Author Notes:The following events are based on things that have truely happened to me over my years

Author Notes:1

The following events are based on things that have truely happened to me over my years of living as a person.If you have a fright of being afraid, turn back now.2

Phobophobia: The Fear of Fear3

4

I darted up the stairway. I always did. I felt like something, maybe someone, was after me all the time. I was just small, but it was a feeling I couldn't shake. Walking over to Mom, I handed to her the can of coffee.5

"Thank you, Amelia'" she said, and turned back to the coffee pot to scoop out the ground beans and put them into the filter. I sighed, walking to the door to head outside for the day and play with my older sister. Noone was following me then.***6

***As the sky became darker, Samantha and I headed inside to continue our game of Hide and Seek. As she counted, I ran into our room, and hid behind the dresser, over the air duct. Curled ina  ball, I closed my eyes. They didn't stay that way for long. Someone, no, two peopel downstairs were talking, and the second i heard them, my eyes went wide. 7

"How in the world did you get that way?"8

"Oh, same way everyone else has!"9

And then laughter. When Sam finally found me, I asked her about the people in the air duct.10

"Sammy, does Daddy have a friend over?"11

"No, silly! Daddy's on a fire call!"12

When I told her I heard people talking, she nodded."I've heard them, too," she says, and that was all. We went to bed.***13

***As the years went by, I listened for the conversing men. I never really did hear them again. Sometimes when I was sleeping I did, or when I held a dead phoneline to my ear. I thought maybe, since my room was now on the second story, I couldn't hear them anymoe; I was too far away. The idea sat well, and I soon forgot about them.14

Every day, when I went to my room for something, I felt fine and safe, for a while. At night, I would dart down the stairs, the same way I flew up the basement. Something just wasn't right. It became worse as I got older, and by the time I was eight, it was terrible to just be upstairs.15

One night, when I awoke, I thought i heard someone walking into my room. When i opened my eyes, there was noone around,a dn I decided I needed something to drink. Walking down the stairs as slowly as I could so I wouldn't wake anyone up, I went across the small floorspace to the fridge, and grabbed a cup from a nearby cupboard. As I opened the door to the fridge, a white light erupted from the stairway. I had the light on to the staircase, and I thought maybe it was a power suge. But none of the other lights in the entire house did anything at all. I forgot about my drink, and went to the couch. I slept there for the night.***16

***After the flash, everything became minimal. I still felt watched wherever I went in the house, and ran the staircases. But soon, that also faded. I was finally starting to feel left alone, other than my cat. Wonderul Pouncer. He was a orange striped calico, and always great fun. But soon, he began to die. On Nov.25, he left us for good. And they came back.17

I was 11 by now, and I had forgotten most of my events. As i lay sleeping every night, though, my bed shook like I were in an earthquake. Things I set down would go missing, only to be where I first looked a week later. I was begining to weird out, but I thought of it as nothing. They weren't hurting me, so it was all right. We lived in a frightful harmoy.18

Things became a little bit much after a year. I was sitting here at this computer last summer. Everyone was gone-Ethan with dad at the store, mom with sam at a dentist office. I was typing to friends, and I heard someone walking around in my brother's room upstairs. then, the steps trailed down the stairway, and then I didn't hear anything. But when I looked over, I nearly screamed. Standing right next to me was a bloody mess of a soldier from what looked like the revolutionary war. He then fell on me, through me, and into the basement. I sat, I cried, i told noone.***19

***The last happening to tell of was four months back, when I was sleeping on the couch. It was six in the morning, and I was on my side with my hands behind my back. Half awake, in my dream I saw myself walking in my yard, only my house wasn't there, and there were many mounds of dirt. I went to cletch my hands, to show some sign of agony, in the real state of body and mind, when I realized I couldn't. Someones fingers were intwined with mine. I sat up and turned to look, expecting my brother. Instead, there was he gruesome soldier again, on his knees, holding my hands as though we were lovers. My eyes went wide, and he spoke."I love you, Miss May, don't forget about your good friend Victor." And he passed, fainted into my lap. I felt him there for a moment, but then he vanished. In my hands was red, stick blood-covered. My clothes had it, too, where he had been. Even though I didn't know this soldier, I wept. He had called me May, which is one of the short ways people say Amelia when they becon me. Then I realized I had to get wasded up. I went into the kitchen, wiping my hands on my bloody shirt. I opened a cupboard, and took out a few grocery bags. Upstairs I went, and I stripped from my clothing, putting it in the bag. I set it in my dresser, and re dressed.20

To this day, I still have visits froma  few people. They come to my rooma nd sit on my bedside, they talk to me when I'm alone, and they roam around and march. I feel they are here to protect me, and keep me happy. But I'll never forget Victor, my bloody soldier, the mangled mess.But I realized, it is not the ghosts I fear, but fear itself. You don't know what something is, so you fear it.21