Erik vs. Everything

by Christina Uss

  They now had quite a crowd gathered. Adults from the mystery paperback shelf had wandered over to stare along with the kids. All those eyes peering through the big glass window. Erik’s heart began to pound, and he felt like a powerful gust of wind was blowing through his insides. The urge to sink down and slide under Mrs. Harkness’s desk was nearly overpowering. His knees began to buckle. He put one hand on a stack of new hardbacks to steady himself as a maintenance worker strode over with a tool belt and a smile, waving and calling out, “I’m here, I’m here, Lillian. Tell me what you need.”

  Mrs. Harkness waved back through the glass. “There you are, Harry! Knew that’d get you to come running. That was the yodeling piece that won me top senior status at last year’s competition. Anyhoo, we’ve got a stuck door and an out-of-order phone. Can you get us out of here?” she asked.

  As soon as the yodeling librarian quieted back down into a regular librarian, the crowd lost interest and ambled away. Erik’s heart eased slightly from a gallop to a trot, and he wiped the sweat off his forehead. Brunhilde was at his side the moment the sardine key popped free and the door opened, shepherding him over to a comfy chair.

  “It worked, did it not?” she said. “We have isolated something that scares you. Now the debriefing.” She sat on the arm of the chair and consulted her notebook. “You functioned normally when you found the locked door and the cut phone line, displaying only signs of irritation. Being trapped with a senior-category lady was not overwhelming your defenses. But when she began to—er—sing? You turned white as quartz.”

  As much as Erik wanted to grumble at Brunhilde for putting him such a bizarre situation, grumbling at Brunhilde had never gotten anyone anywhere. He said, “I was okay until she started up with the yoda-lay-hee-hoos. Then I started to get sweaty. She wanted me to yodel along with her.”

  “Yodeling-with-an-old-person-aphobia?” Ragnar asked. “Is that in the book?” He started to fumble through the index with his bear-size hands.

  But Erik shook his head. “It wasn’t the yodeling. It was . . . everyone looking at her while she was yodeling. And everyone looking at me right next to her.” All those curious eyeballs trained on him. “I couldn’t stand everyone staring at me with nowhere to hide. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to be . . . embarrassed.” He considered it some more. “Yeah, embarrassed is the word, for sure. Being embarrassed in front of other people is awful. Really awful.” He hoped this would satisfy his sister.

  Brunhilde took the book from Ragnar, scanned the index, and pointed to the K section of The Big Book of Fear. “Katagelophobia. Fear of embarrassment, ridicule, or being put down. From the Greek language, kata means to put down and gelo means laughing. Are you certain this has nothing to do with old people?”

  Hrolf had rejoined them with the triplets. Ragnar poked Hrolf in the chest with a hairy finger and said, “Laugh at your cousin.”

  Hrolf shrugged, pointed at Erik, and started laughing. Siegmund and Sally seemed to think this was a lovely idea and joined in, until a ribbon of mucus spilled out of Sally’s nose and she tried to use Siegmund as a tissue and Ragnar had to start laughing as well. (Sven stayed quiet. He still held the Fanny Fearless book open over his head like a small tent, his watchful eyes tracking Mrs. Harkness.) Once again, a crowd started turning and staring their way. Erik lost no time in sliding as far as he could under the comfy chair and whispering, “Please stop. PLEASE. Fear of embarrassment is most definitely IT.”

  Brunhilde’s eyes shone. “Our journey toward victory begins. We have named your enemy. With naming comes power. Your fear is no longer just fear. It is”—she paused triumphantly—“katagelophobia.”

  Six

  What Lies Underneath

  Even the one-finned fish can fight against the current.

  —The Lore

  “But it isn’t just katagelophobia,” Ragnar said.

  “Mmmm,” answered Brunhilde around a mouthful of catfish hot dish. Brunhilde and Ragnar had heated up some lunch for everyone while Aunt Hilda helped Uncle Bjorn prune branches outside in a light drizzle. The triplets sat in three matching ExerSaucers on the floor, slurping their bottles. “Interesting. What do you mean?”

  Ragnar answered, “You said Erik was scared of the pike at the lake. Being bitten by a pike isn’t embarrassing, I don’t think. It’s more like . . .”

  “Aaaack!” screamed Erik, jumping up onto the seat of his chair, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. “How did that get in here?” He pointed at an animal on the floor.

