Anatidaephobia

 I remember the moment I told the world about it- my secret, mortifying fear. I remember it like it was yesterday, because once it came out, once manifested, my life was never the same. I’ve been haunted by the memory, nearly as much as the fear itself. If just one kid had told me the truth about that afternoon, if just one person had been brave enough to tell the social pariah what had actually happened, then perhaps it wouldn’t have come to this.

It was fifth grade, Mrs. Trott’s class, show and tell. The idea was that every child brings in something that represented their specific fear, then Mrs. Trott would look it up in her little novelty book of phobias, which contained the scientific name of said fear, along with an approximation of what percentage of the world shared their particular terror. In theory, it was a fine idea; putting a name to something would dispel its frightening grip, while also showing that the child was not alone. 

Many other kiddos wore looks of triumph and pride, ready to put aside their fears for good. Little Mary Martin was wielding her flashlight like a sword, declaring that she no longer suffered from her fear of the dark, and was joined by several others (Tim, Katie, Bo, and Susie, clutching a rubber band shooter,a blankie, a small baton-like dowel, and candle, respectively) in swearing off their Nyctophobia.

Others' fears were less generic, and they looked uneasy and unsettled. Thomas had brought a bike horn that approximated a clown’s honk to demonstrate his Coulrophobia. Many in class thought that was a hoot; who could be afraid of clowns? Thomas reddened, and Mrs. Trott chided. If that was making them chuckle, I feared what mine would make them do. I tried to shrink, withdraw into myself.

Sunny had a postcard of Carlsbad Caverns, an unfortunate double-edged Claustrophobia/Nyctophobia.

Lloyd had a flyswatter, Curtis, a shoe: Arachnophobia.

The sun shifted outside, and my neck prickled. I knew It was out there, somewhere beyond the glass. I kept my eyes down on my desk. I racked my brain, struggling to think of something, anything, any other fear that I could introduce to the class without making an absolute fool of myself. I must have been crazy, thinking I could say this to my classmates! What had I been thinking?

Caitlin had a baby tooth in a bag, plucked fresh and white this morning, on its way to the underside of her pillow for the tooth fairy to collect; Dentophobia.

My time was running out. Most of the class had already gone and shared their fears. Add Scopophobia and Glossophobia to my list.

Todd brought nothing, claiming that he wasn’t afraid of anything. Mrs. Trott pursed her lips, consulted her book, and asked Todd if perhaps he suffered from Atelophobia; the fear of being imperfect. Todd blushed and denied it and was assigned an extra assignment for being a smart-aleck. 

Mrs. Trott scanned her list and looked over the class.

“Ah, Jenny, looks like you’re our grand finale today. What did you bring for us?”

My knuckles were white on the desk. Grand finale, extra pressure. I felt Its stare from outside, but as usual, Its intent remained a mystery. I shook and trembled my way to the front of the class. Mrs. Trott looked at me expectantly, hands clasped before her.

I reached into my sweater pocket, glancing at the window, thankful for the obstructing glare that rendered it opaque. I felt my fingers clasp the smooth rubbery outline within and pulled out my totem.

The class looked at it, puzzled as a whole. A few of my classmates grinned, wondering what this might signify. I opened my mouth but couldn’t seem to make the words materialize. 

Mrs. Trott cleared her throat, nudging me along. When it became clear that I was struggling, she offered a lifeline.

“Jenny, what does your item signify? Is it a fear of water? Aquaphobia?”

I shook my head, still looking down, a film of tears turning the item in my hand into a blur of yellow and orange.

“Maybe she’s scared of bathtime,” Todd muttered, smirking. Snickers from the class.

“Keep it up, Todd, and you’ll get another worksheet to bring home,” Mrs. Trott said sternly. Then she gentled, looking back at me. “What is it, sweetie? Just a fear of birds? Ornithophobia? Or is it ducks, specifically?”

“No…” I said, finally finding my voice. I squeezed the rubber duck tightly, and it emitted a loud, cheerful squeak. “I mean, kind of. I’m not scared of ducks, not exactly. Just the thought that there might be one out there that’s… watching me.”

Someone snorted, and I jumped a bit.

