Teaching Horrible Lessons - 2. 2. Teaching Lessons in Fear

Mark didn't make it out of the asylum's grounds. I found him lying on the grass near the side entrance, where everyone came in. He might have left the party thinking I had gone, but he was intoxicated and couldn't have walked that far. If I were not being guided by the entity, I'd probably be in a deep slumber as well. However, with the first side of the avatar box unlocked, my mind was clear and uninhibited right now. I had the power to instill fear in Mark. I can get rid of his phobia of being caught naked.

I walked over to Mark out in the grass and touched his head, entering his drunken dreams.

He was in his room, playing some kind of video game. I looked around and saw that the room was filled with posters of his favorite bands, shelves of his cherished comic books, drones of various sizes with different camera angles, a gaming PC, and the most modern smart TV currently on the market. He seemed to be having a good time enjoying all his material possessions given to him by his affluent parents. Mark wasn't a spoiled rich kid, who asked for all these things. No, he was more like a kept boy with his adopted parents showering him with all these possessions, because they wanted to live vicariously through him as well. In the corner of his room were trophies from debate teams, spelling bees, and Chess tournaments that earned him these rewards for being a good boy.

However, what isn't in the room are pictures of me and him. No references to his sexuality, no symbol of the pride flag, or even a gay author on his Kindle would ever appear, because his parents do not want that "stuff" in their perfect boy. In their mind, he wasn't their son, he was some village reject from a poor Asian country that had too many kids. Mark knew all of this and feared losing everything, being sent back to the third-world orphanage that he remembered due to the pain and hunger he suffered.

I wanted the power to get him to leave those fears behind him and I have it now through the manipulation of his dream world through fear. I've seen all the Nightmare on Elm Street movies, including the stupid crossover with Friday the 13th. I knew the rules, I wouldn't physically hurt him or kill him in his sleep, but there were other means that old Freddy never thought of to get into a boy's mind.

"Hey," I said, "Mark, you want to play a real game."

"Sure," he said, as he set down his controller.

"This is a game to help you overcome your fear," I said, "But the rules are, you can't say no to what I ask even if it scares you, or I get to punish you."

"Okay, I guess," he said, looking a little unsure.

"Good," I said, "Then I dare you to take off your shirt."

"What?"

"You heard me," I said, "Take off your shirt."

"Are you serious? I'm not gonna do that, what if my parents walk in on us" he said, shaking his head.

"You promised me, that if you don't do what I ask, then I'll have to punish you," I said.

"But, you said it's a game," he said as his logical mind tried to assert himself and gain some lucidity within the dream, "There can't be punishment in a game."

"Oh really," I said, "then what would you call this?"

I lifted him, using the powers granted to me by the avatar box.

"Let go of me!" He shouted, "Stop!"

I dropped him back down, letting him land hard on the ground. As he landed on the ground, the scene around us changed to a desolate room with peeling yellow paint on the walls. His bedroom and worldly possessions all disappeared, except for the clothes he wore. His current bedroom and possessions were replaced by a simple bamboo bed with a thin cotton blanket. The only source of light was a small window near the ceiling, barely enough for him to see.

"Where am I?" He asked with dread seeping into his voice. I hated doing this to him, forcing him to relive his past, but he needed to confront his fears.

"Mark, you know where we are," I said, "Because we are in the same room you lived in before your parents adopted you."

"No," he said, his voice trembling.

"Yes," I said, "Remember, I told you I was going to help you overcome your fears, but if you break the rules, I have to punish you. You can continue to play the game with me if you take off your shirt."

I can see him visibly shaking as the memories of his past come flooding back. He doesn't know why he is here, he just wants to go home and be in his bed. He looks up at me, trying to reassert some control into his dream world's logic, and says, "I can't do it. My parents say that I must always be a proper boy, I need to wear the clothes they picked for me. If I lose my shirt, they might send me back here."

It was an irrational fear and illogical in a dream world where he was already in his old dilapidated orphanage, despite how logical the idea of obedience may be in the real world. That's one thing Nightmare on Elm Street teaches viewers, dreams are mirrors of our conscious and subconscious fears. Fear itself doesn't have to be logical, it just has to have the patterns of logic tied to it.

"Fine, then I'll let you live here for a few days," I said, "When you feel like taking off your shirt, then we can continue our game."

Time passed in the dream world as I saw Mark's old life as an orphan. He was getting beaten up daily by older and bigger boys for his rice porridge allotment. The adult administrators were teaching them how to act cute and demure for prospective parents, who would come and visit them like pet owners at an animal shelter. The way they trained Mark made me think of the puppy training classes that I've seen on YouTube. Every right answer would be rewarded with a piece of candy, every bad answer was punished with a smack of a ruler to exposed skin. For more severe breaches such as independent thought or questions, the boys were stripped completely naked and whipped with belts. Now, I was understanding where his fear of nudity came from if he had undergone such a beating.

After three days, he was still wearing his clothes and sleeping on the bamboo bed. He had not eaten anything or drank anything because all his food would be stolen from him. He was stubbornly sticking to his adopted parents' rules and his instilled obedience. However, his rational mind was already succumbing to the fear of the orphanage, which was more powerful than his parents' conditioning.

"Are you ready to continue our game," I asked at the end of the third day when his nerves seemed frayed.

