Eleanor Ross was afraid of everything under the sun, and probably the sun itself. She lived in a seven-story wooden house that she and her late husband, William, had built when they had just been married. Now fourteen years since his passing, the wood that was once a deep mahogany had become stained black from excessive exposure to moisture the house got by residing on the edge of a cliff that overlooked the ocean. This became an unfortunate location as Eleanor was deathly afraid of heights and wetness. And so, she decided to board up all of her windows and block off the stairs to the upper levels of the house in order to block out any reminders that she lived at such a high altitude and resolved to wiping herself clean with a dry cloth for the rest of her life. In addition to shutting off her water, she had also canceled her electricity due to her fear of electrocution. One might pause to think that the most inconveniencing part of this fear would be the inability to cook food. But one might pause again to imagine that Eleanor probably had a strange diet that was conducive to such electricity-free cooking, which she did. Eleanor's diet was quite simple because she only ate one thing: radishes. She explained the reason being that almost any food had the potential to end up tasting good or bad depending on the recipe used, how it was prepared, and who had cooked it. She had come to realize that the uncertainty of how she would feel about her meals was too unbearable as she had a strong fear of surprises. And so, she decided she would only eat radishes for the rest of her life, the one food she knew she could always count on to hate.
She had four children, two boys and two girls by the names of Lysander, Moss, Queenie, and Josephine who were now all at an age where they had become somewhat jaded with the world. The former three had stopped coming to see their mother about ten years ago, probably due to how irrational and unstable her behavior had become after William's passing but most definitely due to the fact that she had given them names like Lysander, Moss, and Queenie. Josephine, however, saw her mother once a week, even if it was only for a short while to drop Eleanor's mail off as she was deathly afraid of mailmen. For the past four months, she had let letters, home improvement magazines, and urgent bills to pile up before Josephine finally arranged to have her mother's mail sent to her house instead. It was the least she could do to thank Eleanor for not naming her Joplin or Juice-box or something like that. Josephine supposed it didn't really matter, though, as her mother never called her by her name anymore because she was afraid of the letter J.
Still, every Sunday, Eleanor would pick up a bundle of mail neatly tied together by a piece of canvas string, sometimes waiting in the hands of Josephine but more often times sitting on the doormat outside of her front door. But as generous as Josephine's efforts were, they always went to waste as Eleanor would never read any of her mail due to her fear of paper cuts but more importantly, envelopes. "Never, ever open up an envelope," she would warn, "it's either the government trying to send you subliminal, corrupting messages, a spy from an unknown country trying to mail you a disease in order to start biological warfare, or worst of all, a postcard from the dentist reminding you that it is time for your annual check-up." If Eleanor was afraid of dentists themselves, it would perhaps make her even the tiniest bit relatable, but she was not. Instead, she was afraid of the small hand mirror that they used to count patients' teeth. This was to be expected as she was afraid of mirrors in general, regardless of how undauntingly small and demure they could be.
And for eight more years, Eleanor lived a very fulfilling life free of dentists but full of radishes. She had spent her last days on earth partaking in her favorite pastime of looking at the hands tick on the grandfather clock in her living room and smiling whenever the minute hand moved over a spot, just like she knew it would after sixty seconds had gone by. Josephine had found out her mother passed away when she came to her house one Sunday to drop off the mail, deciding she would deliver it personally instead of just leaving it on the doorstep, and Eleanor did not open the door. As Josephine entered the hollow home, she found her mother on the couch with her eyes half open so it looked like she was only sleeping, but the uncharacteristic smoothness of her consistently furrowed brows told Josephine that her mother must be dead. Feeling more stunned than sad for the moment, her mouth parted to make a small semicircle just as a slip of paper on the coffee table next to Eleanor caught her eye. The cracked floorboards creaked as Josephine shifted her weight to reach for the note. It read:
There is much to be afraid of in this world. The world is a dangerous place teeming with dangerous people and dangerous things, as you know. But not in this house. The world is quiet here. Here, you will find that there is absolutely nothing to be afraid of. Here, you may feel free to take your shoes off and place them neatly in the closet before settling down onto the couch to let your heart reset itself to the steady ticking of the grandfather clock. It is here where I have lived a blithe and fearless life, and I hope you are able to ever so carefully take yours in your trembling hands and do just the same.
