Fear Of Little People Novels & Stories

"You know you're more likely to be struck by lightning than attacked by a shark." Lillian seemed to be listening to nothing, which probably meant that the resident poltergeist Jeremiah was talking to her. "Jeremiah says he was afraid of closed spaces." She looked perplexed. "I'm not even going to try and explain that to them." "Heights --" "Not a damn thing --"

Their story comes to an end with them huddled over a carton of ice cream at the kitchen counter and talking about why people are so scared of spiders. ("But they're so tiny," Ian sighs, wiping the stickiness off his chin with the back of his hand. "How can people be scared of something so tiny?" Jesse shakes his head. The question still baffles him to this day. "Maybe it's the eight legs thing?")

For a moment, the room feels heavy, and then finally, his voice breaks through the silence. “I’ve been having nightmares,” he whispers, his small voice cracking. “About the scary lady we met at the amusement park. She was really mean, Mommy. She… she kicked away my stuffed bunny. I was so scared, and ever since then, I keep dreaming about her.” His eyes finally lift, locking onto mine. The fear swimming in them is raw, tangible, and it hits me like a punch to the chest. My heart skips a beat, and I can feel the tightness in my throat.

The moment he locked me in the bedroom with them, my innocent bubble of childhood shattered, leaving me with nothing but shards of terror. The fear I felt for even the smallest dog had now escalated into a paralyzing dread of these monstrous creatures that circled me, their eyes gleaming with an unsettling mixture of curiosity and hunger. Day and night, the torment continued. My father believed that by facing my fears, I would emerge stronger—a man. But as hours turned into days, and days into weeks, something inside me began to break. The laughter that once filled my room was replaced by silent tears and the haunting echoes of my own screams.

It was even bigger than the whole dorm back at club. Little Bee had a little wash up, while she walked out of the bathroom closing the door behind she heard the presence of someone out there. Could it be bad bad men? She had a torturous impression in here, no soul was gentle to her so it was natural for her to develop a fear towards the people she was entrapped with. For a second she thought it was better to hide inside the closet and pretend she was not there but soon realized it was a super idiotic idea.

I love being with you. -‘ Me too! I always craved a friend. But I never had one. People always are scared of me. Now, at last, my lifetime servitude to Athena paid off. You are a blessing Myra!’ -‘ Why do people always fear you? Because of your visions?’ -‘ yes.’ -‘ They must be mad donkeys. Do they eat poo or what? How can anyone be afraid of such a doll? Blind pigs!’ They burst into peels of laughter.

To be able to be so fearless in front of him was not something that an ordinary person could do. "Why should I be afraid?" Samuel asked. These words angered Manfred so much that he nearly puked blood. Why should he be afraid? There was no need to ask. This was the underground boxing field, and he himself was Manfred. Any ordinary person would be so frightened that his legs would go soft at this time. Take Xiaolong for example, his reaction was the kind of reaction that a normal person should have. "Look at your friend, you can ask him why he is afraid." Manfred said.

But at this point, when it came to this, I couldn’t understand what was going on myself. “No, people started fearing the rumors that spread around this place. And you know how people are. With the number of things that books and movies have done, people are just pretty much afraid of being hexed.” Elena said, and I nodded. I knew that people would actually keep that in mind even if they tried to hide it. There was no hiding the fact of a person digging himself out of the grave, of course, unless they managed to try and hide the thing by creating a scene as if it were some hidden camera or something, and considering what she just told me, I doubted that this was the case. “I see.” I said, try

“What kind of something?” “That’s the problem. I don’t know.” The joking edge disappeared from her expression almost immediately. She gripped the edge of her desk. “You think somebody was following you?” “No.” I swallowed hard, remembering the sheer depth of that growl. “It felt worse than that.” Before Harmony could respond, Professor Smith’s voice cut smoothly through the room, drawing a sharp squeak from the dry-erase marker. “Fear,” he announced, writing the word in bold capital letters across the board, “is often rooted in recognition.”

Carried on a current of cold air from the car’s a/c, I tasted Hakeem’s fears as though they were my own. Losing his younger siblings, being forced to live in a world where they no longer existed—that was his greatest fear. Sensing the fears of others was more of a prelude to my actual abilities, and more often than not I was met with an abundance of superficial night terrors rather than anything substantial. Spiders, snakes, darkness, clowns. Goddess, why were so many people terrified of clowns? It was rare that I met someone with a fear that delved far beyond the surface, someone with a fear like Hakeem’s.