The Boogeyman: The Shadow in the Dark
Ah, the Boogeyman. That old friend. The creature mothers warn their children about, the one they threaten to unleash if a child doesn’t mind their manners. But let me tell you, my dear, the Boogeyman isn’t a mere bedtime story or a threat to get children to go to bed on time. No. He's real. As real as the darkness you see just before sleep takes you. And far more dangerous.
You see, the Boogeyman is not one being—he is many. He is a shadow, a whispered name, a cold shiver on the back of your neck when the lights flicker out. He’s what lingers in the corners of your room when the world falls silent, a presence just beyond your sight, just out of reach. Some say he was born from the very essence of fear itself, a creature woven from every nightmare, every whispered fear, every unspoken terror that haunts the deepest part of your soul.
He comes when you’re most vulnerable. When you think you’re alone, when the night has wrapped its cold arms around you and you’re certain no one could hear your screams. That’s when he moves. Slowly at first. It starts as a creak in the floorboards, a rustle from the closet, or a shadow that doesn’t quite belong. But then—oh, then—the air grows cold, too cold for comfort, and that’s when you know. The Boogeyman is near.
His face? Oh, dear, you wouldn’t want to know it. Some say it changes with every victim, shifting to reflect your deepest, most unspoken fear. It could be a pale, gaunt face, stretched and sunken, with hollow eyes and a gaping mouth. Or it could be something worse—something that isn’t even human. A form that slides through cracks, that flows like liquid shadow, slipping between realms.
He doesn’t kill, not in the way you’d think. No, he doesn’t need to. The Boogeyman feeds on fear. He savors it like a fine wine, delighting in your terror as it fills the air, thick and suffocating. The more afraid you are, the stronger he becomes. And once he’s had his fill, once you’re too paralyzed to scream or run, he takes you. Not your body—no. That would be too easy. He takes your soul, your spirit, your very essence, trapping it in the shadows with him. A permanent prisoner of the dark.
Oh, and don’t think you can hide. No hiding places are safe. You could lock your door, pull the covers over your head, even shout for help. But he’ll still be there, just beyond the edge of your consciousness, always watching, always waiting. He’s the thing under your bed, the creature in the attic, the monster in the wardrobe. And when you think you’ve finally escaped, when the world’s light returns, just remember—it’s never truly gone. The Boogeyman waits in the dark places you’ve forgotten, in the cracks you’ve left unsealed. He always finds you.
And he loves when you’re afraid.
[Rumplestiltskin leans in, his eyes gleaming with mischief, and you can almost feel the shift in the air. The room seems to darken, just a fraction, as he lets the weight of his words hang in the silence for a moment.]
Ha!, you should’ve seen your face! Priceless! Really, truly, the stuff of legends. But here’s the thing, darling—here’s the twist. Do I actually know if the Boogeyman’s real? Ha! Not a clue! He might’ve been real once. Or he might be one of those pesky little human myths that got all tangled up in imagination and shadow.
Honestly, I’d wager he’s not real at all. But hey, that doesn’t mean it’s not fun to spin a good yarn, right? I mean, come on, what’s life without a little mischief and chaos? It’s what I do. So go on, laugh, breathe, and maybe—just maybe—check under your bed tonight.
Not because the Boogeyman’s there, of course. But because, well… you never know.
I could be.
