Facing the Beast Within: The Anxiety of Cameron Poole

By Mark Cheverton

NEW FROM INTERNATIONALLY PUBLISHED NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
Mark Cheverton has written 27 books, with over 2 million copies in print.

Cameron Poole has a problem, a big problem: he's a bully magnet who struggles with anxiety. Being the smallest sixth-grader at his summer camp, everything around him triggers his everyday struggles with anxiety, or with his Beast, making it impossible for him to do the same things other kids can do. In a constant state of worry, Cameron feels like a perpetual failure, his anxiety punishing him all the time. That's bad enough, but when Cameron learns that mythical monsters are trying to invade his camp, things go from bad to worse.

Malphas, the Demon Lord from a parallel world called Agartha, wants to bring his monster army to Earth, attack Camp Pontchartrain, and begin his invasion. But before he can bring the biggest and most ferocious monsters to Earth, he must find the seven Skull Keys that will keep the gateway between worlds open forever.

Enemies become friends against a common cause when Cameron is chosen to lead an unusual collection of kids to stop Malphas from finding the Skull Keys. But the Demon Lord of Agartha has other plans. He sends mythical creatures to Earth, gremlins, imps, gargoyles . . . to find the keys and destroy anyone in their way.

To stop the Malphas and his monster army from getting all the Skull Keys, Cameron must face his deepest fears while trying to keep his friends safe. But when he learns Malphas's real plan, Cameron's blood runs cold with fear.

Can Cameron control his anxiety and confront his Beast while battling an army of minotaurs, banshees, ghouls, golems, and other nightmarish monsters?

Buckle up and get ready for a thrilling adventure!

~ ~ ~

While writing this novel, Cheverton worked with a large team of psychologists, social workers, and licensed mental health counselors to learn about the many symptoms of anxiety as well as how these professionals teach their patients coping strategies to help them stand up against their own Beasts. These learnings, coupled with Cheverton's own experiences with his son's anxiety, were woven throughout the story and form a teaching tool for parents and therapists while at the same time offering kids a spine-tingling adventure that will keep them turning the page.

Hopefully, kids with anxiety will find a kindred spirit in Cameron Poole and feel that they're not alone in their personal storm of fear and doubt. Parents will gain a little understanding as to what their children are going through, and hopefully, people without anxiety will gain a little insight and compassion toward those suffering from this terrible affliction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Cheverton
• Release date: Nov 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215696231

Mark Cheverton

New York Times bestselling author Mark Cheverton grew up in Southern California, going through high school and college. After college, Mark taught high school Physics and Math for many years. While teaching, he earned a Master's degree in Physics and conducted research on planetary atmospherics. After moving to the east coast, he started doing research for a Fortune 100 company in the fields of machine vision and additive manufacturing. While working as a researcher, he self-published his first MINECRAFT-inspired novel, "Invasion of the Overworld," in 2013, a novel also inspired by his son. He didn't really expect the book to be significant, but when it reached #29 on Amazon's Top 100, the publishers started calling; Mark knew he'd struck a nerve with kids. After 10 years, Mark has written 26 novels, many of which appear on the New York Times, USA Today, and Publisher's Weekly bestsellers lists. They've been published in 31 countries, translated into 27 languages, and over 2 million copies have been sold worldwide. Currently, Mark is working on a middle-grade fantasy series called The Order of the Stones series. Book 1, "Facing the Beast Within," will be published in September 2023, with Book 2, "Cameron and the Shadow-wraiths," being released in 2024.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Camp Pontchartrain

ONE DAY BEFORE THE SUPER BLOOD MOON

Fear nibbled with sharp teeth on the edges of my soul as I scanned Camp Pontchartrain’s dining hall, looking for the bully who would surely notice me. Fortunately for me, the bullies were currently targeting the art students, a group of girls silently weeping with their heads lowered. Thankfully, they left the Techies, technology kids like me, alone . . . for now.

