The Boogeysam

Author's Note: This story is inspired by my grandpa who always talked about Boogeysams growing up. The term means something special to me and I miss that man every day.

Trigger warnings: Insinuation of abuse

Knock, knock, knock.

Not forceful enough for a full fist—just the backs of her fingers then. Not absolute hammering, indicating Jane’s mother’s patience was running thin. “Honey… are you almost done?” Honey. Nearly to full name territory—that’s what ‘Honey’ meant. One step before she yelled, “Jane Anne Kimball!” Something about hearing Anne—middle names carried power—tumbling from her mother’s mouth put her on edge.

Jane was now in the realm of borrowed time.

Five minutes—maybe less—until her mother’s voice took on rough edges. “Almost!” Jane said through a mouthful of toothpaste. Her stomach churned as she swiped mint across her teeth, the full 120 seconds as directed by Dr. Len at her last checkup. The bathroom was a safe place, defendable. Only one door in and like any sanctuary, it locked from the inside. Offered protection. Sometimes Jane imagined the room as something else: a massive stone castle erected on an island, surrounded by a moat teeming with alligators that hadn’t eaten for ages. Complete with a drawbridge allowing those deemed worthy inside.

But more importantly—it kept monsters out.

Reluctantly, she spit and rinsed. “I just need a few minutes, Mom. Okay?”

“Jane—”

“Mom! I’m not a baby anymore. You don’t have to put me to bed,” Jane protested, wincing at the lie slithering through her lips. She had a point… once her Mom left, Jane was out of there. If she had her way, she’d convert the tub into a bed—padded with pillows, covered by the comforter she got for her last birthday. No more Frozen bedding. She’d upgraded to a more adult motif, far better suited for a nine-year-old: Harry Potter. Instead of a boring bathroom door, she pictured a magical barrier bewitched by Dumbledore to repel dark magic and evil.

“Oh yes, I do, young lady. Ever since you started up this monster nonsense—”

Jane stamped her foot. “It’s not nonsense!”

“—I have to make sure you actually go to bed instead of sneaking off the second I shut the lights off and close the door.”

Even though Jane had just brushed her teeth, a sour taste filled her mouth. “I just… I mean… I don’t like my room.”

Her mother’s voice rose in pitch. “What do you mean you don’t like your room? What about your Gryffindor sheets? You begged for those!”

“It’s not the sheets! My room is scary. It’s too dark.” Jane examined her face in the mirror. Dark circles under her eyes, like a robber raccoon; a souvenir gifted to her by so many sleepless nights. Sitting bolt upright with her eyes focused on the door. Hardly daring to blink. Waiting for the door to creak open.

Terrified at what might slink in.

“Listen, Jane Anne Kimball, I am giving you thirty seconds to get out of that bathroom. If you keep this up, I’m going to be late for my shift.” Jane cringed. She didn’t want to make her mother mad but… she didn’t want her to leave either. “And your father is just in the next room if you need anything. So, stop with the monster crap. You’re too old for that anyway.”

Jane’s hand curled around the doorknob; the metal cool nestled within her damp palm. How much longer did she have? Seconds? If that? Jane shook her head. No more stalling.

She didn’t have a choice.

It was time for bed.

***

Her mother’s lips pressed against her forehead and her arm curled around Jane’s shoulders. Squeezed tight. “Jane, I know you have an active imagination and that’s fine. It’s good to be creative. But monsters aren’t real. You’re frightened of something that exists only in your mind.” She drew back, looking into Jane’s eyes and her gaze softened. “You’re safe here, in your bed. It’s the safest place you could be in the world right now.”

Jane frowned and shook her head. “Why can’t you stay home at night and work when I’m at school?”

“We’ve been over this! The clinic is closed at night so that’s when Rose and I clean. I can’t very well scrub exam rooms with patients in them, can I?”

Lowering her eyes, Jane muttered, “You could get another job.”

Her mother stood. “That’s not happening. I love you. Now, go to sleep. Stop worrying about monsters.” Briskly, she turned, flicking the light switch down and shut the door.

Plunging Jane’s room into utter darkness.

