Peter sat trembling in the back seat, glancing timidly at the streaks of light outside. Each bolt striking the vast prairie before him sent a jagged shiver down his spine. All that could be seen across the endless plain was a dark cloudy sky, the earth, and the solitary tree juts outside the car door. His two greatest fears, lightning and open spaces, had come together, and it was tearing him to pieces.
            He knew it was a bad idea, a wrong turn, but he was impulsive. And now he was out of gas on a dirt road just west of the middle of nowhere. Never one to read maps, Peter had made the decision quite hastily; eager to rid himself of the wretched map. If only someone had been with him to talk him out of it, but oh no, he was to do this on his own. Sitting in the car now considerably filled with regret, he paused for a moment to reflect. Why, oh why didn’t he travel with a cell phone? Crash! The sudden clash of the electric cymbal licked at his eardrum, and tore him away from his thoughts.
            “It’s okay,” he said to himself aloud, “There’s nothing to fear, but fear itself.” But he wasn’t afraid of the fear, he was afraid of the thunder and unbearable isolation. He wished so virtuously to cure his agoraphobia.
The sound of his own voice served to calm Peter, but he was afraid to say anything more. His shaky lips couldn’t form to make a sound, and he was unable to suck in enough breath to conjure an utterance. Shear terror had overcome him, and at this point the staggering shock of the lightning almost offered an escape from his own agoraphobic thoughts. His situation seemed ever the more desperate the longer he was able to think without interruption. Unfortunately, after every interruption he had to again come to the realization that he was trapped and alone.
            Peter began to wonder once more why in the hell he had even agreed to this in the first place. He barely knew his cousin, who cares if she’s getting married? He had agreed to drive hundreds of miles out west into the country entirely out of family obligation. It could have been worse; at least he didn’t have to fly. The biggest open space on all the earth was the sky, and a window seat was enough to drain his bladder. With that thought, Peter scooted away from the left side rear door into the middle of the seat. He was cold where he had been touching the door; his skin was now exposed to the air. It would be quite warm wear he was leaning on the door, but he wasn’t going to move, not with all this thinking. He was impulsive, and he had to do these things spontaneously, out of instinct. Clash! Another bolt struck close, so close in fact that the light and sound of it were perceived at the same moment.
            Peter was again afraid, he had let himself drift too far into his thoughts and it had hurt him too much to come out of that state (The sort of way the flu feels worse after a day without symptoms). He was so afraid his heart ached, with every beat came a powerful shocking sensation, and the beats came often, a mile a minute. He was certain that unless some miracle happened soon his heart would explode within his chest. And then something did happen, something that made his heart stand still.
            With a great flash of light Peter saw outside a large ghastly figure moving about slowly but menacingly. He fidgeted about frantically after the light had gone; the thing couldn’t have seen him move. He didn’t want to die, and now he was disoriented, couldn’t figure out in which direction he had seen the thing. It could be anywhere, anywhere but on top of the car that is. But wait, the sunroof! No, it couldn’t be on top of the car, something that large would have made noise or disturbed the car in some way. He couldn’t move, he was paralyzed, waiting for the thing to come get him.
            If Peter had only been worried before, he was terrified now. There were the “interruptions,” the agoraphobia, and now this thing. What was it? A bear? What would a bear be doing in the middle of the prairies? Maybe he hadn’t seen anything. In his current state he could have imagined it, in fact, he was sure he had imagined it. He convinced himself he hadn’t seen anything, and that now he wasn’t dealing with the thing, but with hallucinations, a minor improvement. Another interruption occurred and he saw it once more, this big perplexing dark thing lumbering about. Peter snapped his eyes shut and put his hands over his ears. Why hadn’t he though of this before? Just like when he was a kid.
            “Shit,” Peter whispered. He had opened a door to something. Something he desperately didn’t want to remember.
            He had been eight years old when it almost got him. Hiding from the monster (ironically) beneath his little blue bed, he was sure it would have gotten him had he been on top. His father had told him that it hadn’t been real, and after a few weeks Peter began to believe him, but none of that changed the amount of terror he felt that rainy summer night under his little blue bed.

            There’s a monster in the room, a monster of inconceivable horror. The type of monster that sends chills both down and up your spine. He saw it come in through the window. First it stuck one foot in, placed it on the floor, and swung itself in. It stood there, appraising the boy with its glowing green eyes, for what had seemed like hours. The man-like monster continues looking around as Peter sits in his bed trying desperately not to move. Once its back is turned he silently ducks under the bed.
            Here, Peter feels safer. Nothing can harm him under the safety of his little blue bed; that monster is much too large to fit under there he assures himself. Peter can hear the monster clomping around his bed and it scares him, scares him so deep inside it hurts to breathe. Suddenly, the monster stops, and begins to smell the room. Sniff, sniff, sniff. It can smell him, he knows it can. The monster then delicately slides onto its chest, pressed softly against the floor. A flash of green light shines in his eyes and the monster is looking right at him.
            This is the end for Peter; he knows it’s the end. A large dark hand motions slowly toward his face, and he can do nothing but weep softly as the arm slides in to grab him. Peter struggles as the monster’s hand clutches his collar, but can’t get away. He has only one option: scream, scream as loud as he can, as hard as he can, as fast as he can.
            “HEEEEEEELP!” Peter screeched, as the monster let out a comparably quieter roar, “Help me, Daddy!”
A rustling is heard downstairs, followed by a flurry of footsteps upon the steps. The startled monster releases Peter from its grasp and darts toward the window. Dad swings open the door to find an unoccupied room; the curtains are blowing in the wind.
            “Oh shit! Peter’s gone, Molly! Call the police!” he shouts to the door.
            “I’m down here,” Peter whimpers hesitantly.
            “Oh thank God,” says his father, with a distinct tone of relief in his voice.
            Mom appears in the doorway, “What’s going on?” She sounds concerned.
            “I thought someone had taken Peter,” he replies.
            Peter crawls out from under the bed and tries to stand, but his knees are wobbly and he falls over. Terror is apparent on the boy, and he’s drenched with sweat. A look of intense fear is written on his face.
            “I saw a monster,” he says.
            “Oh, son,” his father responds, “That was just a nightmare, and you know what we say about…”

