ButrosButros_Grantos
Bluelighter
Feel free to slam this, I'd prefer it if you did, I grow more out of critisism than I do back slapping.
THE BOOGIEMAN
When I was five I was terrified of the boogieman, my mother would tell me that unless I was good, he would come and gobble me up. I accidentally broke her vase one day; I blamed it on the cat. That night I lay in bed, terrified. I had been naughty and was sure that the boogieman was coming for me.
Scratch, scratch.
A sound came from my closet; I sat up and pulled the sheets over me . The darkness was complete. Not even my teenage-mutant-ninja-turtles night light managed to puncture the makeshift tent I had made of my sheets.
Scratch, scratch.
I closed my eyes and began to pray.
‘Our Father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy Name’
Scratch.
‘Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven-’
Scraaaaaatch.
‘Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us-’
Creak. I trembled and lowered my head; the words of prayer began to be spoken faster and faster,
‘And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil-’
Squelch.
‘For thine is the kingdom-’ Slurp ‘and the power-’ Shhhlomp ‘and the glory-’ Gurgle. ‘for ever and ever.’
Silence.
‘Ame-.’ The sheets were torn away. The boogieman stood before me. It towered over the bed, its body hunched over, its neck brushing the ceiling and head craning towards me. It wore a giant overcoat, and from that coat bugs, insects and spiders crawled, all things dark and nasty were held within. Centipedes were scattering from the neck, making their way down an arm and then disappearing back into a sleeve. Spiders hung from the boogieman’s great clawed hands.
But worse than all these things was the boogieman’s head. He wore a fedora, and underneath was caked in shadow. Two pincers were all that could be seen and they would occasionally mash together, making a chuck. His breath was warm and gusty, and smelt like sour milk. The boogieman clicked his claws, and from his mouth (?) came the epitome of horror, a voice like nails on a chalkboard, like the cat when I pulled its tail, like the fire alarm when mum was cooking.
'I'm your boogie man, that's what I am, I'm here to do whatever I can, Be it early mornin' late afternoon, Or at midnight, oh it's never too soon.’
The boogieman began to sway his arms and from them flew spiders and cockroaches and centipedes and stick insects. I screamed as they fell on me and tried to swat them off; it seemed for every one I would squash or brush away, another two, no three would take their place. A centipede crawled around my ear and into my hair. Another squirmed its way up the leg of my pyjamas. A spider walked across my eye. I continued screaming, and so did the boogieman.
‘To wanna please you, to wanna please you, I wanna do it all, all for you, I wanna be your, be your rubber ball, I wanna be the one ya love most of all, Oh yeah! Oh yeah!’
The bugs scattered, off me and the boogieman. The boogieman’s “singing” had taken on a shrill quality to it. My ears pounded with his off-beat rhythm. I was covered with creepy crawlies. The boogieman’s song broke off and he leant in, with his face all shaded, the pincers chunking, and spiders dangling from his fedora. I scrambled back, pressing myself into the corner, squashing several things on my back; their juices flowed through my pyjama top. The boogieman continued to lean until the darkness that was his face was mere centimetres from my own, his breath blew the hair back on my head and drops on saliva dangled from the pincers, mesmerizingly hanging, before dropping and sticking to my face. He spoke; his voice had the same off-key quality that his singing had.
‘You’ve been bad, haven’t you Daniel?’
‘Yes, and I’m sorry, please, please, please don’t eat me.’
‘Oh, I’m not going to eat you,’ he said, ‘at least, not this time, but be good Daniel, for next time, I’ll start at your toes and eat you piece. By. Piece. Yummy.’
The boogieman spun in a circle and sank into the shadows, vanishing. The bugs crawled off me and fell off the bed, following him to whatever darkened hell he called home. I sat there, quivering, and thankful, and thinking I’d never ever be bad again.
When I was five I was terrified of the boogieman. But I’m no longer five, and that night when the boogieman came to visit me slipped into obscurity, like so many other memories from that young age. I was good though, very good, because no matter how much that (awful) memory faded there was always a nagging that if I was anything less than good something would happen to me, something horrible. And I paid attention to that nagging, until recently that is. I’ve started to slide, bit by bit, perhaps it was because I moved out and my mother’s watchful gaze was no longer over me,
At first it was just a party thing, what could one puff on a joint do after all, but it grew progressively worse. I smoke every night, sinking into obscurity like those memories, but those memories have begun to somewhat resurface and I find myself staying away from closets, from dark places. I don’t like to be left alone, and I don’t sleep much because if I sleep something will happen, something will, I know it.
Sometimes I cannot avoid being alone though, and in those times I go outside, away from inclosed spaces…away from closets.