  “What, Mr. Nubbins?” asked Hrolf. “He’s our pet. He must’ve gotten out of his cage.”

  Mr. Nubbins wasn’t a big squirrel, nor a very hearty-looking one. He was missing part of one ear, and the fur on his tail was falling out. His eyes darted, and he made a nervous gnawing sound with his teeth. He sprinted toward an open window, but before he made it across the room, Sven dropped his bottle, reached out, and grabbed him by the neck, pulling him onto the ExerSaucer’s Busy Boy Control Center. Mr. Nubbins drooped in defeat. Sven gurgled happily, stuck the squirrel’s good ear between his gums, and chomped.

  “You have a squirrel living in your house? It’s a wild animal!” yelled Erik, gripping his chair back with white knuckles. “That’s insane! Get it out of here, get it out, get it OUT!” He was trembling so hard from head to foot that his chair chattered against the floor.

  “See?” said Ragnar. “I don’t think he’s fearful of being embarrassed by Mr. Nubbins.”

  “Indeed,” answered Brunhilde. “Good thinking, Ragnar.” She strode over to Sven and took Mr. Nubbins from his moist little hands. Sven frowned until he found his brother Siegmund’s hand and shoved that into his mouth to continue chewing.

  Brunhilde approached Erik with the squirrel as the critter flicked drool off its Sven-sucked ear. “So, Erik, what exactly bothers you about this animal? Are you thinking it will harm you?” She examined Mr. Nubbins’s face and paws.

  “Get it AWAY from me, Bru, RIGHT NOW!” Of the fears he had mentioned to Brunhilde, this was the one he most did not want to test. Squirrels, he thought. Is there anything on earth more awful than fast-moving, nut-crunching, tail-twitching squirrels?

  Brunhilde said, “I can assure you that its teeth and claws are very, very small. Even you, with little practice in hand-to-hand combat, could defend yourself against it if necessary. The amount of your blood it could spill would be quite minor.” She moved closer to show Erik Mr. Nubbins’s little furry nose and black eyes. The creature’s tail twitched.

  Erik climbed right through his plate of catfish to stand in the middle of the table. He forgot that he never yelled at Brunhilde and yelled at Brunhilde, “I’m going to start screaming again if you don’t get it AWAY! I AM SERIOUS! I DON’T CARE! GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!!” He clutched his hair with both hands and panted like a dog.

  Brunhilde stopped and gazed at her brother yelling and panting at her from atop the dining room table. She nodded once and took the squirrel out of the room. When she returned, her hands were empty.

  “He is back in his cage. No need to concern yourself any longer about Mr. Nubbins, Erik. You may relax from combat mode.” She brushed squirrel fur from her hands and sat back down to lunch.

  Erik was having a hard time calming down. His breathing was still shallow and rapid, his skin felt cold and clammy. Ragnar stood up and wrapped his big hands around Erik’s waist, lifting him down to his chair and patting him on the head.

  “I guess we need to add squirrelophobia to his list, huh?” Ragnar said.

  “Sciurophobia,” Brunhilde corrected him absently. “It’s named sciurophobia. We found it in the book already.” She quickly finished the last bites from her plate and moved it to the side. “I wonder how many fears a person can have?” She grabbed her notebook from her nearby bookbag and began to sketch out a battlefield with X’s and O’s and arrows. “Perhaps your fears are separate, or perhaps they work together to undermine you.”

  The ph
one rang. Erik, already on the verge of running out of the squirrel-infested house, yelled, “Gaaah!” and sprinted for the front door. He pulled it open to a thunderclap and cascade of rain. He slammed it shut and scuttled under the couch, tucking himself in a tight ball as far underneath it as he could.

  Hrolf said, “Da said Erik didn’t know about the pleas­ure of having to fight, but it looks like he’s fighting this fear thing almost all the time.”

  Brunhilde agreed. “Cousin, you speak the truth. I am glad we are here together to help him face this. Although it is a well-entrenched enemy, nothing can stand against the Sheepflatteners united as one.” Even the triplets joined in the proud family grunting.

