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: Mnemophobia is a fear of memories. (Y'know, in case you've forgotten. :p)
Tattie bogle means 'Scarecrow' in Scottish.

Thanks for all the comments, I'm very grateful for them!

Trumpeteer34 and Carycomic, I'm glad you liked Crane's bicycle. :D

Trumpeteer34 and Rocku, it is such a compliment to hear that Crane's character is like you imagine him.

Thanks to invisiblehand, I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the story!

If anyone's following the story so far, I'd love to hear from you! Thanks for reading! ;)

Chapter Two: Mnemophobia (Part 2)

The regular run of the night's activities in Gotham was being violently disrupted, even by usual standards.
A large ship had exploded minutes ago, setting fire to parts of the dock. In the center, all hell had broken loose, or at least the part of hell that included some of Gotham's most wanted.

The Riddler, not content with having nearly crashed the Gotham Stock Market some weeks ago, had used his skills to make all traffic signalisation flash on and off, most likely in a complex code. Annoyed and enraged drivers were standing quarreling and waiting for the police to sort out the worst traffic jam in the last ten years.
Small gangs were using the situation to pilfer goods from halted trucks.

The Joker was nowhere to be seen, but smiles drawn in red paint had surfaced that night on several buildings in the city center. Even now, families could be seen evacuating the buildings, joining the chaos on the streets. Anything bearing the clown's trademark could not be expected to last the night without being blown to smithereens.
The Joker wasn't technically Gotham's Most Wanted, though; he had long ago gone beyond that - he was Gotham's Most Undesired.

Batman had reached the docks, avoiding with difficulty the teams of firefighters and police gathering at the scene of the explosion. He raced to the abandoned match factory, searching for the pipe the Scarecrow had mentioned.
Turning over a piece of crate, he saw the pipe underneath. Down below, a small form was curled up in a fetal position.

Batman sighed, equally with relief and exasperation. She was safe, but then again, there was no way she could have drowned in the pipe. The rain poured unhindered through the pipe and into the dock waters. The Scarecrow had lied to him. He reached out towards the Catwoman and was momentarily startled when she whipped her arm upwards and gripped his hand painfully tight. He heaved her up, muttering:

'You're safe now. I heard Scarecrow caught you of guard – are the effects of the toxin fading a little?'

The Catwoman nodded weakly. She barred her teeth and hissed:
'Bastard! He blocked the opening! I thought I was dying down there...'

'What did you catch him at? Where was he going?'

'I don't know', the Catwoman replied sullenly. 'Look, all I saw was that insane bag of straw running loose over the city and followed him. I thought he might be up to his regular methods of experimentation...'

'You're holding something back from me, I feel it. I'll be talking to you again. Now, I feel there's a lot ahead of me', Batman said, pointing to the flames on the dockside and the semaphore lightshow on display across the bridge.

He'd have to put the Scarecrow on an even longer hold. The professor wasn't a threat at the moment and his City needed him desperately tonight. He nearly felt sorry for the luckless wretch, sitting alone next to the district road. He would contact the police commissioner to send someone to collect the Scarecrow.
He added as an afterthought:
'Will you be alright? Do you need help to...'

'I don't need anyone's help! I'm fine now! This was just a short setback!'

'Fine. I still suggest you call it a night after this little setback of yours.'

The Catwoman stared at the ground for a second, before nodding uncertainly. She blushed.

'Look, don't think I'm ungrateful. I just dislike being dependant on others, that's all. As hard as it is for me, I'd like to say thank...'

But he had already gone. She shook her head in resignation. The Catwoman leapt onto the rooftop and made her way across the city's skyline towards her apartment. She wondered about where the Scarecrow had escaped with what should have been her money.
If he was bright, he'd already be hiding in another large city of a multimillion populace.

***
The town was Charleston on the Creek, population 1539. It produced corn, home-grown vegetables and hand-made souvenir dolls. The height of its existance was an incident nearly two hundred years ago, when the Main Street bank was robbed and some important officials from Gotham witnessed the later trial. The local historical gallows were almost certainly cursed.
Today tourists were offered a variety of activities that included nature rambles and sightseeing local landmarks, et cetera, et cetera.

