Phuramatophobia

From The Abyss, July 1999 vol. 1.6

Uneasiness. It was the first sensation he noticed upon waking, and after a moment’s reflection he realized why he felt it – his nose was filled with a peculiar odor. It seemed familiar, but what was it? He arose from his bed to seek the source. The smell got stronger when he stood, which told him it was a warm odor. Hearing the rain upon the windows, he knew the source had to be here inside the house. As he left the bedroom, a suspicion formed in his mind. It couldn’t be that. He was only visiting for two days – she could have waited till he was gone. His pace quickened toward the kitchen, then slowed and stopped before he got there. There was no doubt now that the aroma was diffusing from the kitchen. His suspicions must be correct. But he couldn’t bring himself to enter and find out for certain; the thought of coming face to face with that heinousness was too much for him. He had nightmares about it, the soft, warm, sticky mass overspreading his supine form, holding him down, blanketing his face, suffocating him. If he looked, he knew it would be there on the counter, basking in the light, slowly swelling, swelling, swelling, swelling till it consumed everything! He’d never told his sister that he had Phuramatophobia, the fear of dough.

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