Mrs. Trott glared at the snorter, then looked at me questioningly, trying to assess whether I was joking. She started poring through her book, trailing a finger down the page. Her eyebrows raised slowly, vanishing into her sharp fringe.

“Well, I’ll be! Isn’t that something. It looks like you suffer from acute Anatidaephobia, which is, well, just about what you described. But…” She kept reading. “Jenny, it looks like this idea originated in a comic strip. Did you know that?”

I shook my head forcefully, looking at her very seriously.

“That means that in all probability, it isn’t a real phobia. Did someone put you up to this?”

I continued shaking my head, feeling tears welling up again. Something was happening inside me, a steam engine building up speed, starting in my gut and heading north.

Mrs. Trott frowned.

“I’m not upset with you, Jenny, but you need to understand that all of your classmates, except Todd, shared a very personal thing with us today, and it shouldn’t be treated as a joke.” 

Upwards, gathering steam, toward my throat.

“Now if you can’t share with us a real fear, I’m afraid I’m going to have to assign you another worksheet for tonight.”

“That isn’t fair, Todd-” I started to say, but the teacher interrupted me.

“You are not leaving me with any choice here, young lady.” 

I couldn’t contain it any longer; the pressure inside burst.

“But it's out there right now!” I shouted, tears running down my face. Mrs. Trott was taken aback, her face frozen in a mask of surprise. The class was suddenly in turmoil. The girls looked at me with sympathy, and the boys rushed to the window. Todd was guffawing stupidly, “Looks like Jenny needs a brain appointment with the quack!”

 I was miserably ashamed, and I rushed out of the room before Mrs. Trott could send me away. I fled down the hall, past the office, receiving an alarmed look from the secretary as I streaked past, slamming through the double doors into the bright sunlight. I ran all the way home, sobbing.

Unfortunately, none of this was enough to convince my parents to move. They allowed me one day to stay at home after speaking with my teacher and the principal, just one lousy day to imagine with mounting dread how the rest of my life would be defined by this disgrace.

I arrived back at school the following day. The shy, kind kids gave me covert looks of concern. The teachers eyed me warily. Some of the meaner kids made duck noises as I passed or stuck bread in my locker, and it was Todd that stuck me with the nickname ‘Quackers’, which hovered over me like a malignant miasma all the way through high school. Compounding this misery was the fact I never truly shook my fear, which, whatever Mrs. Trott and the rest of my class might believe, was as real as can be. 

I was never truly safe from it. Inside, outside, didn’t matter. It wasn’t every waking minute by any means, but I can count on one hand the number of days that I didn’t feel It observing me. A reasonable person might have dumped their trauma on a therapist to sort it out, but I had learned from experience what happened when you shared your deepest secrets. Besides, I felt I knew what they would ask, how little it would illuminate. I couldn’t recall the first time it had happened, only that one day it was there: a watchful presence, raising the hairs on the back of my neck with its gaze. I don’t remember a duck that day; I was very small then, and any cute animals would have been immediately taken stock of and noted. It could have been the day after or the week; one day I just knew the form of my tormentor with perfect certainty. It was strange- I wasn’t afraid of the animal itself; I made efforts to expose myself to them, hoping to allay my fears. I could spend all day at the pond, throwing bits of bread as they waddled around my feet. It was when I left, just when I thought I was out of sight and earshot, I felt It; a needling, penetrating gaze, silently watching, judging, tracking. It was maddening.

I thought it would dissipate when I left town for college; that maybe my young mind had conflated my perceived fear with that of my fifth-grade humiliation, and once removed from this source I would be free. I walked the campus at orientation, and there it was once more, ceaseless. At least here I was free from ‘Quackers’.

So I coped. I ignored It, confident in Its harmlessness. Sometimes It helped me, in a roundabout way. It made me hyper-aware of my surroundings, and more than once I felt that I escaped a potentially dangerous situation because I had been paying attention. College wrapped up, and with my degree in hand, I returned back home. It followed, of course.

After settling in, reuniting with my parents, and touching base with the few friends I had left behind, I decided that it was time, at last, to break free from Its hold on me. Even if I couldn’t be free of Its gaze, I could be free of the stigma I had worn since I was ten. College had shaped and strengthened me, and I was confident now in my adult body and mind in ways that had been impossible even four years prior. Plainly put, I had grown into myself.

