Tickled
by Mark Wolf
Delbert Smithers shrieked and backed up against the cold brick wall of the McDonalds Restaurant on State Street when the flock of pigeons suddenly exploded from the ground at the playground and took flight into the setting sun.
He stood transfixed by the stare of the little peregrine falcon that mantled over a quivering mass of dying pigeon, the unlucky recipient of Darwinian survival of the fittest at its finest.
The little falcon gasped, exhausted from her stoop. She nervously alternated her claws, grasping and releasing the pigeon beneath her. She was too small to fly away with the pigeon, but she wasn't going to allow Delbert to take it from her.
As if! Delbert thought. Keeping his eyes on her, he checked his watch. 6:00 pm.
He would have to hurry to make it to his 6:15 appointment with Dr. Jensen.
Delbert kept a close eye on the falcon as he slid along the wall, occasionally catching his Ralph Lauren polo shirt on some rough irregularity in the mortar between the bricks. There was no way he was going to turn his back to the pint-sized raptor until he was out of her sight.
Sweat trickled down from underneath his helmet onto his nose and stung his eyes but he decided to leave it on. Without the helmet, They would have him at their mercy.
He felt the corner of the building. All he needed to do was reach around it and turn the corner to put himself out of the bird's sight.
A homeless man sat at one of the restaurant's outdoor tables and slowly chewed on his Big Mac and watched Delbert. His shopping cart was pulled up close to his table and loaded with black garbage bags exploding with cans and bottles. He, too, wore a helmet similar to Delbert's.
They exchanged a head bob as each noted the others headgear.
Delbert thought the homeless man's more stylish than his own. When he had more time, he would have to make a point of stopping by here again and asking him where he had purchased it.
He started to slip around the corner when a small gust of wind blew some of the dead pigeon's feathers toward him, galvanizing him into action. He screamed as he tore off in a run down the street, the feathers seeming to chase him as the wind picked up.
* * *
Delbert usually thought nothing of riding in elevators. This time, terror kept him backed up against the rear wall of the elevator as two other passengers stood in front of him and chatted about an office party they were attending. One of the passengers wore a small black fedora with some small feathers tucked into the brim on one side.
As the two talked and laughed, the hat-wearing lady would turn her head and step back, almost brushing up against Delbert. She was short and the feathers so close it made Delbert dizzy.
Just when little gray stars appeared in his vision and he started to dry heave, the elevator stopped and they exited, completely oblivious to Delbert's anguish behind them. He stood still, hyperventilating, then calmed himself as the elevator button closed its doors and took him to his floor.
* * *
"Thank you for seeing me after hours, Dr. Jensen," Delbert said.
Dr. Jensen stood up and pushed her chair back under her desk. She finished writing notes in a case file. She closed the file and crossed the room, her hand extended.
"No trouble at all. I usually leave a couple of days a week open for late appointments. Everyone has such busy lives and when you told me about the nightmares and fears you have been having, I thought it would be best to schedule you in right away."
Delbert and Dr. Jensen shook hands. She sure is attractive for a shrink. Dr. Susan Jensen stood just over five feet with raven hair and flashing brown eyes in a face that showed her laugh-lines to good effect. She wore a light colored blouse with an ornate turquoise Indian necklace and a teal skirt.
She looks to be about my age.
"Please make yourself comfortable, Mr. Smithers. Would you like some tea?" Dr. Jensen said as she led Delbert over to a leather couch and motioned for him to lie down. She sat down in a chair next to him.
"No thanks. I was hoping perhaps you might prescribe something for my anxiety attacks and something to help me sleep better," Delbert said.
"I can do that, but first tell me about the dreams you have been having. Lie down and remove your shoes and hat."
Delbert laid down and kicked off his leather Sperry Docksiders. "I prefer to keep my hat on. I hope my feet don't stink you out."
Dr. Jensen smiled. "No, that is quite alright. Just relax and start talking."
Delbert smiled back. "I suppose the dreams started last year. I had been putting a lot of hours in at my job."
"And that was web page design?" Dr. Jensen said.
"Yes. We had just merged with a larger company and the word came down that they were going to let half of us go and that the top performers would have the best chance of staying with the company. I was on salary, but I added about twenty hours a week to my schedule."
"Did they keep you on, then?"
"They did. I guess I impressed them," Delbert chuckled.
"What were the first dreams about?"
"They were kind of silly, actually. I dreamed I was in a large chicken processing factory. Something like a Tysons. There were thousands of chickens all around me. Everywhere I turned I was getting poked and tickled by feathers."
"How long did these dreams go on?" Dr. Jensen said.
"They haven't stopped. I usually have those dreams and another set that started just last week every night now."
"Tell me about this new set of dreams."
"These are really weird also. In these the chickens turn into some sort of feathery Big Bird-looking aliens, kinda like the Sesame Street character. These Big Birds use mind control to force me to board their space ship where they conduct experiments," Delbert said.
"Experiments?"
Delbert blushed. "They tickle me with feathers until I ejaculate into a collection cup."
"I see. And how has that affected your life?" Dr. Jensen asked.
"I'm terrified of birds now. I see a pigeon in Central Park and I hyperventilate to the point of passing out. If I see a chicken in a cage at the Korean Market, I do pass out."
"This is symptomatic of Alektorophobia, the fear of chickens. What other effects have your dreams had on you?"
"I can't stand the thought that someone might restrain me and tickle me with feathers. It is so bad that I had an anxiety attack on the way to see you. I ran into some lady in the elevator that had a small decorative feather in her hat. I almost fainted at her feet. What is that about?"
"There is a phobia called Pteronophobia, the fear of being tickled by feathers. It often goes hand in hand with Alektorophobia. Is there anything else?" Dr. Jensen said.
"I almost vomit if I turn on the television and the X-Files theme music is playing. I immediately turn channels and can't watch anything having to do with aliens. I even went out and bought this thought-screen helmet online."
"Ah, so that's what it is?" Dr. Jensen's expression changed. "I would like to try a session of deep hypnosis if you are agreeable, Mr. Smithers. This last phobia is called Xenophobia, the fear of aliens. Perhaps we can get at the root of all three phobias at once."
"Sure, I'm game. What do we need to do?"
"I am going to give you a little injection to make you sleepy then I will walk you through the process of hypnosis."
Dr. Jensen got up from her chair and walked over to a small cabinet and prepared an injection. She returned to Delbert, swiped his arm with an alcohol swab and injected him.
Delbert felt himself getting dizzy and realized there was more in the injection than a mild sedative just before he passed out.
* * *
When Delbert woke he heard the sounds of thousands of chickens. He opened his eyes to see he was in a shiny room filled with a multitude of the Big Bird aliens.
Dr. Jensen stood near, in mid-transformation from human to Big Bird, swinging Delbert's thought-screen helmet in her hand. Her other hand held a bundle of feathers and a collection cup.