***

Retreating footsteps down the hall, out the front door—telltale squeaky hinge creaking, and her mother’s old Honda stuttered to life. More and more lately, came a grinding before the engine caught. Still—even as bad as it sounded—it was somehow soothing. As its rumble faded, Jane’s comfort gave way to trepidation.

She was alone.

For now.

Jane’s eyes cut to the window, meager moonlight streaming through her threadbare curtains. Enough to see by at least, her nightlight had burned out a week ago. Her bedroom faced the backyard—if it could even be called that. Sparse tufts of vegetation poked up from dirt, a mix of weeds and crab grass, all tending towards an anemic beige. Definitely not a lawn. A rusting swing set—a relic from another age—abutted their chain-link fence. “A tetanus death trap,” Jane’s mother called it, loudly, within earshot of her husband. An implied, unsaid, please remove it before our daughter lacerates an artery and dies. Yet it remained. Wind gusted and grains of sand slapped against the house. Chains creaked. Even though she knew the sounds came from outside, they still unnerved her. From the living room across the house—the trailer, really, call it was it was—came intermittent cheers and boos from the TV. NASCAR tonight: her father’s favorite. Each crash and collision, his eyes glittered with mean intent, flames flickering in their inky depths. Injuries made him grin. Once, Jane heard him cackle after a particularly nasty wreck and crept behind the couch. A severed arm—still clad in racing attire—sat on the track with its own oil slick in the form of clotted blood. A spellbound horror seized Jane who couldn’t tear her eyes from the detached limb, and it frightened her that her daddy… well… seemed to downright enjoy it. Jane knew come morning; aluminum Keystone cans would carpet the floor adjacent to the sofa. A fifty-fifty chance of finding her father among them, back flat on the cigarette-burnt shag, snoring up a storm, a drunk Gulliver amongst fallen soldiers.

Her mattress creaked as Jane shifted and yawned, her jaw cracking. As much as she abhorred bedtime, laying her head down on the pillow and closing her eyes was akin to heaven. No more worries. Just sleep. Jane’s eyelids twitched, falling to half-mast.

Sleep.

The promise of slumberland tugged at her tensed body, relaxing her shoulders, and dulling her perceptions.

Wait—

NO!

Jane startled awake, a stark panic gripping her in thorny claws. Eyelids shot open and her body jerked, nearly giving her whiplash with the force of the movement. A muscle on the side of her neck seized and her fingers went numb. Ouch! A hand reached up and kneaded at a tension knot at the base of her skull. Jane sought out the door and found it closed (thankfully) and let out a gusty exhalation. She’d almost fallen asleep. Nearly relaxed her guard.

Never again.

No matter what her mother said, Jane knew the truth: monsters were real. And—

There was one in the house with her.

Right now.

Lurking. Biding its time. Jane shivered and tugged the covers to her neck—thinking about the night everything changed.

Before Monster.

Before Monster (she couldn’t rightfully think of it as BM, although the idea did make her giggle), Jane turned in each night without a fuss, plagued by simple worries. Would the haggard lunch ladies hand out pizza or Sloppy Joes? Concerned her teacher might put dessert and desert on the same spelling test. Could she be the cat the next time the girls wanted to play House?

Not matters of life and death.

Not like now.

No. The night—Before Monster’s Eve—started like any other.

But ended much differently than all the rest.

***

Once tucked in—her mother’s goodnight kiss fresh on her forehead—Jane drifted off immediately, exhausted from a rousing game of kickball. Muscles slackened and within seconds, her breathing slowed, and her eyelids fluttered then stilled.

Hours later—

Jane woke up.

And everything was…

Wrong.

Utterly wrong.

The atmosphere of the room for one, was different—strikingly so. A heaviness hung in the air, not visible like a dense fog would be, but there all the same. Wicked tendrils curled around Jane’s face, filling her nostrils and mouth with a cloying humidity despite a mere 40-degree temperature outside. Sweat curled the hair at the nape of her neck. She felt her heartbeat somewhere in the vicinity of her throat—rapid, racing. Jane was a scared rabbit spying a hawk’s shadow looming over it. Death’s fingernails rasping against her neck, just waiting for the squeeze and crunch, exquisite pain then nothing.

