The Thing That Spoke in Fear

There was once a being that was neither man nor woman, neither young nor old, and though it had no true form, it was always seen. It was known only as The Thing, an entity that lived in the spaces between truths, feeding on whispers, doubts, and the endless murmur of uncertainty.

It had no home, for it existed wherever voices gathered. It had no power of its own, yet it controlled everything. The Thing did not wield a sword, nor command an army, but it possessed a weapon far more dangerous: the power of Fear, Uncertainty, and Doubt—FUD.

Wherever The Thing walked, belief became brittle, and certainty crumbled like sand in a storm.

The Spreading of the FUD

It began subtly, like a single drop of ink in clear water.

A village once at peace began to whisper in corners. Did the baker truly use clean grain? Was the well poisoned? Could their neighbors be trusted? The Thing did not lie—it never needed to. It simply asked the right questions, questions that unsettled, unmoored, and unraveled the foundation of what people knew.

In towns where crops grew tall and strong, The Thing suggested that perhaps the soil was cursed. In cities where trade flourished, it whispered that maybe foreigners brought disease. It did not matter what was true—only what could be true.

For the greatest enemy of reason was never a lie.

It was a doubt that refused to be silenced.

The Rise of the Things

As years passed, The Thing took on new shapes. It sat on high thrones and lowly barstools, took the form of merchants, rulers, and scholars. People soon forgot that it had once been just a whisper, and instead, they welcomed it as a voice of knowledge.

And then, The Thing multiplied.

More Things emerged, speaking with certainty about uncertainty, warning of enemies that might exist, dangers that were always possible, and failures that had not yet happened but surely would.

They wore robes, crowns, and armor. They stood in front of crowds, upon great stages, and in glowing screens of light.

Once, men and women had spoken for their people.

Now, only Things spoke, and their voices carried farther than any truth ever could.

And the people, though weary, could not look away. They feared what they did not know, and The Things ensured they would never know anything for certain again.

The Endless Cycle

One day, a young child, too small to understand the weight of FUD, approached The Thing and asked:

“Why do you spread these fears?”

The Thing did not pause. It smiled, a smile without warmth, without meaning.

“Because it is easy,” The Thing said.

“Because people wish to believe that the world is unknowable. That they are always one step away from ruin. That they must always trust those who make them afraid.”

The child frowned. “And what happens if we stop believing you?”

The Thing did not answer.

Because it did not know.

No one had ever tried.

And so, The Thing continued, speaking into the ears of kings, merchants, and workers alike. Its voice rose in the streets, in the homes, in the great towers of power. It whispered in newsfeeds, in parliaments, in digital echoes that no longer needed mouths to be heard.

And the people, still afraid, still uncertain, still doubting, listened.

Because they had forgotten how to stop.