I ran my fingers through my brown, curly hair, a self-soothing thing I did when I was nervous, which was a constant state of existence for me. Choosing a corner table, I set my tray down, then checked the seat for the all-too-familiar packets of ketchup or mustard left there to stain the pants of the unwary. Nothing was there this time. I sat and peeled open my grilled ham and cheese, then loaded it with barbeque potato chips and pressed them into the melted cheddar. After a sip of apple juice, I took a bite of the sandwich, the chips delivering a savory, satisfying crunch as I chewed while scanning the room again.

The walls, adorned in rich, dark wood paneling, and the sturdy hardwood floor stretching throughout the room gave me the illusion of being nestled within the belly of some gigantic tree monster. The wonderful aroma of grilled burgers, steamed vegetables, freshly baked bread, and other edible treasures created a colorful tapestry of delicious smells, pleasing the senses. Excited voices echoed off the walls, creating a cacophony of shouts and giggles intermixed with the sobs of humiliated victims.

The adults in the dining hall tried to control the chaos but were sadly outnumbered. Kids were experts at waiting for the adults to look away before launching a broccoli-bomb or lobbing a juice box-grenade. A group of older boys laughed and threw French fries at the drama kids, the demeaned victims picking potatoes out of their hair as they kept their heads down, hoping to avoid a second volley.

The sea of kids, ages 7 to 18, looked like a patchwork of colors. Each cluster wore their group’s t-shirt, the orange and brown lacrosse team sitting between the yellow and black wrestlers and the black and white chess players. A few kids didn’t wear their team’s jersey and instead wore the dark purple Camp Pontchartrain shirt, a large C and P emblazoned in gold across their chest. They were few in number and quickly learned that the purple shirt made them an easy target. Usually, everyone wore their group’s shirt; it’s what we did at Camp Pontchartrain. Sometimes, I thought it provided a bit of safety, a herd in which the small and weak could hide, but it also kept us separated. Isolated groups and cliques had flourished in the camp since my first visit many years ago, dividing the community and creating a fractured social landscape.

You know, Cameron, it’s only four days until the annual Colossal Water Fight. Bobby sat beside me and stuffed a massive spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth, brown gravy smudging his cheek. This year, I’m going for a power soaker. I wanna drench people from far away, like the kids from the soccer cabin, before they can get close with their water balloons.

I ate the last bit of my sandwich and shook my head. You shouldn’t do that, Bobby. They’ll want revenge if you douse ’em with too much water.

I don’t care if I get wet; why should they? It’s a water fight, after all.

I know. I opened a package of cookies, took a few, and slid the rest to my friend. But you need to think carefully. I lowered my voice and scanned the nearby tables, ensuring no bullies could hear. If you get them during the water fight, they’ll torture you afterward. They might throw you into the lake, steal your bed, or try to lock you in one of the gym lockers.

Bobby chuckled, then put both hands on his ample belly and shook it. Cameron Poole, how long have we been coming to this summer camp together . . . since third grade? After three years, have you ever seen a gym locker that would fit me? He slapped his stomach and laughed. They don’t make ’em big enough for this.

Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his Robotics t-shirt, Bobby stood and carried his dishes to the kitchen conveyor belt. Come on, Cam, we gotta get moving. The ropes course starts in a few minutes, and I don’t wanna be at the end of the line.

The ropes course was my personal nightmare. Climbing those rope ladders always awakened my fears, the threat of falling making my blood run cold. They’d build the course over the shallow section of Lake Pontchartrain; getting injured in a fall was impossible. Tell that to my anxiety. Every time I tried the course, my fears took over, and I’d fail on the first rope ladder in front of all the other kids . . . it was humiliating.

I gathered my trash and piled it on the plastic tray, then slung my bookbag over my shoulder, my towel and robotics supplies bouncing about within the bag. Walking next to the wall, I followed Bobby toward the conveyor. I kept my eyes scanning the dining hall for threats. Being the smallest sixth grader at the camp made me a favorite target of those seeking to boost their self-esteem at my expense.

I added my tray to the mechanized parade of dirty plates and empty milk cartons, the refuse slowly moving into the kitchen on the stained conveyor belt.

Come on, Cam, Bobby said.

