Alektorophobia: A fear of chickens

Her freckles make my knees weak. I can feel heavy drops of sweat squeezing through my pores. It’s going to be my turn next, and I’ve spent the last few minutes carefully rehearsing my words and their casual inflection in my mind. Missy’s left knee is almost touching my right one as we sit on the same log, and the faintest sensation of her body heat is burning a hundred times hotter than the campfire.

“Your turn, Wobbles,” Jeff says. I don’t bother correcting him, because my real name of Webster is just as bad. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” I say without hesitation.

My face is a carefully maintained mask of boredom. Jeff is smirking at me because of our deal. I’ve been giving him my dessert for the last week, even though the camp always has the best food at the end. I’ve been doing his craft projects to cover for him while he sneaks behind the tool shed and drinks with a few of the older boys. I even let him beat me at ping-pong while a dozen people watched, even though I could have kicked his ass and he knows it. It’s all going to be worth it though, because he’s about to dare me to kiss Missy.

“You sure you’re brave enough for a dare?” Jeff asks, languidly drawing out each word. He’s trying to make me squirm, but I’m not taking the bait.

“I’m ready. Shoot,” I say. My breathing is almost steady.

“’Cause I’m sure everybody is just dying to know more about that time you took a piss in the creak and —”

“Come on Jeff, just dare him already,” Missy says.

Every muscle in my body is a painful knot. Somehow all the moisture in my mouth has teleported into my armpits. Missy shouldn’t be able to smell it over the burning logs though, or so I hope.

“Okay Wobbles. By the power invested in me by the sacred games of Camp Tillwaki, I dare you to…”

I was already standing. I wasn’t going to over-think it. I wasn’t going to give anyone else the chance to over-think it. I was just going to duck in there and…

“… try and catch Scar Face, the one-eyed chicken!”

I’d already turned toward Missy in anticipation. She got a full view of my gaping mouth and the startled fear stamped across my face. She covered her mouth and tried not to laugh, failing in the most delightful way. I spun to face Jeff and his giant sloppy grin. He’d stepped aside to reveal a cage containing the most hideous monster I’ve ever seen. A few other boys had already taken up chanting “Scar Face… Scar Face…”.

Jeff’s hand is poised on the latch to open the cage. “Unless of course… you’re scared of him.”

Scar Face cocked its mangled head to the side and glared at me. It was all black except for its disgusting fleshy red crown and beady malicious eyes. The counselors said that a fox almost got Scar Face once, but it fought back and pecked out both the fox’s eyes. Legend has it that it didn’t stop there either, but continued to attack the blinded fox until it had pecked its way straight to the brain through the eye sockets.

“Afraid of a chicken? Don’t be stupid,” I say. Even with my back to Missy, she’s still the only thing that I can see.

The cage flies open and Jeff scrambles backward to get out of the way. Scar Face takes his time strutting out, eyeing us all one at a time like a lord surveying his subjects. I crouch, ready to spring, but that only makes the trembling in my legs more evident.

I don’t give myself a chance to over-think. Before the chicken has taken two steps, I dive on it with outstretched arms. It gets a vicious peck into my shoulder, but my adrenalin is raging through me and I barely feel it.

I’m about to stuff the creature back into its cage when my legs give out beneath me. I’d been so busy trying to keep its beak away that I hadn’t noticed Jeff sneaking around the side. He’d swept my legs with a sharp kick, and Scar Face and I tumbled to the ground. By this point the creature was berserk with rage. Catching it again wasn’t nearly as important as making sure it didn’t catch me.

“Come on, that’s cheating!” Missy wails. Her sympathy was a small condolence beside the throaty squawks.

I was still laying stunned on the ground when Scar Face began his attack. The razor beak sank into my chest again and again, and the more I tried to fight it off with my hands, the farther it worked its way up my neck and face. Jeff was howling with laughter, egging the chicken on by nudging it in the butt with his foot. I managed to drag myself to my feet, but the enraged bird launched itself into the air to continue its relentless assault.

I’d been using my hands to push myself up and wasn’t shielding my face for just a moment, but that’s all it took. The talons planted themselves around my shoulder and the beak dove straight into my face. I could see it growing exponentially larger by the second as it hurtled towards my eye, and the next I knew an explosion of pain cascaded through my body. The laughing around us turned to screams and mad panic as the blood ran freely down my face. I flailed madly until the bird dropped back to the ground. I stumbled blindly trying to get away until I tripped over a log and fell too.

I still had one good eye, but it was so filled with sweat and blood that I couldn’t see a thing. I curled into a fetal position, listening to the awful squawking and screaming, just waiting for the unpredictable beak to gouge into my prone body.

I vaguely heard the gruff voice of one of the counselors, but I was loosing a lot of blood and nothing seemed quite real. I passed out shortly afterward. The last thought in my head was back to the fantasy of being dared to kiss Missy, and the softness of her lips against mine.

Camp ended one week after that. I spent most of the time in medical building with a giant swathe of bandages compressing where one of my eyes used to be. Missy visited once, but only briefly to check in. She stayed near the back of the room and showed about as much interest in resuming my fantasy as I had in kissing Scar Face.

Yeah it was a tough week, but there was one silver lining. The counselor (who was probably just desperate not to get sued), told me that the chicken had been put down. He practically begged me to tell him if there was anything else he could do to make this right, and I told him that there was: I wanted to cook the chicken myself for the farewell banquet, and I wanted him to assign Jeff as my assistant. The counselor blurted out immediate consent, talking over himself in his hurry to promise us the whole kitchen for as long as we needed it.

Some might think this is petty revenge, but I don’t. I’d need a glass eye to replace the one that was gouged out, not to mention a lifetime of alektorophobia. The counselors were considerate enough to reserve therapy for me at the famous Skinner Foundation, but I knew nothing was going to make me feel as good as revenge. And when I stood at the head of the long table and watched everyone eat the final meal I’d prepared, well that felt almost as good as a kiss.

I don’t know if they were just being nice because of the incident, but people raved about that meal. I tried to stay humble, but I had two plates myself and know it wasn’t just empty words. Jeff really was the best chicken I’ve ever eaten.