Should I start fierce? Or slowly seep into the topic through rant?
As a good friend of mine has told me, "There is a difference between fears and phobias." Fears are things you don't like, something you can brave, something you can conquer. Phobias are irrational and completely uncontrollable.
For example, one might be scared of spiders. The other might have arachnophobia. The difference between these two friends is that one of them can actually grab a shoe and kill the spider, whilst the other cowers in a corner. There may never be a cure to this phobia for the arachnophobia, but for the friend only fearing spiders, the chances of accepting arachnids in this life are doubled.
What I've discovered about having a phobia of something, is that you don't only hate looking at it, but even thinking about it sends chills up your spine and churns the acids in your stomach.
It by Stephen King turned clowns into something more than scary. I've always thought they were creepy, with their ugly faces and huge feet, but there was just horrific descriptions that sent spidery fingers up my back.
The TV clicked on. She whirled around and saw a clown in a silvery suit with big orange buttons capering around on the screen. There were black sockets where its eyes should have been, and when its made-up lips stretched even wider in a grin, she saw teeth like razors. It held up a dripping, severed head. Its eyes were turned up to the whites and the mouth sagged open, but she could see well enough it was Freddie Firestone's head. The clown laughed and danced. It swung the head around and drops of blood splashed against the inside of the TV screen. She could hear them sizzling in there.
Some may not think that is scary, but the pictures in my head amplify the utter horror that Stephen King tries to demonstrate.
I also hate spiders. So you can only imagine how....freaky this next exerpt is.
The Spider lashed at them with Its legs. Bill felt one of them rip down his side, parting his shirt, parting skin. Its stinger pumped uselessly against the floor. Its screams were clarion-bells in his head. It lunged clumsily forward, trying to bite him, and instead of retreating Bill drove forward using not just his fist now but his whole body, making himself into a torpedo. He ran at Its guts like a sprinting fullback who lowers his shoulders and simply drives straight ahead.
For a moment he felt Its sinking flesh simply give, as if it would rebound and send him flying. With an inarticulate scream he drove harder, pushing forward and upwards with his legs, digging at It with his hands. And he broke through; was inundated with Its hot fluids. They ran across hi face, in his ears. He snuffled them up his nose in thin squirming streams.
He was in the black again, up to his shoulders inside Its convulsing body. And in his clogged ears he could hear as sound like the stead whack-WHACK-whack-WHACK of a big bass drum, the one that leadst eh parage when the circus comes to town with its complement of freaks and strutting capering clowns.
The sound of Its heart.
As you can imagine, Bill smushes the heart as well.
For the first time in a few years, I have a nightmare. I don't like spiders....at all.