What was it? What had her so freaked out?

Taking a deep breath in and holding it, Jane closed her eyes and listened. There was the constant background noise of distant traffic. Closer, perhaps even under her bedroom window, crickets chirped. She’d gotten so used to those sounds and they’d become a personal white noise machine that calmed and lulled her. Hearing them again, so steady, so reliable…

Jane’s nerves eased. Probably nothing more than a nightmare or even, a night terror. It’d been a while since she had the latter, but when it happened. Awful. Jolting awake, her terrors locked in her subconsciousness—just out of reach. Rational brain fumbling, groping for what happened but never coming to a true conclusion.

Had to be it, Jane reassured herself. Just an awful daydream that grew teeth and mutated, becoming something worse in the dark.

Jane’s eyes fluttered closed.

CREAK.

Jane’s eyes snapped open, automatically scanning the room. But… she didn’t sit up or move her head. A certainty seized her.

Moving…

Moving would expose her wakefulness. Jane must keep up the illusion of sleep at all costs. An innate sixth sense—not sight, sound, smell, taste, or touch. Something else. A feeling. A knowing. Even someone blindfolded—ears stopped up with orange plugs—would have felt it.

Someone else’s eyes and attention crawling all over her—a malignant sensation. Spiders legs skittering across her skin.

Jane.

Was no longer—

Alone.

Teeth bit bottom lip and she suppressed an urge to scream. No untoward sounds. She couldn’t. Not one.

No, she was just sleeping, a little girl in her bed deep within pleasant dreams.

Murky shadows—a strip of moonlight shone on gritty brown carpet and the edge of her desk. Everything else appeared shrouded and fuzzy. Indecipherable.

If something… someone… was in here now—

How’d they get in?

Door?

Or window?

Closet?

Each could belch forth a monster, placing it into her same proximity. That creak? It was something’s weight shifting, not their trailer settling like her mother said when errant noises frightened her toddler.

Had the monster scampered from a well-hidden hole? Slithered from above, breaching the window with ease? Depending on the monster’s size, either was plausible. If Jane had to bet—it came from one of the two near identical wooden doors, their only difference? Fraying white paint flaking off in different spots. The closet door’s pattern made Jane think of clouds while her bedroom door spoke of flames.

It made sense. Where did monsters live? Creatures that defied the imagination… where did they so often come from?

From… beyond.

Portals to different dimensions—some inviting and whimsical like the wardrobe in Narnia, others downright hellish. Such things sprang up from time to time.

Either door could swing inward, but Jane feared the closet more.

That’s where a creature would materialize into being, brought forth by poisoned thoughts and blackened hearts.

Boogeysams her Grandpa called them—a nebulous blanket term for any creepy crawly going bump in the night. They could have scales, course patches of hair, plastic, sleek skin like a dolphin’s, but not nearly as pleasant. Two legs, four, eight—ugh, a like a gross spider, always shudder inducing. Wings. Pincers. Huge paws tipped with sharp daggerlike claws.

Human.

They could look human too… probably the most frightening thought of all.

Jane gathered her courage, reaching deep within herself, despite the shivers of fear creeping down her spine.

Turned over.

Her eyelids were open, just the faintest amount. Eyelashes briefly fluttered on her cheeks. Appearing—hoping to, anyway, for her own sake—deep within the throes of sleep filled with non-worrisome tossing and turning. Darkness changed, fading from almost coal black to a dusky, yellowish glow—illumination from a near-full moon. The abrupt transition sent a white flash across Jane’s eyes and for a moment, she saw a void. Nothing. Then her vision cleared. Pupils constricted. Focused. Saw.

She was right.

She was not alone.

Legs—or at least, the suggestion of legs—were deep within the shadow of the corner of her room. Nothing more than inky silhouettes, more imagined than visualized with the eye. With her turning, the view blurred, and Jane’s mind filled in the blanks.

The monster occupied the same, formerly safe space as she.

***

CREAK.