The carriage rocked back and forth and the train sent out its hypnotically powerful spell of sleep. It was late, and I was the only one on this carriage, but second last train on weeknights is always like that. I tried to resist the train’s evil temptation but the weed and tiredness within my system joined forces and slowly my eyelids closed.
Next Station: Camberwell
I opened my eyes a little to the sound of the beeping and the doors opening, an elderly gentleman got on the train, rugged up against the crisp bite of winter in a large coat. He sat at the opposite end of the carriage, then with further beeps the doors slid shut and the train continued. Once again my eyelids began to slowly descend and they shut again until the next station, train sleep is interesting like that, I’d only sleep when there was movement, when there was stillness that is when I was awake. The waking and sleeping states began to confuse my stoned being.
Next Station: Box Hell
My eyelids did not no much open as they were just suddenly not closed. I must have heard wrong. A ring tone sounded from the other end of the train, its beeps sending a shiver through me, a sound that was familiar and haunting and reminded me of something about my childhood. That tune. The (awful) tune began to grow louder, the windows shook in time with the (nasty) music. The elderly man stood up and from his mouth echoed something I had forgotten about, something horrible
‘I'm your boogieman, That's what I am. I'm here to do whatever I can. Be it early mornin', late afternoon, Or at midnight, it's never too soon.’
The Lord’s Prayer, long forgotten to me now, tried to force its way out in retaliation to this monstrosity, but I had lost faith in the words so instead I just sat and trembled. There was a spread of warmth around my crotch, urine dribbled down my leg and trailed down the carriage of the train.
The man (?) was growing, spreading out. His coat becoming larger and his head swelled into the same insectile image that I had beheld all those years ago. There was no darkness surrounding his face however, the mandibles clicked away in front of a five day dead face.
Bugs and nasties appeared from the bottom of the coat, filling the carriage behind him as he started to stroll towards me, singing all the while.
‘To wanna take you , I wanna hold you, I wanna give me all, all to you. And I want you, to completely understand, just where I'm at, and where I am - oh yeah!’
The clawed hands swept out and sheared through a metal pole, the number of bugs continued to grow behind him, becoming a wave that swept past and covered me. I screamed.
‘I'm your boogieman, boogieman’ he sang, and then the bugs surrounding me all sang as well, their voices no more than a whisper within my head.
‘(Turn me on)’
‘I'm your boogieman, boogieman.’
I began to cry.
(Do what you want)
‘I'm your boogieman, boogieman.’
I closed my eyes.
‘(Turn me on)’
‘I'm your boogieman, boogieman.’
‘(Do what you want)’
I almost rediscovered faith, but then a claw grabbed me by the shoulder and lifted me out of the ocean of bugs. I opened my eyes, quickly this time but with a hesitant… motion. That dead face with flaming eyes and clicking mandibles was but mere centimeters from my own, the smell of something rotten drifted up into my nostrils, I vomited. I had thought it was the things breath but I realized that it was merely the smell of the boogieman.
‘Remember me, Daniel? Remember what I told you last time?’ It whispered to me, much akin to a tank trying to be quiet. The claws squeezed harder and I screamed, that is I thought I screamed, I may have still been screaming.
‘Yes’ I said, ‘I remember that you told me to be good or you’d…’
‘I’d what?’
‘You’d eat me piece by-.’ The boogieman squeezed harder and he tore arm off, I fell down and watched in shock as he lifted my arm and ate it, in one gulp. My fingers wiggled a little as they disappeared between the gaping maw that was between his mandibles. It was as if they were waving goodbye. The boogieman leaned forward and opened his mouth, it descended over the top of my head. I screamed, was still screaming, or screamed harder, I don’t think accuracy really matters at this point anyway. I felt a sharp stabbing on either side of my head and-
Next Station: Box Hill
My eyes stayed shut even though I was awake, one, obviously braver than the other slowly opened and took in the surrounds. It then closed and let the other know it was safe to come out. I was sitting on the train, the old man stood up and slowly walked out the doors and onto the platform. My arm was still there, what just happened? I tried to collect my thoughts but like most collectables was unable to gather all of them. I eventually gave up and just sat staring into the window opposite me, looking at my reflection against the darkness outside.
Next Station: Blackburn
My stop. I stood and heard a crunch as I did so. Lifting my foot I found a squashed centipede, I scraped it off on the seat and walked towards the doors. I felt bad about dirtying the seat, it was a bad thing to do. The wind was blowing hard on the platform, and on it were carried whispers. I shook my head and headed home, the song of the boogieman trailing behind me the whole way.
‘I wanna be with you, I wanna be with you, Yeah we'll be together, you and me. I wanna see you, Ah get near you, I wanna love you, Ah from sundown sunup - oh yeah oh yeah!’
