The Power of Fear

  The Power of Fear

  The Saga of Tobias Crow

  Book 1

  P.S. Osborne

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  First Edition

  Published 2021

  Copyright ©2021 by Paul Osborne

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  P.S. Osborne asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  ISBN: 9798671109269

  Dedication

  To my son George who has frequently tested me both mentally and physically but has grown before my eyes into a spectacular young man of whom I am eternally proud.

  Chapter 1

  There is no such thing as monsters.

  That is what we tell ourselves. It is what our parents assured us each and every night that we were too afraid to sleep. All those things that we fear, all the things that go bump in the night and hide in the darkness just outside our windows, they are all just figments of our imaginations. None of them really exist and there is nothing to be afraid of.

  We keep telling ourselves this, but do we ever truly believe it?

  Tobias Crow didn’t. He had always known that monsters were real. Ever since his parents had died, just two days before his sixth birthday.

  As night crept in, he checked the bolt on his window and watched the darkness outside for any sign of movement. The streets below looked empty with lifeless cars lining the curbside and leafless, frost covered trees swaying gently in the icy air. Moving closer to the glass, Tobias peered down at the car park which encircled the apartment block. Even in the dull glow of the streetlights, shadows were gathering.

  ‘Creepers’ Tobias whispered to himself with a shudder.

  It was a name he gave to the shadow monsters which he imagined slithering up the side of the building, looking for open windows of the unwary.

  He had names for all the monsters. Names always made things seem a little less frightening. There was no way to explain it, but giving something a name somehow made Tobias feel like he understood things a little better.

  The problem was, there were hundreds of these monsters living within Tobias’ imagination. Grim creatures which fed off his fear and used it to become real. Despite this, it wasn’t the monsters of his imagination which worried him the most. That fear was reserved for the real monster. The monster he didn’t need to name. The angry, violent monster who lived in the small apartment with him, and stalked the room on the other side of his bedroom door like a jackal waiting for fresh prey.

  The monster that really scared Tobias wasn’t a creeper, or a thunder gremlin, or even the Lurker in the wardrobe. The monster that truly frightened him was his uncle.

  ‘Toby!’ The man screamed. ‘Toby you ungrateful little brat! Where are you?’

  Tobias buried his head in his covers and prayed that his uncle would be too drunk to come looking for him.

  It happened sometimes. His uncle would sit in his stained red armchair, which stank of stale sweat and urine, and drink so much that he could no longer get himself to his feet. Those were the nights when Tobias could sleep. Of course, there were other nights when the monster would stir and Tobias could do nothing to escape the brutal fury that would follow.

  He rubbed at the bruises that ran up his arms in purple rings and glanced at the lock on his door. The surrounding wood had been patched so many times it didn’t connect properly anymore. It only took one hard push and the catch came away with terrifying ease.

  He still locked it though. Regardless of how weak it might be, it was still another obstacle that had to be crossed and the more obstacles he could build the safer he would be.

  From the lock, Tobias’ gaze drifted to the dark glass of the mirror that adorned the back of the door. The light from his bedside lamp produced a soft glow behind him which meant that he was clearly visible on its otherwise murky surface.

  He was a small boy for his age and despite now being twelve he was still well below five feet tall with a slight build. His gaunt face was framed by wild and unkempt brown hair and his eyes were bright green. Naturally, his skin was a pasty white but more often than not it was marred by yellow, purple and black bruising. That night, as he looked in the mirror, both his eyes were swollen and yellow and the skin around his split lip was already turning blue.

  ‘Toby!’ His uncle screamed again and this time a loud thud and the sound of shattering glass followed it.

  Tobias jumped, barely stopping himself from falling out of bed. Clutching the headboard to stabalise himself, he let his feet drop to the floor before allowing the rest of his body to follow. Gripping his knees to his chest, he huddled up tight against the steel-framed bed so that it rested between him and his bedroom door. Another obstacle for the monster to cross.

  Reaching gingerly up to his bedside table, he retrieved the photo he kept there. It was a small square polaroid with creased edges and a yellow tint that spoke of its age. The image in the photo was of a wedding. A man in a dark blue suit and a woman in a long white dress, both walking out of church doors and down a path between a cheering crowd. It was the only picture he had of his parents and he loved how happy they looked.

  His mother had been a beautiful woman with long curling red hair and a soft heart-shaped face. Her smile was wide and full of joy and her eyes were a dazzling blue which despite how worn the photo was, still appeared to sparkle on the paper.

  Tobias turned his attention to the image of his father. There had been a time when it was hard to look at the man without thinking about his uncle. They had both looked so much alike with their broad features and coal black hair. Thankfully, in recent years, his uncle had grown gaunt and pallid with only a few crooked teeth left in his blackened gums. He was almost always unshaven now and the hair on his head had either fallen out or had turned prematurely grey.

  All these changes not only reflected the kind of man that his uncle was, but also differentiated him from the memories Tobias had of his father. He was grateful for that small mercy, no matter how insignificant it seemed.

