Dear, Mr. BoogeyMan

When you first open your eyes after a long restful night, the first few moments are never very clear. You may have a soppy film over your thoughts or a tired clamp over your eyes. But usually it's never too horrible and you get over it once you stretch.

But on the instances you're thrown out of sleep, like a parachute and a plane, is when you remember it most. When you wake up screaming you guts out, tearing your throat with knife like intensity, that’s when sleep in futile. When you can't close your eyes without first checking over your shoulder, when you can't lay down without peeking under the bed.

That was what I was experiencing right now. My down comforter was pulled up to my bottom lip, my feet were overlapping each other at the bottom of my fetal position. I dared a stiff look over the edge of my bed just to make sure there was nothing there, I don’t remember when it happened by after that I was blearily woken up by the insistent call of the alarm clock. My early morning ghost session was forgotten and I went to school like normal.

Everyone has a fear when they're a child. Some were scared of clowns, others dogs, some even doctors, and more. . . like the boogey man. Who ever invented the boogeyman, or whoever the boogeyman is- should be shot. What kind of person comes up with something that hides under your bed to eat you in your sleep! …okay I don’t know what the boogeyman actually does to you in your sleep, but I imagine it's horrible, with a name like Boogeyman you cant be anything less than terrifying. Am I right?

If I had half a mind I would protest this formidable foe. I would write a stern letter. It'd probably go a little like this-

Dear, Mr. BoogeyMan

First off I've been following your career for a while now, and I've got to say Mr. BoogeyMan, May I call Boogey? You're quite terrifying, could you be a little nicer looking? Maybe grow a beard, everyone likes beards and I cant honestly think of one person with a beard I don’t like. Lumberjacks, hillbillies, the bearded lady…really this would benefit you. Maybe you could come out in the day, 'cause incase you didn’t know some people aren’t all that fond of the dark. You know I'll totally understand if this seems a little too much, because I wouldn’t want to change who 'you' are, cause everyone's gotta have their own niche…just find a corner or something instead

Your truly,
The girl I'm pretty sure you visited March 22 1998

Oh who am I kidding?

Okay, so unless you haven’t guessed… I'm kind of, sorta, maybe, a little bit…scared of the dark. Happy? You better be.

Later that night I walked into my room, slung my bag over the chair, changed into my Sailor Moon pajamas (they were a gift), and crawled into bed. My parents were out at some ahem'work' thing, it didn’t bother me to stay home alone, I had been doing it for a while and we had high tech security camera's around the whole perimeter of our overly luxurious house. Why I put quotations around work and why I have security cameras at ever nook and cranny of my house…I'll tell you later.

My fan started up like any other night, to keep our house at the naggingly cold temperature of 67 degrees that my mother insists on, and I was just lulling into sleep, when it happened.

The thing that my unconscious mind had been waiting for, for years. Years of waking up in a cold sweat, curling my toes in acute response. Years of checking behind my curtains for those glowing eyes that had to be there. Years of crying to my dad to check my closet one more time. It was all in preparation for this.

This that was currently the sound that actually was there. It started out quiet, like all the others, but then, unlike the others (i.e. my cat, an unstable stack of books or my own clumsy feet) this one kept going.

I scrunched my nose close to my eyes, my nails dug into my palms, my chin poked my chest. I willed it to not be there. I willed like never before, I fucking prayed for the sound to go away, but it didn’t.

Suddenly, just like in a dream, a hand clamped down on my taut mouth. I jumped, opening my eyes, and letting out a blood curdling, silent scream.

I saw what my paranoia always left out. An outline was drawn before me, I couldn’t see a single feature. I was too in shock to move. I lay completely rigid, the hand still pressed firmly to my skull.

"Shh, shh." The outline hushed, in a thick whisper. "Sleep."

I felt a wet rag cover my nose, and it was over. I barely had time to blink.