            The car rocked with the sound of great strain, a sound much more frightening than lighting, and Peter was thrown into the door. At this point his train of thought had been harshly derailed by the brick wall of a horrific reality. He had banged his head hard on the roof of the car; and his neck was bent out of shape.
            Lying on the floor he could see the crumbs from the bagel he had eaten earlier, and felt them scratch at his face as he shifted his head about. He was almost upright when another great crash rocked the car back and he toppled over.
Peter was alert now, alert and afraid. What was this thing going to do to him? Was it a bear? Was it the monster that had grabbed him under his little blue bed? He didn’t know. All he knew was that, whatever it was, it wasn’t friendly. At the very least the confusion served to quell his fear.
            His vacation from fear abruptly ended when a harrowing howl erupted for the monster just outside. With the sudden shock that awakened Peter from his memories, came a rush of adrenalin that he had to use soon. He was all alone in the middle of the prairies on a dirt road and nobody knew where he was. There was no chance for rescue, no salvation. And that’s what scared him most of all, not the lightning, not the monster, but the knowing that he couldn’t escape. He could faintly see the monster rushing toward the car, as lightning struck in the distance, and he braced for impact.
            This time the force of the beast had knocked the car upside down, and Peter wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. The broken glass in his face and arms caused excruciating pain, a sting that wouldn’t quit, but he was otherwise okay. At least until the car started to crumple above him. He wasn’t sure whether the groaning noise came from the monster or the car, either way it was bad news for Peter. He threw his arms in front of his face for protection as the remaining windows shattered under the weight of the monster.
            A giant dark arm shot in through the car window and clutched Peter by the throat (it was certainly not the average bear). It was choking him as it slowly pulled him away. He wanted desperately to scream. It was now or never, so he did the only thing he could think of. He bit down hard on the hand of the beast causing it to release and recoil. This was his chance; there was no way he was going to stay in the car; no one would come if he called. Peter had to run, and he couldn’t rely on impulse this time.
            He squirmed out the opposite side the hand had come in through and cut himself deeply in the process. As quickly as he could he got to his feet and started stumbling through the rain, not looking back. The cuts on his face and arms hurt, but not nearly as badly as the sheet of glass stuck deep in his abdomen. He grabbed it easily (it had to be easy, the glass was sticking out more than 3 inches) and pulled with all his might as he ran. But where was the monster; he couldn’t hear anything but the rain over his own heavy uneven breathing. The glass came loose suddenly, and ripped out of him leaving a feeling of slight relief and a fountain of gushing blood. Peter began to feel woozy and his pace slowed. He jammed a finger sharply into his glass wound and was jolted alert. The various pains had returned but it was the price to pay for better awareness and muscle control. His body was aching and the rain fell so hard it hurt.
            Where was the monster? Had he frightened it off with his bite, or was it trailing him? There were so many questions racing through his mind, but Peter had to focus on running. Coming up on a small hill, he tripped and tumbled back down into the mud. The muck seeping into his cuts hurt more than anything he could imagine, and every breath was like thousands of knives stabbing at him. The woozy feeling had returned after the fall had dislodged his finger from its wound and, the blood began to pour out. This, more than any other time during this horrible ordeal, was the moment Peter felt like giving up the most. His mind started to drift away.
            A harsh bolt awakened him after striking off in the distance. He was filled with a renewed urge to survive and struggled to his feet. Somehow the glass wound had stopped bleeding. Whatever had caused it, Peter considered it a miracle. And as soon as he was up, if not sooner, he continued his trot up the hill. The same terrible howl sounded in the distance inspiring Peter to keep going, convincing him that he was winning.
            But his doubt regrettably crept its way into his thoughts. Where was he going? Who would find him? How would he survive soaking wet, muddy, and coated with blood in the wilderness? His pace slowed as he contemplated his situation, it kept slowing until he stood still. His futile trek had cured his agoraphobia but at what cost? As he gave up hope for the final time he fell nonchalantly to his knees. Peter was ready to die.
            An immense pain shot through his body swiftly as the monster’s enormous arm burst through his torso (he flinched to say the least). The feeling was unbearable, he was empty and yet filled at the same time, and the spasms had opened all his old cuts. As he dangled from the arm of the maniacal beast, Peter felt strongly he was not ready to die.

            When he didn’t show up at the wedding his relatives assumed he had decided not to come, and his friends back home believed he was either at the wedding or had gone on some wacky adventure on an impulse, after all that was the spontaneous Peter they knew.
            No one even thought to look for him until his car was recovered a week later after a touring elderly couple found it overturned on the side of the road. A massive search was initiated but Peter’s body was never found. He is presumed dead, and we have no choice but to agree.