  Aunt Hilda walked in with her phone. “Brunhilde and Erik, good news! Your mother called, and your sister Allyson is coming to Minnesota on Saturday to join us. Her cheer team qualified for a big competition out here. I’ll have to plan a menu and rearrange the beds and make some room in the closets.” Aunt Hilda sighed happily in anticipation of another guest. Her rune tattoo was the same as Inge’s: FAMILY. “Wait, where is Erik?”

  “Hiding under the couch,” Brunhilde said. “Telephone calls sometimes make him do that. It might be katagelophobia, or it might be something else. I don’t think it relates to sciurophobia, but one way or another, we are going to root out the truth.”

  “Oh. Ah. Hmm,” said Aunt Hilda. “Well, carry on.” She scooped up Sven in one arm and Siegmund in the other and used her foot to scoot Sally’s ExerSaucer toward the bedrooms. “It’s nappy-nap time for you, my tiny warriors!”

  Hrolf crawled over on his hands and knees to the couch and peeked at Erik. “Want to come out now? Or I can come under there with you, and we can play Sharkie, Sharkie, Cross My Couch.”

  Erik had no idea what Sharkie, Sharkie, Cross My Couch was, but if it was something his Minnesota cousins played, he was not up for it. He whispered, “How do I know that squirrel won’t get out of his cage? Can you put the cage in a closet? And lock the door? And bury the key?”

  “I can take care of locking up Mr. Nubbins for you,” said Hrolf, grinning. “The triplets and I can play No Escape from Jotunheim, Land of Giants, with him after their nap. I’ll be the biggest giant, they can be my giants-in-training, and we can pretend Mr. Nubbins is our sworn mini-giant enemy who must not be allowed to break free. We’ll use Legos.”

  Hrolf offered him a hand, and Erik reluctantly took it. Hrolf had almost pulled him out from under the couch when the phone rang once more. Erik yelled, “Gaaah!” broke Hrolf’s grip, and recoiled backwards like an eel. Hrolf peeked under the couch again and saw only a faint balled-up-Erik-shaped shadow. He shrugged and headed off to begin constructing the Land of Giants for after naptime.

  Another set of boots appeared at the edge of Erik’s vision.

  “Erik,” Brunhilde said. “Time for another test.”

  “Bru, no,” he moaned. “I’m too scared for testing.”

  “Ah, scared is perfect. We are going to get at what scares you about the phone ringing.”

  Ragnar came in holding the phone. “It’s Allyson. She’s calling to ask Brunhilde what kind of clothes she should pack for her visit.”

  “Excellent.” Brunhilde took the cell phone from him and spoke into it. “Allyson, I am going to have you talk to Erik.” She crouched down and offered the phone to him under the couch. He tried to push it away, but she gave him a hard look. He took the call.

  “Hi, Allyson,” he said softly.

  “Erik? Hi? So, like, I was going to pack my cashmere tees and skinny jeans and black leather boots, but then I was wondering if the other girls out there are more into pastel sweats and mountain-climber capris and hats? Is everyone out there wearing lots of hats? Should I bring all my hats? Or just the ones with matching infinity scarves?”

  “Um.”

  “Or, like, should I pack just everything, just, like, everything? Because different situations may call for different looks? And will Aunt Hilda let me wear makeup? Or is she in the dark ages like Mom and I have to wait until I’m sixteen?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Okay, I’ll bring it all. Don’t want to be caught without the best look for the situation, right? Thanks, little bro! You’re totes helpful! Buh-bye!”

  “Buh-bye,” Erik answered. He poked his head out and looked up at Bru, who had her notebook in her hand and was sketching something.

  “Wait!” Brunhilde said, and grabbed the phone. “Allyson? Are you still there? Good. Please, can you call us back in ten minutes? Okay? Thank you.” She pressed the End Call button.

  Erik crawled out from under the couch and sat on the floor. “You’re going to make me talk to her again in ten minutes? I don’t think I’m going to have a better clue what to say to her about clothes in ten minutes.”

  “No, you will not need to talk to her. But the ten minutes gives us a chance to examine your phone-ringing fear in a way you normally cannot.” She had written down a series of questions and began peppering Erik with them.

  “Was talking to Allyson scary?”

  “No.”

  “Was it embarrassing?”

  “No. Confusing, mostly, I guess.”

  “Do you ever not yell ‘gaaah!’ when the phone rings?”

  “No.”