Crane stopped reading and rolled his eyes. Charleston was a dump, the same decaying little town he had grown up in and tried to forget as much as possible.
It was dead-end for anyone with their senses intact; it was worse. It brought back hated memories.

Crane's fingernails dug into his clenched fists. He stood up abruptly and paced the room in agitation. Why were circumstances always stirring up his past when he greatly wanted to leave it buried somewhere deep in his mind?
He was a professor of of both psychology and psychiatry, for pity's sake. He knew the techniques to make himself live without the memories. Unfortunately, every once in a while something would come up and bring them all back in a gush. Twice in one day was too much for Crane. Now this entire town took his defences to pieces in one sweep.
He would have certainly pulled through the momentary lapse, if earlier on the blasted Cat hadn't just had to mock him like all those girls back then.

He remembered them well. The petty cruelties, adding up one by one to reach a new level of humiliation. Their spiteful remarks and the way it was extrodinarily fun to watch him suffer. They were always picking and picking away at his weaknesses, especially the pretty ones, until, the shame, he broke down and cried.
And then they'd laugh. It was, Crane mused, in a way worse than anything the men and boys had ever come up with. They had at least stuck with less imaginative ways to torment him.
He snorted in disgust and tried to dispell his train of thoughts.

Glancing at the leaflets again, he got a nagging feeling his brain had missed processing an important piece of information.
He thumbed through the papers again and suddenly found what he had been looking for. On Crane's face, a wry smile twitched. The festival he was supposedly staying in Charleston for, turned out to be their annual Halloween festival.
That was interesting in itself, but what really caught his eye was that it was called Charleston's Halloween Scarecrow Festival.
What were the odds on arriving to this very town, so reminiscent of his own, at this very time?
It had to be a sign of some unfathomable destiny.

***

Crane leaned out the window and thoughtfully stared out into the street. His hometown had never received proper payback as a whole. That fact had always bothered him.
The entire system was to blame, after all, not just the unpleasant individuals. Those had gotten what they deserved when he'd developed the first version of his fear gas, years ago.
Still, bullies were merely products of a collective mindframe and the general tolerance of their behaviour.

In Crane's mind, an unbidden thought formed. He mulled over it, considering all its aspects. The seed of his new idea took root. It was a very satisfactory concept.
This nasty little town would have to pay dearly for all the misery a similar narrow-minded community had caused him.

On a scientific level, he had an easily accessable population to study, as many local people would gather for the festival. Even better, he had a month to prepare his concoctions and study the inhabitants, gathering relevant information, all in order to gain a representative sample of test subjects.
The best part, however, was that they'd be completely oblivious to his intentions, until it was too late. He would sincerely enjoy the looks on their faces when pure terror unleashed itself on their very streets. The effects would be greatly enhanced by the Halloween decorations, too.

What else could a man wish for?

Crane grinned to himself, clenching tight the leaflet in his right fist. His eyes burned with fervour. Scarecrow festival, indeed. They'd be getting more than they had ever bargained for, ignorant fools – the man known as Fear himself, the original Scarecrow.
He would personally ensure that it would be a Halloween they'd never forget...

***

Crane closed the window for the night, new plans and ideas swirling through his head. His heart bubbled with excitement and anticipation. His opportunity of a lifetime, arrived at last! The professor giggled, his mirth turning into a cackle, the cackle exploding into an uncontrolled outburst of laughter.

'Hehehe... Haha ha hahaha! Ha ha ha... Mwa ha haha ha!!'

'Quiet up there!'

A loud noise from below interrupted him. The old lady was banging a broomstick against the ceiling below him.

'D'you know what time it is, young man?'

'Sorry! Sorry!'

Crane continued to snigger quietly into his pillows as he drifted off to sleep.

Note: Charleston on the Creek is loosely based on St Charles, Illinois, which indeed has a Scarecrow Fest. It's located near Chicago (a city I imagine Gotham would be similar to). I'd love to visit it one day. :D

Now if you twist reality a bit, you can imagine there's a tiny version of St Charles in the Batman universe. ;D