Creeeeeeeaaaaak.

Unexpected noise yanked Jane out of her self-imposed panic—not that her terror abated. Not by a long shot. Jane pushed the memories of Before Monster away, bringing her full attention back to the here and now.

Something… someone—was coming.

The fine hairs on the back of Jane’s neck prickled and each inch of skin covering her body tightened, as it often did when she was frightened.

“Please, don’t,” Jane whispered, slowly sitting up, careful to keep each body part well within her covers. Everyone knew monsters loved exposed flesh, like a fish drawn to worms skewered on a hook. While Jane had never been religious—the only church service she’d ever attended was a Christmas midnight mass before her grandpa passed and without his influence, religion became nothing more than a distant memory—she prayed like hell now. “Please. Whoever you are or wherever you are, keep me safe from the monster. The… Boogeysam.” She hesitated. Was that enough? Shouldn’t she say a Hail Mary or recite The Lord’s Prayer? Not that she knew their words, but she had a vague idea. “In God’s name, Amen.” A thin sprig of hope bloomed in her chest.

CREAAAAAK.

Jane’s hope blackened and died.

More movement came—louder than before.

Her throat hitched as Jane tried to swallow. Dry, like she’d tossed a handful of sand in her mouth before bed. Through a sheen of tears, she stared at the doors—closet and bedroom—resigning herself to whatever fate awaited her. What chance did a 9-year-old twerp have against a monster?

None.

If she held still, didn’t put up a fight… maybe the pain and horror would pass quickly, becoming nothing more than a terrible memory. Jane’s fingers clenched into fists and her unclipped nails bit into sensitive palms. A tear trickled down her cheek, but Jane made no move to wipe it away.

What was the use? More would follow.

Another noise, a shuffling.

Behind the door.

Only thin wood separated her from doom. Inches. Maybe.

With gritted teeth, Jane watched as the doorknob turned and clicked. Rusty hinges squealed and the door swung inward with a dull groan. A strip of light appeared, courtesy of the hallway’s lonely bulb. Rather than being reassured by the illumination, Jane’s fear ratcheted up. “Please, no,” she whispered again, and her chest heaved, heartbeat whooshing loudly in her ears.

But it was too late.

The monster stepped inside her bedroom.

***

A stale odor filled the air—sour, like cheese that had gone over, and an all-too-familiar reek filled her nostrils. Musty and yeasty. Distinct. Teeth flashed, forming a gruesome smile that sent a cramp of pain through Jane’s stomach. More teardrops joined the first. Cruel eyes alighted on her, glittering but with no joy or humor. Orbs filled with malice. Evil. The maw opened and words spilled out, consonants round and slippery. Each vowel drawn out.

“Janey…”

Scrunching her eyes closed; Jane shook her head.

Please, please, please, help me.

“Jaaaaaneyyy.” Taunting. Overly familiar.

“No,” Jane moaned. Warm breath washed over her, smelling of rot. Spoiled meat.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, and the monster’s face loomed, only feet away.

“Janey, I just want a hug. That’s all. A simple hug.” Lies rolled off its tongue with practiced ease.

“Get away from me!” Jane said, intending to scream but the words came out a mere whisper.

The grin widened, morphing into a leer. “C’mon Janey. Don’t be like that.” Arms reached, a coarse thicket of black hair blanketing every square inch. Digits hooked into claws, begging to press into Jane’s tender flesh.

“Give your daddy a hug and kiss, Janey-bug.” Then, moving with an uncanny speed, Jane’s father pounced, greediness directing each movement.

Jane screamed, closing her eyes.

Calloused, rough hands grabbed her shoulders and Jane lurched forward, turning her face to the side as far as it would go, exposing cheek. Chapped lips and bristly stubble brushed against her cheekbone and Jane fought a rising gorge in her throat.

Please, please, please, no.

Wet tongue traced her skin and her father giggled, a horrible sound, especially from a full-grown man who was supposed to protect his daughter. “It’s okay, Jane. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He paused and grinned. “Well, not much.”

A sob wrenched itself from her throat.