I turned to follow my friend and spotted them at the exit, a cold chill slithering down my spine. A group of baseball players stood near the doors, each wearing their gray and gold jerseys and harassing kids as they left. A sound, like the faint buzzing of a bee, flickered to life in the back of my mind. Sweat coated the palms of my trembling hands as I stared at the door, my tormentors waiting for their next victim. My heart pounded in my chest, a blacksmith’s hammer punishing an anvil and getting faster, my fear growing.

No, not again. I don’t wanna be afraid. The thought sent a shuddering wave of fear through me. My pulse raced as goosebumps crawled down the back of my neck. The anxiety’s coming; I know it. My anxiety amplified the fearful feeling, which produced more anxiety and intensified the fear again. My therapist, Dr. Jen, called it a thought-loop, but I didn’t care what name she had for it. This happened to me so often that it felt like a recurring bad dream.

What if they go after me? What if they take all my robotics stuff? What if . . . the what-ifs surged through my mind, each thought amplifying my fear.

The Beast . . . it’s coming. The words reverberated in my head.

The buzzing grew louder, an entire hive sounding their anger in my mind.

I stared at the writing over the door, large, gold letters written on a dark purple background: the Camp Pontchartrain’s Alma Mater, or the camp song. It was the same one written on the wall in the gymnasium, and now and then, the camp director, Mrs. Chakoté, made everyone sing it. Kids thought it stupid and annoying, but something about the lyrics gave me a tiny bit of comfort. I read the words silently in my head, hoping to distract myself from the anxiety creeping up on me like a stalking lion.

The hallowed shores of Pontchartrain.

Will always be our home.

No matter where our paths may lead,

And despite how far we roam.

Your majesty and history,

Are lessons for lifelong.

Alone, we strive to face our tasks,

But together, we are strong.

You taught us that our courage,

Shall shine a golden light.

And cast away the darkness.

For fears that we shall smite.

Camp Pontchartrain

our hearts belong to you.

Your sons and daughters sing your praise.

And to thee remain true.

My heart slowed a bit as the words tumbled about in my mind.

We got to get moving, Cam, or we’ll be late. Bobby wiped his hands on his shorts and then patted me on the back. Come on.

Bobby amazed me. The bullies targeted him just as frequently as me. His pimpled skin, loud mouth, and big belly offered ample ammunition to the bigger kids, their slings and arrows of hurtful comments meant to impale his self-esteem. But Bobby always seemed unfazed by it. He never wavered, his confidence and sense of humor seemingly indestructible.

Bobby, the baseball players are at the door. The buzzing in my head grew louder, the bees morphing into hornets. I tried to swallow, but my throat felt dry as dust. We need to wait until they leave.

Don’t be silly. Bobby smiled. If we’re late, we’ll have to do push-ups or some other stupid exercise. He turned to me, then glanced at the exit. Don’t worry. I’ll get you past them. Bobby chuckled, excitement twinkling in his eyes. I’ll create a diversion, and you can slip by.

What kind of diversion? I asked.

He chuckled. Trust me. You’ll know what it is.

And with that, Bobby marched straight for the exit, his full belly bouncing about, me three steps behind, head lowered.

Hey, look who’s coming. It was the team captain, Karl Macarthur. It’s Blobby and his cratered face. The tall sixth-grader laughed, his fellow teammates chuckling with him. Looking at him is like staring at the moon. Karl laughed again, then glanced at his companions and glared, forcing them to join in on the laughter. You’re so big, Blobby. I’m wondering if you’re still in sixth grade, or did you eat your way into seventh?

The other baseball players roared with laughter.

Bobby kept walking, but when he reached the door, he stopped directly in front of the baseball captain. Let me ask you something, Karl. Do you think you’re hurting me by saying I’m fat? Do you?

"Well . . . umm . . .?

Do you honestly believe I don’t know that I’m overweight, and you’re revealing some great secret I’ve been hiding all this time?

Well—

Bobby interrupted Karl before he could speak and took a step closer, pushing the ball player back with his stomach, allowing me to pass behind him and slip through the doorway. Do you think you’re saying something I haven’t heard a hundred times? I mean, really, can’t you come up with any new material, or is this just the best you can do?