THE BOOGIEMAN
When I was five I was terrified of the boogieman, my mother would tell me that unless I was good, he would come and gobble me up. I accidentally broke her vase one day; I blamed it on the cat. That night I lay in bed, terrified. I had been naughty and was sure that the boogieman was coming for me.
Scratch, scratch.
A sound came from my closet; I sat up and pulled the sheets over me . The darkness was complete. Not even my teenage-mutant-ninja-turtles night light managed to puncture the makeshift tent I had made of my sheets.
Scratch, scratch.
I closed my eyes and began to pray.
‘Our Father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy Name’
Scratch.
‘Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven-’
Scraaaaaatch.
‘Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us-’
Creak. I trembled and lowered my head; the words of prayer began to be spoken faster and faster,
‘And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil-’
Squelch.
‘For thine is the kingdom-’ Slurp ‘and the power-’ Shhhlomp ‘and the glory-’ Gurgle. ‘for ever and ever.’
Silence.
‘Ame-.’ The sheets were torn away. The boogieman stood before me. It towered over the bed, its body hunched over, its neck brushing the ceiling and head craning towards me. It wore a giant overcoat, and from that coat bugs, insects and spiders crawled, all things dark and nasty were held within. Centipedes were scattering from the neck, making their way down an arm and then disappearing back into a sleeve. Spiders hung from the boogieman’s great clawed hands.
But worse than all these things was the boogieman’s head. He wore a fedora, and underneath was caked in shadow. Two pincers were all that could be seen and they would occasionally mash together, making a chuck. His breath was warm and gusty, and smelt like sour milk. The boogieman clicked his claws, and from his mouth (?) came the epitome of horror, a voice like nails on a chalkboard, like the cat when I pulled its tail, like the fire alarm when mum was cooking.
'I'm your boogie man, that's what I am, I'm here to do whatever I can, Be it early mornin' late afternoon, Or at midnight, oh it's never too soon.’
The boogieman began to sway his arms and from them flew spiders and cockroaches and centipedes and stick insects. I screamed as they fell on me and tried to swat them off; it seemed for every one I would squash or brush away, another two, no three would take their place. A centipede crawled around my ear and into my hair. Another squirmed its way up the leg of my pyjamas. A spider walked across my eye. I continued screaming, and so did the boogieman.
‘To wanna please you, to wanna please you, I wanna do it all, all for you, I wanna be your, be your rubber ball, I wanna be the one ya love most of all, Oh yeah! Oh yeah!’
The bugs scattered, off me and the boogieman. The boogieman’s “singing” had taken on a shrill quality to it. My ears pounded with his off-beat rhythm. I was covered with creepy crawlies. The boogieman’s song broke off and he leant in, with his face all shaded, the pincers chunking, and spiders dangling from his fedora. I scrambled back, pressing myself into the corner, squashing several things on my back; their juices flowed through my pyjama top. The boogieman continued to lean until the darkness that was his face was mere centimetres from my own, his breath blew the hair back on my head and drops on saliva dangled from the pincers, mesmerizingly hanging, before dropping and sticking to my face. He spoke; his voice had the same off-key quality that his singing had.
‘You’ve been bad, haven’t you Daniel?’
‘Yes, and I’m sorry, please, please, please don’t eat me.’
‘Oh, I’m not going to eat you,’ he said, ‘at least, not this time, but be good Daniel, for next time, I’ll start at your toes and eat you piece. By. Piece. Yummy.’
The boogieman spun in a circle and sank into the shadows, vanishing. The bugs crawled off me and fell off the bed, following him to whatever darkened hell he called home. I sat there, quivering, and thankful, and thinking I’d never ever be bad again.
When I was five I was terrified of the boogieman. But I’m no longer five, and that night when the boogieman came to visit me slipped into obscurity, like so many other memories from that young age. I was good though, very good, because no matter how much that (awful) memory faded there was always a nagging that if I was anything less than good something would happen to me, something horrible. And I paid attention to that nagging, until recently that is. I’ve started to slide, bit by bit, perhaps it was because I moved out and my mother’s watchful gaze was no longer over me,
At first it was just a party thing, what could one puff on a joint do after all, but it grew progressively worse. I smoke every night, sinking into obscurity like those memories, but those memories have begun to somewhat resurface and I find myself staying away from closets, from dark places. I don’t like to be left alone, and I don’t sleep much because if I sleep something will happen, something will, I know it.
Sometimes I cannot avoid being alone though, and in those times I go outside, away from inclosed spaces…away from closets.