  Tobias clutched the photograph tight to his chest and sighed. When he looked at it, he forgot about all his fears. He stopped staring at the gloom outside his window. He stopped worrying about the bulb in his lamp dying out, and he stopped watching the shadowy corners of his room for movement. When he looked at the picture, he felt at peace.

  ‘God damn it, boy!’

  He felt at peace until something gave him a sharp, angry shove back into reality.

  ‘Boy!’ His uncle yelled again. His voice was getting increasingly slurred. ‘If you don’t come and get me a drink, I swear I’m gonna…’

  The angry shouting trailed off, became muffled, and then faded into a dull snoring sound. Tobias braved a peek over his bed. The door was still closed and the lock engaged. He guessed his uncle must have finally fallen into one of his drunken slumbers but just to be safe, he remained silent and still for a little longer. He didn’t want to take any risks.

  Tobias didn’t wait too long, however. Once he was sure that his Uncle really was asleep, he reached up, placed the photograph back on his bedside table and grabbed his torch from his drawer. It was a wind-up torch, so there was never any worry of batteries dying on him.

  With a quick whirring as Tobias spun the handle, the torch flickered into life and he caref
ully crept out from his hiding place, moving slowly towards the door. He could hear the low rumbling of his uncle's rasping snores and as he got closer the snoring grew louder. Tobias quietly turned the lock and pushed the door ajar.

  As he had suspected his uncle had fallen asleep in his chair. The air stank of cheap vodka, the television had long since turned to static, and beneath a glistening wet stain on the wall, glass now littered the floor just to the left of where Tobias stood.

  The kitchen was on the other side of the glass and at that moment, the few feet that it would take to reach the other room seemed like miles.

  He looked down at his bare feet and then at his uncle.

  Even with the drool seeping from his gaping mouth and his eyelids open just enough to see the bloodshot white of his rolled-back eyes, his uncle was still a terrifying image and Tobias didn’t want to risk wasting time putting his shoes on in case the man should wake. Instead, he crept forward, carefully trying to place his feet in the slim gaps between jagged shards of razor-sharp glass.

  At one point a piece he had not seen crunched under his foot and he instinctively tensed but it did not break the skin so he kept moving.

  When he finally reached the kitchen, Tobias breathed a deep but quiet sigh of relief and rushed over to the fridge. The room was dark and cold and when the fridge door opened, the air from inside chilled his skin. With the dull light of the fridge now spilling out, a pile of unwashed dishes and plastic containers cast a tall shadow on one wall.

  Clutching tightly onto his torch, Tobias waited to see if any of his movements had disturbed the man in the next room, but the only noise that could be heard was Tobias’ own breathing mixed with the ever present rumbling snores.

  Tobias leaned in and inspected the contents of the fridge. As he had expected, there was very little to find. A few cans of high alcohol lager, half a bottle of vodka and a handful of microwavable meals.

  He regarded the meals briefly but dismissed them all as too noisy to prepare. He didn’t really want to wait while they cooked either. Instead, he pushed them aside and peered deeper inside the grubby white space.

  What he found there did not look overly fresh. A stale sandwich with one furry dot of mould on the crust, a banana that was more brown than yellow and a yoghurt whose pot had swollen over time.

  He left the yoghurt but snatched up the sandwich and the banana and pushing the fridge door closed as quietly as possible, he moved back towards his room.

  The glass seemed easier to navigate this time, but he could not seem to keep his stomach quiet. Especially now that he had food. It rumbled and gurgled as if it was itself a grotesque monster from the deepest night. The sound of it seemed to fill the otherwise still room and Tobias was petrified that the noise was so much that it would wake his uncle.

  He moved faster. Fear was pressing in, and that feeling was gnawing at him, making him desperate for what little safety his bedroom offered.

  His foot crushed down on a piece of glass and he felt the edge push against his skin before piercing through and turning into a sharp jolt of pain which made Tobias hiss between his teeth.

  That was when his uncle shifted in his chair and Tobias froze. The feeling of terror twisted at his insides like a fist closed around his guts. It was a sensation which made his entire body tense and this only made the pain of his foot even more potent.

  Thankfully though, his uncle didn’t wake. He simply grumbled noisily to himself before drifting back off and resuming his own brand of wheezy, guttural noises. Tobias lifted his foot, pulled out the shard of glass and limped quickly to his bedroom.

  As soon as he was through, he threw his food onto his bed and turned back to the door. With trembling hands, he eased it shut. There was a click as the lock engaged and then silence.

  Tobias could see himself in his mirror once again. His face was pale and clammy with large drops of sweat all over his skin. He allowed himself to breathe a little heavier and slumped backwards so he was sat on the edge of his bed.

  Blood was welling around the cut on his foot and it had left a damp stain on his carpet which seemed to spread as he lifted his leg.

  He winced with pain as he turned his sole up to see the damage. It wasn’t the worst cut he had ever sustained, but it was deep and sore.

