¹POCKET FULL OF POSIES. p. jackson

o. Mind-Killer

prologue
❛ mind-killer ❜

━━━━━ THEY SAY FEAR is a mind-killer. Unfortunately, Josephine had to agree. Fear was the shadows that crept into each and every corner; the spaces nothing else could reach; the space no sunlight could touch to take it away. The cold whispers at night, the heavy breaths crawled down your neck and made your hair rise on end. It was the serpent that coils itself around the person who feared. It coiled around the person, binding and tightening. Fear coiled around that person's throat, constricting airflow to their brain — stopping the reason and thoughts that told them that their fears were unfounded.

At least, people say fear is unfounded. That, Josephine couldn't agree with. She saw those shadows in the corners of rooms. She heard the cold whispers at night; felt the cold breath-like breezes creep down her neck. She felt the serpent coil around her — binding her legs, tying her arms to her side, and eventually around her neck to the point she couldn't breathe. The fear slithered in just as the sun was always setting through the window of her bedroom that faced west. As the sun set, and the room became cold, Josephine knew the snake would slither out.

It knew. Somehow. Even with changing seasons and the lengthening days, it knew. The moment the sky started to change to rich-colored golds and deep crimsons, it knew Josephine would be terrified — practically waiting for it to paralyze her with fear. But instead of the snake lying in wait in the grass, it was a snake lying in wait in the shadowy corners of her dark bedroom —

She couldn't breathe. The heavy weight of fear on her chest, and the competing, quickening heartbeats against her ribs. Her body knew — the danger of darkness and snakes. An instinctual fear. The way people know to fear drowning, to fear heights, falling — anything that can bring harm or even death.

And who doesn't fear death?

Perhaps people who have their affairs in order do not. Or perhaps the people who have made peace with death; even on friendly terms. But Josephine didn't understand how they could be — how can you not fear the unknown?

Somehow, breathing became harder. Tears pricked behind her eyes, and she fought every instinctual urge to look down at her feet — where she was certain she felt the cold scales of a snake slithering. The feeling sent shockwaves up her legs, pounding in her chest. She could feel her heart in her chest, each anxious beat rattling her ribs, which felt ready to crack. She had heard the phrase Die of fright, and part of Josephine wondered if that's how her sad and short life would end up — a girl so afraid of her own imagination, her father would find her dead in her bed the next morning. (That's if it would be her father, he hardly cared enough to even make sure she was awake ...)

But Josephine was so sure of snakes in the shadows. Not even in just her bedroom, but in every shadow — in her classrooms, in the parks, Mrs. Hall's apartment. They were everywhere. She was sure of it. She heard the hissing; the odd sounds of things falling over; the glimpses of something from the corner of her eye — Josephine was certain she was haunted by snakes. And the rare moments they weren't waiting in shadows, watching for the perfect moment to slither forth and terrify her to death, their presence still lingered. It was this unsettling sensation. The snake's existence had been there, and that made Josephine terrified. It was the mere possibility of the snake's existence, and even worse, when it would come back. She knew it would. Now, it was just a matter of waiting.

No one ever believed her when she talked about the snakes. They all chalked it up to a child-like imagination — even Mrs. Hall. No matter how much Josephine pleaded and cried, they all still thought her claims were just nightmares. You just have an over-active imagination, Mrs. Hall would tell her, trying to soothe Josephine. There are no snakes in your room. There are no snakes hunting you — snakes don't like humans, either, Posie.