 I looked up some old classmates to see who was still in town. Oddly, Todd was the first one I stumbled on that was confirmed still here, and his profile showed that he too had changed, at least at a glance. He was fit and surprisingly handsome and worked the door at Tillie’s, the pub in town. A perfect place to start- kill the head, the body will die.

I donned a snug dress and makeup and headed out for drinks that night. I saw Todd, sitting on a stool at the door, checking IDs. If I felt a gaze while in line, it wasn’t from anything with feathers.

Todd looked at me with a smile but without recognition, but did a double take when he saw my I.D.

“Holy hell! Jenny?” he cried, gently touching my arm and looking me up and down. “You look amazing! How are you?”

I was surprised at his genuine delight at seeing me. Looks helped, sure, but how he treated me now was such a far cry from high school that I began to distrust my own memory. We chatted briefly, as the line behind me had swelled, but he invited me to grab a drink with him when he was free.

A few hours later we were deep in conversation. He had a wife and a kid and worked this gig to help pay for his daughter’s speech therapy. I filled him in on college life. We had had enough beer and cocktails to loosen my tongue enough to finally bring up what I had come to say.

“Todd, this has been great catching up with you again, but I need to ask…”

His face clouded.

“Hey look,” he said, forestalling me by putting his hand over mine in a friendly way.

“I owe you a huge apology. I was a complete and utter asshole to you, and you didn’t deserve it. I’ve felt awful about it pretty much since Ruthie started therapy, whenI imagined how terrible it would be if she was… you know, made fun of because of something she couldn’t control. God, I’m so sorry, Jenny. I really hope you’re doing well. Are you still…” he looked at me bashfully, “Are you still dealing with that fear of yours?”

“Nah,” I lied smoothly. “Been gone for a long time. I realized how crazy it was to be frightened of something that was not even there. Done and over it. And I accept your apology; you guys must have thought I was nuts that day, afraid of a phantom duck, of all things.”

Todd looked at me quizzically. “What do you mean, phantom?”

“You know,” I replied, sipping on my cocktail, “Fifth grade. I was yelling at all of you that a duck was watching me. Ironic, that the assignment was to confront and get rid of a stupid fear and instead that moment ended up haunting pretty much until now. Boom, I’m the crazy girl for the rest of my life.”

Todd leaned back, looking disbelieving. 

“Jenny… You mean, nobody told you? In all that time?”

I felt a coldness creeping across my chest.

“Told me what, Todd?”

He shook his head.

“After you ran out of class, we saw a little duck, sitting in the bushes outside Trott’s class.”

My breathing quickened. The booze in my stomach roiled and threatened to make an exit.

“It was pretty weird, it took off down the courtyard when you left. We all thought you couldn’t come up with an answer to the assignment, panicked, saw the duck, and went along with your wild story. That’s why I called you… you know.” He looked sheepishly at me. “It was stupid, and I’m sorry.”

I stood up abruptly. The room was spinning. Did they not see? Did none of them understand? 

“Hey,” he said, standing as well, “You okay? Do you need some water or something?”

I threw a twenty down on the table and fled the pub, fifth-grade me shaking her head sadly. Nothing ever changes, not really. The warm summer air greeted me as I burst out the door, trying not to trip in my heels. I heard Todd calling after me as I ran down the street, and ducked into an alleyway to avoid him. I ran without thought, just wanting to get away, away, away.

Finally, I stopped, gasping for air. I leaned on the chilly brick exterior of the nearest building, breathing heavily, fighting the urge to be sick. Eventually, I calmed down, and the night took shape around me. I did not immediately recognize my surroundings. I had spent too much time away from this town. I turned and made my way back down the maze of alleys, feeling watched.

Turn.

Above me, I thought I heard the ghostly beating of wings disturbing the air. My heart thudded.

Turn.

A quiet slapping footfall, ungainly and fast. A scream rose in my throat, just like all those years ago.

Turn. 

A dead end and a dumpster. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

Turn.

Quack, Quack.