Feel the Fear and... Lie Down Until It Passes by Barry Denson

In the city of Stallbridge, people did not leap. They did not bound, or seize, or manifest destinies. They waited.

Waiting was the dominant culture, a fine art passed from elder to youth like an unspoken heirloom. “It’s not procrastination,” they’d say, sipping lukewarm tea. “It’s strategic patience.”

And no one embodied this ethic better than Neville Crumb, a man whose spirit animal was probably a sloth with performance anxiety. Neville had fears. Not dramatic ones like clowns or plane crashes — no, he had boutique fears. Niche worries. The kind you couldn’t even Google without getting therapy ads.

Today’s fear was: What if the new downstairs neighbour says “Hi” in the hallway and I answer with “Good thanks” like it’s a question?

It was a legitimate fear. It happened last Wednesday with the postman and Neville had needed three days to emotionally recover.

So when the knock came — the knock, chirpy and neighbourly and entirely uninvited — Neville did what he had trained for. He lay down.

Flat on the carpet. Limbs limp. Breathing shallow. Eyes fixed on the ceiling crack that looked vaguely like the profile of Ian McKellen.

The knock came again.

He lay stiller. If he were any stiller, he’d be auditioning for Antiques Roadshow as an 18th-century chaise longue.

Eventually, the knock faded. The footsteps retreated. Victory.

Neville exhaled. Another crisis survived through the power of horizontalism.

Later, he’d reward himself with a digestive biscuit and a cautious glance through the peephole. Maybe even write about the experience in his “Nearly Interacted With Someone” journal.

Some people fight fears by charging at them. Neville preferred the old Stoic approach: feel it, honour it, then gently recline until the adrenaline goes away.

And maybe, just maybe, tomorrow he’d answer the door.

But probably not.