Boogey

I’m so tired of hearing about the boogeyman. You keep telling me he’s here. I haven’t heard anything, I haven’t seen anything.

I open the door, abruptly, suddenly, it’s just a closet. An empty, dusty closet. There’s a shelf, a bar, an empty floor, this small space, empty and unused.

I stare for a moment into the space. Huh. Okay. There’s nothing here. As I thought.

I close the door. It closes with a creak of misuse.

Time to go back about the day.

It’s a few days later now. I can’t stop thinking about the boogeyman, you told me so many times he was in the closet. Don’t get out of bed, don’t let your feet touch the floor. Don’t make a sound. Stay under the blankets. If you don’t, he might get you. And you wouldn’t want that, now would you.

I look around. This house has been abandoned for years...so why do I keep coming back here. I’m ready to leave it for good, or so I keep telling myself. So many evenings, I find myself pulling into this driveway, walking up, through the front door hanging lopsided on one set of hinges. Huh. I gotta figure this out. Why is this bothering me? It’s just something they tell kids.

They, the ever present they. “They” the ever present threat, held over the heads of children and adults alike. Am I an adult? I guess I am. I’ve had a job for years now. I have a house of my own. I have children of my own. I left this place years ago, told myself so many times I would NEVER come back and yet here I am, coming back time after time.

I can’t keep doing this. My wife is wondering why I’m gone so long after work. I think she may think I’m cheating. No, just looking for old demons. Ones that keep hiding. I’ll find them. Find them and put them to bed once and for all. I’m tired of chasing them, maybe they’re tired of me chasing them too.

Today...I walk upstairs again. I stand in my old room. I stare at the closet. Ah yes, the boogeyman, but he was never really the threat, was he. The boogeyman wasn’t anything to be scared of. I remember seeing him from the closet. The door would creak open, in the middle of the night, the demon the adults called the boogeyman would look out at me. I could hear him, this one was definitely a he, “are you sure? It would be so easy. I can get rid of him. You can be free.” My answer was always the same, but why was it the same?

Because the adults said so. I sit down on the floor. I wait for dark.

This room looks so much different in the dark, all lurking shadows, the closet illuminated by the light of the moon through the window. The door creaks open. Okay, I’m ready.

I get up, walking to the closet, I open it, empty, of course, but…

On the shelf, a dusty photograph and a lighter.

Can I bring myself to look?

I have to.

There you are, my tormentor, the master architect of the foundations of my life of pain. You weren’t responsible for all, certainly. I made plenty of choices later, but ffs how could I know how to make even a single choice, when that had never been an option?!

My father’s face, dead eyes, sallow skin. When was this taken? Doesn’t matter. He’s been dead for years now. Good, this can finally be over.

Lighter in one hand, photograph in the other, I light a cigarette, I haven’t smoked in a few years now, but somehow, tonight, I knew I needed some with me. I take a long drag, ugh, these things are awful. Good.

I toss the cigarette to the floor, carefully, I light the photograph, making sure it has caught well, I toss it onto the bed, the ancient bed linens, dusty and dry...perhaps they shouldn’t make good tinder, but they do. Excellent actually, maybe too good.

I should be getting out. I watch for a second. The entire surface of the bed has ignited. Okay, go now. We can both be free. You’re finally getting this right. I hear the voice from the closet, standing fully open now.

There I am, nine year old me, straggly hair down to my shoulders, deep ember pits where the eyes should be, but a friendly smile, “we’re done now? Finally done. Yes. Go. I’m ready. More important, you’re ready”

I bow my head a brief second, “thank you. I love you. You were so damn strong. I don’t even know how you were so strong. Rest now”

I run down the stairs, hastily, but carefully, out the ramshackle door. I toss the pack of cigarettes I bought for this purpose into the house behind me. I don’t even have the lighter, I must have dropped it upstairs.

I stand watching for a moment. You’re dancing in the flames now engulfing an upstairs window. You actually look happy. I don’t think I even matter to you anymore. That’s good. I shouldn’t. You got me through what you needed to, I held onto you for too long, kept you alive for so much longer than was good for either of us.

Rest now, my sweet one, I’ve got this now.