Fear short story

My breath gets caught in my throat; I feel the anxiety build up from inside of me when I think back to that day.

It happened when I was ten. I went up to my grandparent’s farm house with my mom in summer break. Their house was fairly old, with creaky floor boards, chipped painted walls, and rust stained

It started in the middle of the night. I was sleeping in the “small” guest room, and my mom was down the hall in the “big” guest room. I couldn’t get to sleep; I was tossing and turning for an hour, tired, but unable to go to sleep. I sat up and looked around the dark room. There was a little spot on the wall. I examined it from across the room. I got curious, so I got up and turned on the lights. I screamed. On the wall was a small, light beige moth.

My mom came running into my room. She knew that I was afraid of all bugs, so she got a Kleenex and squished the moth.
Still freaked out, I turned off the lights and tried to drift off to sleep. Another hour later, I still was unable to fall asleep, so I decided to get up and get some water. I walked out of the room, leaving the lights off. When I came back, I sat in the bed with my glass, looking around at the walls. I saw several patches where the white paint had chipped off, revealing dark splotches. I put the glass down and decided to turn on the lights one last time before I went to sleep.

As soon as I flicked on the switch, my eyes drifted back to the wall and I screamed once more. But this wasn’t a little scream. It was a scream that made my own skin crawl, that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

On the wall was a dark grey moth the size of a basketball. My mom ran into my room once again and gasped. She ran back out, grabbed a broom, ran back in and started swatting at the monster moth. She killed it, but I was so freaked out, so scared that I slept in my mom’s bed, in the “big” guest room that night.

To some people, this would not be classified as a scary experience. A bug on a wall. Who freaks out at a little bug? In comparison to other people’s experiences and fears, mine probably doesn’t come close. Like to the people in the holocaust. They had fears like they would never see their family or friends ever again, or they would die tomorrow.

I think that fears are different for everybody. Some more extreme than others, but that doesn’t make any fear less important to that person.