He nodded his head, looking tired, hungry, and thirsty.

"Good," I said, "Now take off your shirt."

He hesitated for a second, and then slowly reached down and pulled his shirt off. He was now standing in front of me, shirtless. He looked so vulnerable, and I could see his ribs starting to show from not eating anything for the last three days. I wanted to hug him and fill him full of calories, but I knew I had to take it slowly.

The scene changed and we were in school, where people could see him shirtless. His head hung low as laughter could be heard around him. People were pointing and laughing at his skinny body and making fun of his small brown nipples. Mark was ashamed and wanted to cover up, but he didn't want to break my rules. He had a fear of being ridiculed, but he also feared breaking my rules, which had begun to overtake his parents and the orphanage's original mental conditioning.

"Good, now I want you to drop your pants," I ordered him.

"What? No! I can't do that!" He exclaimed.

"Yes, you can," I said, "Do you want to be punished again?"

He shook his head, his face red with embarrassment.

"Then do as I say," I told him.

Slowly, he undid his pants and let them fall to the ground.

Several boys jeered at him, saying, "The homo got nothing to show off with his skinny body."

He was so ashamed of his skinny and pale Asian body, which he had spent all these years covering up. The only part that wasn't covered was his cock and ass. I could see him visibly shaking as he tried to hold back the tears.

"Are we done playing games Jules?" Mark pleaded with me.

"We are just getting started," I smirked, "Now take off your underwear."

He looked up at me, eyes wide and afraid, but did as I asked.

The scene changed again, and we were now standing in front of his adoptive parents. They were frowning, their faces twisted with disgust.

"What have you done?" They asked, their voices laced with anger and disappointment.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered, "I-I didn't mean to..."

"You are a faggot, despite everything we have given you." His mother hissed.

"You are nothing but a disappointment," his father added, "You will never be part of this family."

"I'm sorry! Please don't send me away," Mark pleaded.

"You should have been left in the orphanage," his mother said, "You will be returned there."

"No, no, no, please!" He cried, "I'll be good!"

"You can never be good," his father said, "Not after what you've done."

His adoptive parents turned and walked away, leaving him alone.

Mark was sobbing now, tears streaming down his face. All his fears and insecurities were on display within this dream world, he couldn't hide himself. He was completely naked, completely alone. I felt awful for putting him through this, but I had to do one more thing before we left this dream world to instill a new fear within him, far stronger than the loss and desperation that created his original phobia in the first place.

The scene returned to the desolate room of the orphanage.

"Mark, I want you to stay here until I come back for you. No one in the world cares about you, no one wants you just like how it was before your adoptive parents brought you home," I told him.

Mark didn't even say anything, he was broken.

Five days passed in the place, which was a living hell of beatings, scoldings, and whippings for the naked Mark. He had no clothes in this version of his orphanage making the other kids and adults further ostracize him, singling him out for punishment even if he did nothing wrong. Mark whimpered and stared in shame at himself and his body, which was dejected by everyone in its raw naked state.

I came on the fifth day to him and opened my arms wide in an offer of a hug. He fell into my arms, crying, and clinging onto me for dear life.

"Please," he sobbed, "I can't do this anymore, I can't take the pain. I'm so hungry and thirsty. I don't want to feel so alone."

"What is your greatest fear now, Mark?" I asked him, softly.

"Losing you," he sobbed, "Please, I'll do anything, just don't leave me."

"Okay," I said, "Then wake up and follow me."

The world around us changed, and we were standing near the entrance of the asylum. Mark was wearing his cowboy costume, while I wore my magician's costume. He stared at me with those pleading eyes, haunted by a week of fear and torture I subjected him to within his dreams.

"Jules," Mark asked me, "Where are we? Are we in heaven or hell?"

"Neither, we are at a Halloween party in a real asylum," I said.

He looked down at his cowboy outfit, then back up to me.

"Do you want me to take it off for you?" he asked, his eyes hopeful.

"No," I replied, "This isn't the time or place for it, but I want you to modify your costume a bit to suit your new perspective on life."

Mark thought for a moment, then began unbuttoning his cowboy shirt and taking off his cowboy jeans. By the end, he was wearing just a cowboy hat, his gun holster, his boxers, and a pair of boots like a cowboy stripper. His body was lithe. He looked so sexy in this state.

"Do you want to take a walk around the asylum with me," I asked, "We'll get something to eat and drink to fill our stomachs at the party."

"Yes," he eagerly said.

I smiled, "Good, but you have to keep the costume the way it is, no covering up your body."

"Anything for you," he said with an unnatural and familiar grin, "I'll follow you anywhere, forever."

The image of his mangled mutilated body flashed back in my mind for a moment and him saying I did that to him. He seemed happy like he is right now with me in this relaxed state. No human body could survive that level of mutilation unless supernatural properties were at work. As soon as the idea that I was doing something wrong and I wasn't in control of the Avatar Box as much as I thought began to form, it disappeared as I heard the voice of Brian, one of my three bullies coming up to us.

"There you are, Jules. I am sorry about scaring you earlier..." he stared over at Mark's sexy cowboy costume, "Eh...were you always a cowboy stripper for Halloween?"

"Yes," Mark replied with a straight face, not realizing the implications behind Brian's question.

Brian would be the next person I taught a lesson to.