  Propping his injured foot onto the knee of his good leg, he reached over to his bedside table drawer. The first aid kit inside was almost empty from regular use, with just a couple of old plasters and some medical tape left.

  The only time that he had the opportunity to refill the small box was when his uncle was sober enough that Tobias could convince him to buy more. This usually took the form of explaining that it was needed for the occasions when Tobias had to treat his uncle’s own drink-related injuries.

  Tobias pushed the plasters aside and pulled out the tape. The cut wasn’t huge, but it was too big for either of the plasters. He wound the tape around his foot twice, pulling it as tight as he could to keep the cut closed. He then pulled a sock on over the top.

  Tobias could still feel the blood leaking into the cloth of his sock but it was the best he could do, so he tried his best to ignore it and reaching behind him, his hand found the sandwich.

  It was wrapped in a clear plastic food bag which looked like it had once held something brown and sticky, the residue of which still clung to the edges inside.

  Tobias tried not to think about what the bag's previous contents might have been and instead pulled the sandwich out.

  He picked off the mould and lifted the top slice of bread to peer inside. It looked like it might be beef and mustard but the beef was dry with a silvery sheen and the mustard had long since soaked away into the bread leaving nothing but a faint yellow stain.

  Tobias held his nose and took a bite. It wasn’t the worst that he had eaten, and he had little worry about it making him ill. After all, over the years of similar meals, his stomach had become well accustomed to the types of food that would likely make others sick.

  Finishing the sandwich, he started on the banana. Because of its gooey consistency, this had to be scooped out of its skin rather than eaten normally but it’s strong flavour did go some way to dilute the waxy taste which the sandwich meat had left.

  He wrapped the rubbery brown banana skin in the empty food bag and placed it down beside his bed. He still felt hungry but not as much as he had, and he knew he needed to sleep now, while he had a chance.

  With one last glance into the night outside, he checked his window lock with a hard rattle. The creepers were still there but they couldn’t get in as long as the window was secure and the light stayed on. Pulling the curtains closed and turning back to the room, he checked under his bed and examined the walk-in wardrobe at the edge of his room before shutting it tight and blocking it with a heavy wooden stool. Next, he checked his torch and his table lamp in case either looked likely to fail. Finally, he regarded the lock on his bedroom door.

  He had once tried to barricade his room’s only entrance, but that had only angered his uncle further and the aftermath had been far worse than a simple cut foot. So now the flimsy and badly damaged lock would have to do.

  Happy that everything was as secure as he could manage, Tobias climbed under his covers, pulled them up over his head and curled up for a fitful and broken sleep with his torch clutched tight to his chest.

  Chapter 2

  When the sun rose the following morning, Tobias was already awake, dressed, and washing in the bathroom sink. He always had to be up early so he could have his uncle’s breakfast ready for whenever the man emerged from his pit.

  Sometimes it was as early as sunrise and sometimes it was as late as midday, but whenever it was, if he didn’t have food and a can of beer ready, his uncle would make Tobias suffer.

  Tobias glanced through the bathroom doorway at his uncle’s empty chair. He had obviously dragged himself into his bed at some point in the night, but even empty, the large red armchair still sent shivers down Tobias’
spine. It was a symbol of his uncle’s rule, much like the throne of a bloodthirsty monarch or a monument to a dreaded dictator.

  Throwing one last splash of water over his face, Tobias grabbed the towel off the radiator behind him. The radiator was never on and the towel was cold with a slight smell of damp. He rubbed his face anyway and placed the towel back where it belonged.

  All he could do now was wait for his uncle to wake up and hope that he was either in a good mood or too hungover to do anything.

  When Tobias’ uncle finally emerged, it was well into the afternoon and he was groaning and coughing in equal measure. His face was paler than usual and dry saliva was crusted into the stubble around his chin and cheeks. His eyes were like two tiny black dots in the centre of a sea of bright red and he kept rubbing them with the back of his right hand. He would have probably used his left hand too, but he was already using that to clutch an open bottle of vodka.

  Tobias bowed his head and tried not to meet the man’s eyes as he stumbled clumsily across the room and flopped into his armchair. He had probably been drinking in his room long before he had decided to actually get up.

  ‘Telly,’ his uncle said groggily while waving his bottle in the direction of the small brown television box. There used to be a remote, but his uncle had broken it long ago when he had thrown it at Tobias for some long-forgotten slight.

  Tobias rushed over and pressed the button that would bring the TV to life and then, just as quickly, he backed off towards the kitchen. His uncle would probably ask for food next. Not that he ever ate much, but he would get angry if it wasn’t ready anyway.

  ‘Toby,’ his uncle called after him. ‘What is this garbage you’ve put on? Where’s the football?’

  Tobias stopped in his tracks. He couldn’t have changed the channel. He wasn’t allowed near the telly unless it was to operate it for his uncle. Then again, if it wasn’t on the sports, he must have changed it. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck. He didn’t know what to do or what to say.