' the Dark Knight growled, advancing slowly.

The Scarecrow lifted a long, bony finger for silence. His uncannily thin body stiffened dramatically.
His eyes were glinting behind the holes in his mask. He paused for effect and continued:
'Who put her in?
Little Johnny −
Argh! Don't punch me! This was a very good clue, if only you'd listened carefully!'

'There aren't any wells in Gotham I know of! You're just buying yourself time! Give me straight answers, Crane!'

'Really! Fine, there aren't any wells, but there's a pipe on the terrace of the closed-down match factory. You know it, the one near the shipyard. Understand? She's trapped down there, helpless kitten, alone and frightened...'

'Why did you do it, Crane? What possible gain could you have by this?' the Dark Knight sighed in exasperation.

'What a naughty boy was that,
To try to drown poor pussy cat,
Who ne'er did him any harm...' the Scarecrow stopped, noticing Batman's expression.

'She insulted me, alright? She said I wasn't... Wasn't a... It was like all those horrible years... She insulted me! Oh, and that was your second clue, right there. Means you'd better hurry as fast as you can before the rain fills the pipe and drowns her.'

The Dark Knight glared at the Scarecrow with distaste. He suddenly grabbed the villain, pulled him onto a seat and bound his feet together with a tight cord. He then opened the side entrance of the train by force. The Scarecrow looked on with confusion. He had no idea what the Bat intended for him. Out of panic, the villain held onto his briefcase as if holding on for dear life. Batman took a firm grip on the Scarecrow and stepped near the edge of the train.

'I hope for your sake that I'll find her unharmed. But I won't be taking chances and leaving you on the train while I search. You'll have to wait for me outside!'

The Dark Knight fired his grapnel gun, lodging it onto a signalling semaphore, and jumped into the air. He dropped the Scarecrow unceremoniously onto the ground as he swung down. Within a minute he was gone, leaping into the passenger seat of the sleek black car which had followed the train alongside. The vehicle drove off with its wheels steaming.

***

The Scarecrow sat on the ground feeling lost and shocked. He'd just been dropped like a sack of flour and was expected to sit tight until he was fetched to be hauled off again to face justice, or whatever passed for it in the social spawn known as Gotham City.
He embarrassed himself further by taking a few minutes to whimper and sob. Every inch of him hurt.
He struggled in the mud and managed finally to escape from the bonds on his feet. Even with his scarecrow mask still on, there wasn't a trace of the Scarecrow persona left on Crane now.

He stood up uncertainly on his lanky legs and looked at his surroundings. The rain was still gently falling.

There was only the road next to the railway and fields and fields of... corn. Crane acknowledged the irony with resent.

The smart move would be to follow the road. Only an idiot would try hiding in a field of corn, even if he was dressed as a scarecrow.
If he limped with persistence, he could make it by morning to the outskirts of the city he'd chosen as his next residence.
On the other hand, he felt hardly up to it given his current condition.

Crane decided. He walked into the cornfields. When the chase after him was renewed, everyone would assume he was heading toward urban areas. If he moved through the fields, he could reach a barn or something to hide in. He would make his way to the city after they all gave up looking for him.

***

Shifting aside stalks of corn, Crane made his progress through the field. He thought he could see a small light beyond it. He redoubled his efforts and reached the edge.
Across a local road stood a small house. Crane approached it cautiously. He circled the house and entered its yard through a rusty fence gate.

Just as he'd spotted a possible means of transport, he heard a low growl behind him. Turning his head, he saw a beastly dog, the kind that looked like a cross between a bear and a bulldozer.
Crane took out the spray-can from his coat very, very slowly.
He sprayed vigorously behind him and guessed he'd hit his target when he heard a yelp and the patter of running paws.

Unfortunately, that had been the last of his fear gas. He'd have to rely on his wits from now on.
Crane stole an old bicycle from the yard and took off down the road.

He fervently hoped no one saw him. There'd be no end to it if the Master of Fear and Lord of Despair was caught on a squeaky bike.