The carriage rocked back and forth and the train sent out its hypnotically powerful spell of sleep. It was late, and I was the only one on this carriage, but second last train on weeknights is always like that. I tried to resist the train’s evil temptation but the weed and tiredness within my system joined forces and slowly my eyelids closed.
Next Station: Camberwell
I opened my eyes a little to the sound of the beeping and the doors opening, an elderly gentleman got on the train, rugged up against the crisp bite of winter in a large coat. He sat at the opposite end of the carriage, then with further beeps the doors slid shut and the train continued. Once again my eyelids began to slowly descend and they shut again until the next station, train sleep is interesting like that, I’d only sleep when there was movement, when there was stillness that is when I was awake. The waking and sleeping states began to confuse my stoned being.
Next Station: Box Hell
My eyelids did not no much open as they were just suddenly not closed. I must have heard wrong. A ring tone sounded from the other end of the train, its beeps sending a shiver through me, a sound that was familiar and haunting and reminded me of something about my childhood. That tune. The (awful) tune began to grow louder, the windows shook in time with the (nasty) music. The elderly man stood up and from his mouth echoed something I had forgotten about, something horrible
‘I'm your boogieman, That's what I am. I'm here to do whatever I can. Be it early mornin', late afternoon, Or at midnight, it's never too soon.’
The Lord’s Prayer, long forgotten to me now, tried to force its way out in retaliation to this monstrosity, but I had lost faith in the words so instead I just sat and trembled. There was a spread of warmth around my crotch, urine dribbled down my leg and trailed down the carriage of the train.
The man (?) was growing, spreading out. His coat becoming larger and his head swelled into the same insectile image that I had beheld all those years ago. There was no darkness surrounding his face however, the mandibles clicked away in front of a five day dead face.
Bugs and nasties appeared from the bottom of the coat, filling the carriage behind him as he started to stroll towards me, singing all the while.
‘To wanna take you , I wanna hold you, I wanna give me all, all to you. And I want you, to completely understand, just where I'm at, and where I am - oh yeah!’
The clawed hands swept out and sheared through a metal pole, the number of bugs continued to grow behind him, becoming a wave that swept past and covered me. I screamed.
‘I'm your boogieman, boogieman’ he sang, and then the bugs surrounding me all sang as well, their voices no more than a whisper within my head.
‘(Turn me on)’
‘I'm your boogieman, boogieman.’
I began to cry.
(Do what you want)
‘I'm your boogieman, boogieman.’
I closed my eyes.
‘(Turn me on)’
‘I'm your boogieman, boogieman.’
‘(Do what you want)’
I almost rediscovered faith, but then a claw grabbed me by the shoulder and lifted me out of the ocean of bugs. I opened my eyes, quickly this time but with a hesitant… motion. That dead face with flaming eyes and clicking mandibles was but mere centimeters from my own, the smell of something rotten drifted up into my nostrils, I vomited. I had thought it was the things breath but I realized that it was merely the smell of the boogieman.
‘Remember me, Daniel? Remember what I told you last time?’ It whispered to me, much akin to a tank trying to be quiet. The claws squeezed harder and I screamed, that is I thought I screamed, I may have still been screaming.
‘Yes’ I said, ‘I remember that you told me to be good or you’d…’
‘I’d what?’
‘You’d eat me piece by-.’ The boogieman squeezed harder and he tore arm off, I fell down and watched in shock as he lifted my arm and ate it, in one gulp. My fingers wiggled a little as they disappeared between the gaping maw that was between his mandibles. It was as if they were waving goodbye. The boogieman leaned forward and opened his mouth, it descended over the top of my head. I screamed, was still screaming, or screamed harder, I don’t think accuracy really matters at this point anyway. I felt a sharp stabbing on either side of my head and-
Next Station: Box Hill
My eyes stayed shut even though I was awake, one, obviously braver than the other slowly opened and took in the surrounds. It then closed and let the other know it was safe to come out. I was sitting on the train, the old man stood up and slowly walked out the doors and onto the platform. My arm was still there, what just happened? I tried to collect my thoughts but like most collectables was unable to gather all of them. I eventually gave up and just sat staring into the window opposite me, looking at my reflection against the darkness outside.
Next Station: Blackburn
My stop. I stood and heard a crunch as I did so. Lifting my foot I found a squashed centipede, I scraped it off on the seat and walked towards the doors. I felt bad about dirtying the seat, it was a bad thing to do. The wind was blowing hard on the platform, and on it were carried whispers. I shook my head and headed home, the song of the boogieman trailing behind me the whole way.
‘I wanna be with you, I wanna be with you, Yeah we'll be together, you and me. I wanna see you, Ah get near you, I wanna love you, Ah from sundown sunup - oh yeah oh yeah!’
