Reticent Monsters (Ultimate Spider-Man - Cartoon)

Chapter 22: Nothing is No Thing.

Sorry about the language in this chapter, not F-words, but other swear words. It was kind of hard to avoid. So, warning for that!!

Peter Parker (POV)

There was something in the room with him. He couldn't see it. Couldn't feel it, taste it, or hear it. But it was there. Looming over his back like some kind of phantom, drawing its clawed fingers seductively down his spine and leaving behind needle-like shudders that rattled deep his bones. Sometimes he saw it just out of sight, through his peripheral vision. Just a fleeting look of a dart of movement before it was gone.

Peter's never felt completely safe in the White Room, but he's never felt threatened like this before. Every hair stood on end, and with his arms tucked inside the straitjacket, he felt especially vulnerable. But that was mostly due to the fact that he couldn't even sense anything. His spider-sense did nothing to warn him of something lurking behind him, not so much as a tingle due to the fact, he constantly tried to reason himself with, that there was probably nothing there. How could there be? The room was small and it was impossible for something to remain unseen like this for this long. It was nothing. It was all in his head. It HAD to be.

Yet, there it was again. Hiding just out of his line of sight. He could see it drawing closer....and closer...and closer...

Peter lurched to his feet, causing the blanket that his feet had been tucked to fall on the floor. Breathing heavily, he paced the room, chanting under his breath, "It's not real. It's not real. It's not real." In any other circumstances he might've been a little embarrassed to have to reassure himself with those words, but he didn't have to worry about Morbius hearing him anymore. Not only did the straitjacket return, but the collar was back as well. It was choking him and making it harder to breathe, and with it came the numbingly cold feeling that iced his throat and took away his voice; so, it was a somewhat, extremely small, relief that he didn't need to be worried about being ridiculed by Morbius. But it was small. 

"It's not real. It's not real. It's not real."

He focused on his feet, his pants, the sleeves of the jacket, but those things did little to help. There was still white everywhere, making up everything, and inside everyone. He was even beginning to see it when he closed his eyes; the bright dancing speckles of white residue hiding beneath his eyelids, so there was no escaping it. And then, if that wasn't bad enough, whenever he opened them again, the thing was always there. Leering. Taunting. Driving him crazy!

And as if in retaliation for that, he saw something move off to the right.

Peter shook his head, keeping his eyes on white, rubber material of his feet. "It's not real. It's not real. It's not real."

It drew closer.

"It's not real. It's not real."

It touched his shoulder.

"It's. Not. Real!" he scolded himself, he berated his head with the message, yet he still found himself whirling around to confront the thing, but it was already gone. His eyes bugged as hysteria built rapidly in his chest. He jerked left. Nothing there. Right again. Blank, endless, bleak, white walls stared at him. A scream of frustration crawled from his throat, but it made no sound past the collar. He found it especially belittling that he couldn't even cry out for help anymore. What more was Morbius going to take from him?

There was no time to dwell on that though because the thing was back again. It was EVERYWHERE! There was nowhere Peter could go that left it behind. It was always going to stalk him, and watch him, and close in on him. If Peter's hands were free, he was sure he would've started pulling on his hair in frustrated dread by now. "Leave me alone," he pleaded mutely, "Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone."