Russell Raven was born scared. Noises made him jump. Silence made him uneasy. He was afraid of the dark and afraid of the light if it was too bright. If somebody talked too loud, he ducked down as if somebody was attacking him. He was afraid of empty houses and ones with people in it. He was afraid of anything that had too many colors or made too much noise. He was afraid of anything that had too few colors and was awfully, eerily quiet. Russell Raven was afraid of everything mechanical, of things that moved, things that looked like they might want to move. He was afraid of things that had no intention of ever moving. He was afraid of buffalo gravy, insect feet and chain lightning. Traffic scared him silly. Indian paint ponies, reservation dogs, eagles in the air, all gave him quite a fright. Once he tried to make a list of everything that scared him. He wrote all day on a thick yellow pad at the kitchen table. Finally when his arm got tired, he crossed it all out. And simply wrote, everything.