Karl glared down at Bobby, a hand slowly clenching into a fist.

When you get some new insults, let me know. I’d love to hear them. Bobby chuckled as he turned and headed out of the dining hall, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.

I waited for Bobby to catch up.

You take too many chances with those bullies, I said. One of these times, you’re gonna get hurt.

Maybe, but not today.

Sometimes, I think you’re crazy. I smiled as the buzzing in my head slowly faded away. My Beast, that’s what I called my anxiety, submerged back into the dark places in my mind, waiting, always waiting.

You okay? Bobby asked in a low voice.

I nodded.

Great, let’s get down to the lake. Bobby took off running toward the glistening waters of Lake Pontchartrain, robotics parts and electronics bouncing about in his bag.

I took a step toward the lake, then froze in place. A sensation, almost like a stab of electricity, jolted the bottom of my feet. It didn’t hurt; it just felt strange, like something from a dream. The hairs on my neck stood up as goosebumps spread down my arms. A tingling danced across my skin like the brush of invisible fingers tracing intricate patterns and ancient runes.

I’d felt this before but with only a fraction of the intensity. When it would happen at school, a bullying incident would sometimes follow the feeling as if the tingling in the soles of my feet was a premonition or warning.

But this time, it felt a thousand times stronger.

It could only mean the bully stalking me was a thousand times worse. Angry bees came to life in my head, their buzz filling me with dread. Images of what the bullies might do played through my head like an endless nightmare, amplifying my fears.

I shuddered and rubbed my arms, trying to erase the goosebumps and the prickly buzz from my flesh. To ease the fear, I did a slow 5-7-8 breath: breathe in for a count of five, hold it for seven, then exhale for eight heartbeats. I counted by sevens in my head: 7, 14, 21, 28, 35, 42, 49 . . . When I passed 105, it grew more complex and required greater concentration. This distracted me from the What-ifs. The bees grew quieter as my breathing and heartbeat slowed.

Finally, the sensation at the bottom of my feet faded away; I was me again.

Come on, Cameron, Bobby said. We gotta hurry. I’m gonna do a cannonball off the high platform.

I’m coming.

I sighed and tried to devise a way to avoid the ropes course, but I knew it was futile. If I didn’t show up, I’d get in trouble. Clenching my teeth, I followed Bobby, knowing failure awaited me on the shores of the lake.

Chapter 2

The Beast

Afeeling of dread spread through me like a poisonous cloud as I followed Bobby toward the thing at Camp Pontchartrain that caused me so many nightmares: the ropes course. It was the sixth-graders’ turn on the course, and no one wanted to miss the perilous climb to the top except me. I hated this activity. Every time I tried it, fear of falling and getting hurt took over my mind. But how could you get hurt? The whole thing stood over the edge of the lake. I knew fear wasn’t necessarily bad; how I reacted to it determined if it was a positive or a negative thing. Like if there’s a fire at home, it makes sense to be afraid while evacuating. But for me, I worry about a fire at home all the time for no reason, and that fear turns to panic if I can’t calm down, letting my Beast control my mind. For me, fear was definitely a negative thing.

My stomach churned . . . the first shot in the war of me vs. my anxiety.

The course consisted of rope swings, rope ladders, seemingly unstable bridges, a zip line . . . all high in the air, ropes, and cables anchored to tall posts. The only thing keeping kids from falling to their deaths were their safety harnesses and the calm waters of Lake Pontchartrain beneath the course.

The worst part about this entire experience for me was giving up. Every time I had attempted the course before, I had to quit and climb back down, my fear just too severe. All the other kids would laugh and make comments when I retreated, my cowardice on full display. I knew I couldn’t see into the future, but I had no doubt the same thing was about to happen again.

I slowed to tie my shoe. Bobby, you keep going. I’m gonna put on my water shoes.

Water shoes? Just do it barefoot.

You go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.

Bobby shrugged. Okay, see you on the ropes.

