PHOBIA, a Short Story in the Works

I buried my face in my hands and let out a heavy sigh. Sitting in the wooden chair with my elbows resting on the table, I thought to myself that I would rather die than give in to a phobia-triggered tantrum. Everything has been happening way too fast, and this Cleric and I are the only ones not being affected by the calamity around us.

“Don’t look so lost, Robert,” the voice said.

I pulled my hand from my face and looked up at the visiting cleric. “I can’t help it. The world has been heading toward this catastrophic event for the past year. Your order prophesied this, your order—whether you want to call it a religion or a cult—has known about it for three hundred plus years.”

I shook my head, stood up, and walked to the window. The openings of this small stone castle were boarded up in preparation for the calamity that had befallen the world. Through it, I could still hear the screams from the villages in the valleys surrounding us, and through the vertical slats, I could see the fires consuming buildings as the frantic population tried to escape their fears.

I stepped back and turned to the cleric, Brother Joel Wilkins. “I am not sure why you only brought this to the world’s attention three years ago. That barely gave us time to confirm that your prophecy was indeed true before the first of the symptoms started to appear.” I grabbed a pitcher of ale from the counter, poured some into a glass, and took a long drink.

Brother Wilkins stood up, walked over, and held out his glass for a refill. I filled it and then sat back down. “Two plus years ago, shortly after you informed us of this, is when we began to see the first signs of the phobias. Nothing dramatic or sudden, just a slow progress along the spectrum of effects, beginning with mild discomfort when people were exposed to the phobic stimulus.”

"Yes," Brother Wilkins interjected. "Beginning with a feeling of unease—mild discomfort, tension, or anxiety at the thought of the phobic object or situation. More avoidant behaviors started to develop, and people began choosing alternate routes or avoiding specific triggers in their daily lives, changing their normal routines and causing them to take the path of minimal interference in their daily activities."

“Even then, everything seemed almost normal for the population,” I said, taking another swig of the ale. “That’s when we concluded our research on your advice about the prophecy. Our best scholars and philosophers gathered, still disbelieving that such an event could actually happen to the entire world. Between the alignment of the stars and our interactions with the people in other villages, we documented the rising level of anxiety and uneasiness.” I looked into my cup, hoping to find a solution or even a sense of salvation.

I continued. “After that, a variety of phobias started to emerge across all ages, genders, and social statuses, showing that no one was immune. These were not just the common phobias like acrophobia (the fear of heights), claustrophobia (the fear of confined spaces), or nyctophobia (the fear of the dark), but multiple ones that should have boiled to the surface in those people long before now, but all of a sudden their fears manifested and increased without any warning.”

"Yes, yes,” Brother Wilkins agreed. “As the condition progresses, more specialized phobias begin to appear. People experienced a noticeable increase in their current anxiety, whether anticipated or present. Many individuals not only consciously avoided situations or objects that triggered their fears, but went as far as to avoid contact with other people, including family."

I continued, “Within a year of the first signs, intense physical reactions to a person’s phobia escalated into more severe symptoms, including sweating, trembling, and an increased heart rate. This progression led to full-blown panic attacks, which were characterized by intense fear, hyperventilation, and chest pain. Individuals became visibly distressed or agitated when confronted with the phobic stimulus. Some experienced complete breakdowns, exhibited irrational behaviors, or fled the situation altogether.”

“Even though a phobia, in itself, cannot kill you, individuals could suffer a heart attack while fleeing, inadvertently causing accidents in their panic, and die. One woman,” I pointed towards the window, indicating the closest village, “a neighbor of mine, developed arachnophobia, which is the fear of spiders. Her fear escalated from simply grimacing when stepping on them to cleaning them out with a broom. All harmless enough, however, eventually it became so intense that she used an oil torch to set every web in her house ablaze in an attempt to kill the spiders. In the end, this caused a fire that engulfed the whole house, trapping her and her three children inside. I tried to help her, but I couldn’t get close. I could hear her laughing and yelling that she had finally killed all the spiders, while in the background, I heard the screams of her children as they were being burned alive in the upper part of the home. She had lost all sense of consequence in her desperate attempt to overcome her phobia. That is how it kills you.”

Brother Wilkins shifted his eyes to the window. The noise from the villagers advancing was getting louder. “Those are the people that remain,” I said. “What, maybe a thousand of them?”