  “I know you have been yelping at phone calls as long as I have known you. When the phone rings at our house, I wait for your ‘gaaah!’ right afterward so I know for sure it really rang. Are you always scared to hear it ring?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Is the phone ringing embarrassing?”

  He frowned. “No, that’s not it.”

  “Does the phone ringing remind you of squirrels?”

  “No!” Erik said. “That’s just silly.”

  “So, what does a ringing phone make you feel?”

  Erik thought about it. “Instant terror. Like I was just minding my own business and then suddenly, an alarm is going off to tell me I’m in danger. Or like I was hiding from a monster in the dark but then it shines a flashlight right on me and I’m caught.”

  Brunhilde was writing every word of this down. “. . . And you are caught. Like a predator or enemy has located you and there is no escape?”

  “Yep.”

  She handed him the as-yet-not-ringing phone. He took it.

  “Does it appear monstrous or predatory to you now when it is silent?”

  He examined it. “Nope.”

  Ragnar joined in, grabbing the triplets’ toy telephone, which had a smiling face painted on it and, when dragged along the floor, would play “Pop Goes the Weasel.”

  “How about this one?” He pressed a button, and little blue and red lights on the phone lit up. He held it up to his ear. “Hello? Hello?”

  Erik stared at him. “No, I think it has to be a real phone ringing for a real phone call.”

  “Okay.” Brunhilde nodded. “We are getting closer. Why does a real phone ring? Because a person is calling to tell us something, or ask us something. Think about that, Erik. Allyson is going to call in one minute to ask us more about clothes. Does that make you feel the monster-predator terror?”

  Erik looked at the phone and imagined it ringing in his hand with Allyson’s voice on the other end babbling on about hats and scarves. The zing of fear he normally got didn’t appear.

  “No, thinking about that doesn’t bother me.”

  “Okay. Brace yourself. It should be ringing again any second.”

  Right on cue, the phone rang in his hand, and he twitched, but didn’t yelp. It rang again. He didn’t yelp again. Erik’s mouth dropped open in silent disbelief at its own silence. “I can’t believe it! No ‘gaaah!’ First time ever!” The phone rang one more time. “Should I answer it?”

  “No,” Brunhilde ordered. “Now imagine this—what if it is not Allyson on the phone right now? What if it is someone else calling for some other reason? How would you feel about it then?”

  Erik dropped the phone. “Oh no,” h
e wheezed. “That puts me right back in the monster-terror place.”

  Ragnar launched into action. He folded his right hand into a boulder-like fist and punched the phone once, decisively. It stopped ringing altogether. In fact, it looked like it would never ring again. He leaned over and patted Erik on the shoulder. “Maybe you should punch it when it bugs you. That is what I would do if I had a predator showing up and ringing at me. Grab it! And punch it!”

  Brunhilde thumped Ragnar on the arm with the toy phone, and it played All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel. “I was about to get to the bottom of this, cousin. It was not time to punch anything yet,” she said.

  Ragnar said, “Maybe it wasn’t time to punch the phone, but I am pretty sure it is always time to punch something.”

  Erik said, “Actually, that did help, Ragnar. At least it stopped ringing. I can’t think clearly once it rings at me.” He turned to Brunhilde. “So, did we figure out that I’m scared of ringing phones when the call is from an unknown person calling for an unknown reason?” Maybe they were done with this particular testing and he could go back to hiding under the couch again.

  Brunhilde said, “You tell me. Is that right? What if it is an unknown person calling to tell you that you have, I don’t know, won an award? Or a friend wants to invite you to a party? It could even have nothing to do with you. It could be a call for Allyson. At our house, it usuallyis a call for Allyson.”

  Erik shook his head. “Even though I know it might not be for me . . . I also know it might. And a ringing phone could never bring me any good news,” he said. “If someone was calling to invite me to a party, that would be horrible. Parties are where I fall down roller-skating or miss the piñata. But it’s more likely going to be a teacher or coach calling to criticize something I did. Or it will be Mom explaining she just signed me up to go fail at some new activity.”

  “So you feel sure every phone call brings bad news of past failures or new chances to fail?” Brunhilde worked on the sketch in her notebook. She drew a phone with a spear and labeled it FAILURE. “Or maybe you feel every phone call is an opportunity to be criticized?” She drew another phone with an enormous two-handed sword labeled CRITICISM.