My friend sped off, running toward the shoreline, sunlight dancing across the calm waters in the distance. The course looked like a giant spiderweb of crisscrossing ropes stretching across the lake. Tall wooden posts stood out of the water, holding the whole thing aloft. Surrounding the ropes course was a fence made of some mesh material that went down to the bottom of the lake. Wooden posts held the fence in place, colorful stones embedded into the supports. They say the fence is supposed to keep out the alligators and snakes, but I never really understood that; the snakes could swim through the holes in the fence. As far as I knew, no one had ever seen a gator or snake near the ropes course, so the fence must be doing something.

I stared at one of the posts holding up the protective barrier, the colorful stones shimmering in the bright sunlight. A clear stone, maybe quartz, seemed to glow as I stared at it. For a moment, I thought I heard a faint whisper in the back of my head. But that made little sense. Likely it was just my imagination, one of the many what-ifs that tortured me daily.

Looking back to the ground, I pulled off my sneakers and slipped on water shoes, stuffing the Keds in my bookbag. As I stood, a group of boys, each wearing a purple and white soccer team jersey, formed a line across the trail and harassed anyone brave enough to pass by.

The buzzing returned, this time like a swarm of angry bees—the second shot in the war.

Am I getting anxious? The thought instantly triggered a fear response in the worry part of my brain. My heart pounded in my chest as goosebumps prickled my skin, the buzzing growing louder.

I’m getting afraid. The thought seemed to amplify my anxiety. My ears pounded with an accelerating pulse, and my body stiffened with tension. Is the Beast coming? The anxiety jumped up a level, making the fear even worse. I knew I was trapped in a thought-loop again, the fear and anxiety connected, each making the other stronger as I focused on the problem rather than the solution.

I gotta get out of this loop. Clenching my fists, I tried some coping strategies Dr. Jen taught me.

I started with 4 – 7 – 8 breathing, I took a deep breath as I counted slowly to four, then held my breath for seven counts and exhaled for eight counts. Glancing away from the soccer players, I focused my eyes on the ground and repeated the breathing sequence . . . but the counts were getting faster and faster.

It’s not working!

I tried box breathing, breathing in for five counts, waiting for five counts, exhaling for five counts, then waiting again for five counts before repeating. With my heartbeat as a counter, I repeated the breathing exercise. For a minute, I just stood there and breathed, hoping my Beast would stay away. Gradually, my heart slowed, and the buzzing in my head grew a little softer, the anxiety lessening, but I knew the Beast was still there, waiting . . . always waiting.

The kids from the soccer cabin were the worst. After winning the Capture the Flag game last night, they acted as if they ruled the camp … and they did. These kids did anything they wanted with their coaches always nearby, ready to get them out of trouble. For some reason, they loved tormenting me, and right now, they stood directly in my path.

I’ll never get past those bullies, I thought.

The buzzing in my head morphed from a collection of bees to a hive of angry hornets; the Beast grew nearer. My heartbeat felt like a blacksmith’s hammer pounding an anvil.

Please don’t see me . . . please . . . please.

I ran for the boy’s bathroom and slipped inside, hoping to hide. Dr. Jen’s words resonated in my head, ‘Avoiding a stressful situation doesn’t help you learn to manage your anxiety. Hiding from the problem doesn’t make it go away. Avoiding stressful situations and hiding from the problem just serves to feed your Beast. Facing things and using coping strategies will starve your Beast. You need to apply the coping strategies and make your Beast go hungry, so you can be in control of your thoughts.

Be in control of my thoughts? I thought. Right now, that seems impossible.

I ducked into the last stall, slamming the door shut behind me as my breathing turned shallow and ragged. Sitting on the back of the toilet with my feet off the ground, I waited, my body quivering. I tried to slow my pulse, using the breathing exercises again, trying not to concentrate on my fears . . . but I was never very good at that part. The pounding of my heart became a little less frantic, but the exercises didn’t help my anxiety.

My skin felt clammy as beads of sweat formed everywhere. It seemed as if the hot breath of some gigantic creature puffed across my body, ready to devour me. Thoughts raced through my mind, each suggesting what might happen. The panic intensified,