“Probably,” he replied. “Most of whom have not succumbed to their phobias and died. I would think the few that remain are hiding, fleeing, or too incapacitated to move. The ones coming here are surely coming after me.” He drank the rest of the ale in his cup. “Their phobia has induced them to connect me with what is happening. They are on their way to kill me in hopes of alleviating their fears. They will stop at nothing until they see my lifeless corpse.”

I slammed my fist on the table, nearly tipping over the ale cups. “I, too, can’t shake the feeling that you and your order are at the center of this calamity. Your cult has known about this for over three decades and only mentioned it three years ago.” I stood up from my chair, leaned over the table, and confronted Brother Wilkins directly. “Why is it that neither you nor I seem to be affected by any phobia? You appear as calm as you were the first time I met you, forty years ago. As for me, I haven’t encountered any fear that stands out as relevant to what is happening in our world right now. It’s almost as if we are both immune.”

Brother Wilkins raised his cup of ale to his lips to take a sip, paused, remembering that the cup was empty, and looked up at me with a calm, reassuring smile. “That is an excellent question, Robert, and I’m glad you asked it. I do have an answer, and I know you won’t believe it at first, but then you will come to realize the truth by morning, after I am gone.”

“There are greater forces at work here,” Brother Wilkins began, “and those forces are not of this world.” I sat back down, puzzled. “What do you mean, ‘not of this world’?” 

Wilkins continued, “About three and a half centuries ago, I was approached by a cleric of this faith. Much as I approached you.” 

Three hundred and fifty years ago? He certainly doesn’t look a day older 40. “Are you trying to tell me you’re immortal?” I asked, incredulous.

“Oh no. No, no, no. I can die, and I will die, before night is over,” he replied.

“This is insane. No one has lived longer than 50 years, maybe 60,” I argued. “You’re spinning tales and think I’m too dumb to challenge your story.”

“Oh no, I assure you, I am that old, and I am not trying to insult your intelligence,” Brother Wilkins assured me. “Let me finish my tale, and all will become clear.”

I figured I had nothing to lose. We can't go outside; it's too dangerous. Everyone in the village has lost control due to one fear or another. I can even hear a mob getting closer to this Keep now. The Keep is secure, and they cannot gain access. It would take weeks for a small army to breach the walls, let alone a crazed mob with no organization other than blind fear of anything and everything. “Okay, Brother Wilkins, please continue with your story.”

“As I mentioned, about three and a half centuries ago, I was approached by a cleric of this faith. He was the only one I had ever seen, and I never saw any others, much like you have only met me. I am the only one. He had traveled her from a land far awayeven though I say ‘we’ and ‘us.’ I refer to those who guide and instruct me. They educate me about this world and pass on to me the reasons why, almost every four hundred years, our world experiences a purge.” The cleric paused to take another drink.

“This world is rather small,” the Cleric continued. “There’s limited space for growth and limited resources. This world can only sustain a population the size of this village for no more than three to four hundred years. At that point, the population must be reduced—if I may use that term— or, like farmers, they will practice shifting cultivation. This involves cutting down old crops, weeds, or vegetation, letting the material dry for a period, then burning it to clear the field. This process leaves behind nutrient-rich ash, enabling them to plant new crops in the fertilized soil.”

Brother Wilkins stood up, picked up his empty cup, and walked to the counter where more drinks were kept. “I think I need something a little stronger than the ale I’ve been drinking tonight,” he said. He grabbed a bottle of double-fermented wine and poured his cup, letting it overflow slightly. Leaning down to take a sip from the cup on the counter, he then picked it up again.

As he took another sip, I watched him walk across the room to a boarded-up window. He peeked out through a crack and sighed. “They will be here within the hour.” Turning to face me, he leaned his back against the wall.

“Where was I? Oh! These entities achieve this by causing the Phobia calamity.” He lifted his cup toward me. “Why not just use a ‘slash-and-burn agricultural’ approach? Because most of the population cannot simply die without reason. People would inevitably rebuild afterward. Religious cults would spring up, attempting to rationalize it, and civilization would become stagnant.”

"As it currently stands, the deaths can mostly be understood. Most intelligent individuals within the population will navigate through the calamity and develop a stronger connection to life. This process is intended to cultivate a more advanced population that will recognize their progress, understand that populations and resources are not limitless, and comprehend that these must be managed carefully; otherwise, their very existence could be threatened."

"So why are you telling me this?" I asked. "If more powerful entities exist out there, guiding us and shaping our lives to achieve a specific outcome, how are they not in the same realm as gods?"

To be continued………….