“Come to Daddy, little—"

SMACK! Frantic, leaden footfalls greeted Jane’s ears, traversing the room in an instant.

“Hey. HEY!” Her father’s grip slackened. “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” His voice high pitched: a scared little boy’s.

Jane opened her eyes.

Something yanked her daddy from the bed, hefting him like he was nothing more than a ragdoll and chucked his body against the ceiling. Her entire room rattled with the impact. He unceremoniously swan-dived to the floor, bones audibly cracking and popping. One splintered piece ripped through her daddy’s forearm, reminding her of a cartoon dog’s bone, but much bloodier. Wet burbles, unintelligible, burst forth from her daddy’s cruel lips and just beyond his crumpled body—

Closet door hung open; one hinge broken. Movement drew her gaze away and the other monster came into view, stepping out of the shadows into the light.

Disbelief struck her.

It was… massive.

Almost too tall to stand up straight in her room. Yellow horns curved from its head, like the Bighorn sheep mounted on wood that once hung in her grandpa’s living room. She couldn’t quite make out its face, thanks to the carpet of brown fur that clung to it, but its mouth gaped open, revealing fiendishly sharp teeth. Hands the size of baseball mitts reached and encircled her father’s legs. Black pointed claws hooked through her daddy’s pale, fish belly skin and the monster lofted him up—feet in the sky, head down. Crimson bloomed, rivulets of blood streamed from his wounds and her daddy’s face, clearly visible, reddened like a tomato, his lips a perfect O. Frantic eyes rolled in their sockets, shining with stark terror.

Hunter became hunted.

Jane met his gaze and he twitched, jerking like a livewire. Dilated pupils seized on her face, and he begged, “Janey… help me.” He sounded like he was talking through a mouthful of thick pudding.

A small smile played on Jane’s lips, and she allowed the covers to drop from her shoulders. Cool air brushed her hair away from her brow, soothing her. Shaking her head, Jane said, “No, daddy.”

Cruelty twisted his features. “You little bitch—”

The monster—the Boogeysam roared—and shook her father like a dog playing tug-of-war with a well-worn toy. Head traded positions with feet, and thick fangs sunk into her father’s neck. Clamping down with uncanny speed and ferocity. The Boogeysam turned, exposing a thickly furred tail covered in white spikes and made its way back to the closet. It pulled her father from its mouth and tossed him heavily inside the room that once contained all her toys.

Daddy made no sound on impact.

Jane extended an arm.

“Wait!”

The Boogeysam halted, turning back towards Jane. Even with indistinct facial features, it appeared to raise an eyebrow-what do you want? It let out a snort.

Waited for Jane.

She had to know.

“Are you a Boogeysam?”

It cocked its head, then gave her a curt nod. Horns bobbed.

Jane grinned, hiding her smile behind her hand. Somehow it seemed wrong to be happy something bad happened to her daddy but…

She knew what happened.

“Thank you for saving me, Boogeysam,” Jane said, shyly twiddling her fingers in her lap.

The Boogeysam’s fangs curled into a smile. The expression should have scared her— especially since each pointed tooth was tipped with her father’s fresh blood—but it had the opposite effect.

Relief flooded her.

“You welcome… Jane.” The Boogeysam’s words came out rough, all broken glass and gravel. It turned again and walked into the closet, closing the broken door behind it.

Minutes passed and an intense curiosity seized her.

What would she find?

Jane climbed out of bed and padded her way across the room, avoiding the puddles of fresh blood. Her fingers curled around the doorknob, and she opened the door, afraid of what she might see.

Or not see.

Clothes hung from the rack, mostly hand-me-downs with poorly patched holes or stains. A few toys sat on the floor and a puddle of stuffed animals dominated the back corner. Completely normal.

Except—

Jane bent over and picked it up, examining it. Brown fur, softer than it looked. She hugged it to her chest and whispered, “My Boogeysam”. With the monster disposed of, Jane crawled back into bed and placed the lock of hair under her pillow. The second her eyes closed; she was out.

She dreamt of The Boogeysam and her grandpa.

Her lips twitched into a smile.

Safe at last.