Boogeyman

In the morning when you awake feeling blue...don't blame your pillow, blame the Boogeyman.

The Boogeyman

By Cleve Sylcox

 

It was a November harvest moon hanging in the starry sky illuminating the small country town with a bright blue haze. It hung in all its stillness not showing any indication of the premeditated assault. The moon glowed in an ordinary kind of way without the slightest indication of what was to come on this wonderful night of twinkling stars, sounds of violins from the street minstrels, laughter from the brothel, and in the countryside, the chirping of crickets. No one suspected the cruelty of it. No wonder the moon did not know.

             The moon pushed shadows long and deep over the harvested field. Stubs of corn stalks stood only a few inches high in rows like severed legs. Husk lay scattered throughout the large field as reminders of the slaughter. Mice eagerly took the opportunity of an unusually bright harvest moon to fill their pantries with bits of corn, wheat, and bean. Their work hurried, as a cold north wind howled through the woods. The mice in all their smallness know what this means, snow. With haste, they worked, forgetting about the owl perched nearby and the man walking down the road. If they noticed, it was only for a fleeting moment - work must come before caution or curiosity tonight.

The shadow of a man rolled over tall patches of brown grass along side a fence line near the mice. The shadow briefly passed over the mice causing a momentary pause of one mouse who stopped his hurried pace. Sitting back on his hindquarters, he turned his nose up into the air and sniffed, twitching his whiskers. His eyes beheld a shadowy figure of a man walking past whose eyes glowed red beneath the dark shadows of his top hat. The mouse began gnawing nervously on a kernel of corn; lowered his ears, and if a mouse could turn pale, it did, before darting away to the safety of a haystack.

The dark shadow glided over field, fence posts and rails along side the country road.  A tall man wearing a loose overcoat, which hung on him, as if flung on the back of a chair, stepped in pace with his shadow, step for step. The overcoats’ collar was turned up and tied tight around his thin neck. His long pencil legs stomped forward splashing his black boots through puddles of mud and rock. Bits of mud speckled his black slacks. His skeletal face appeared as if it were made of very thin elastic pulled tight over a rough rock. Adorning his head was an old top hat. Its’ edges worn and tethered from years of wear, still it was his favorite hat, his only hat. Long, thin arms swung in rhythm to his long strides beneath patched sleeves. A boney hand projected out from the sleeve as he squeezed his long thin fingers into a tight fist. His right hand held tight to a glass handle cane, which he used to balance himself as he tramped along.

His thin lips mumbled crazy thoughts only he understood. The tip of his rubbery razor thin nose moved in concert with his lips. His wide eyes, set in deep dark sockets, stared ahead through scarlet-tinted glasses as if looking at something far down the road. His stare was at something unseen, something pulling him by his soul. Blinded by his ambition he strode hurriedly onward, pushing himself faster toward town.

His heart beat was steady with his strides as nothing permeated its dark center, a heart void of love. A dark hole in its center filled with un-kept promises, misgivings, and a life of rebellion.

His mind swirled in a mist of frightening thoughts moving him forward.

His soul was lost in a cloud of multiple hues meshing and twirling around the darkness that once was him. His soul, for only God knows, became something dark with no love. 

            A slither of drool rolled from the corner of his thin lips to his chin where it hung on the stubble of an old brown mole. A cold north wind howled through the woods oblivious to him, as he stepped haphazardly through puddles. His ears heard only the voices of his inner mind. A slight smile cracked the corners of his tight lips when he thought about his task then snapped to rigidity " determined to achieve his goal.

Nothing would stop him.

He kicked a rock across the road, slapped a fence post with his cane, and then sneered deeply through rotted gnashed teeth. His strides became longer, his pace quicker.

            Ahead of him, the town’s tall rock archway with its’ rock walls projecting out to either side came into view. His eyes narrowed and his boney left hand clenched tight into a fist, his arms stiffened as he passed beneath the archway. A sign on the archway read, “Welcome, one and all!” He read the words and then spat as he passed beneath it never breaking his rapid gate.

            As he passed from building shadow to building shadow, his image blended into the shadows cloaking him in a perfect blackness, like water hiding in water, invisible.

            He stopped at the edge of the town square peeking out from the edge of a building still hidden in the shadow. The square is the gathering place for many of the town’s lovers whose earlier laughter and joyful play have now faded to silence as the hour is late. It is a romantic place full of fountains, restaurants, and bars. A light shined from the   bars doorway. Tall potted plants line the square during warmer times, but are now removed, replaced by small clay fireplaces used as heaters for diners who wish to brave the outdoors on cold nights. Tonight their cinders are cold.

            A whisper sailed up from some deep phantom beneath his feet, wrapped around his leg, crawls up his back that sent a tingle throughout his body, then to his ear, The hour is near. He felt the excitement immediately deep within his chest. His eyes opened wide and his smile returned. He whispered in acknowledgement, “Yes, the hour is here.”

            Stepping smoothly he slid through the alley like a snake, then up a rock staircase to a rock balcony. He hopped over a small wall dividing the stairs from the balcony to an open window. Crouching beneath the window, he peered inside to see a young girl fast asleep in her bed, against the far wall opposite the window. He slithered over the sill to the head of the bed where he stood looking down upon her. He passed his hand over her eyes and her dreams and hopes began swirling in pictures above her. He smiled as he grabbed them, stuffing them into his pocket. Then as if not satisfied with his deed, he waved his hand over her heart where her soul relinquished her prayers. They ascended from her chest swirling slowly in the air. He snickered as he grabbed them, pulling them like a rope into his pocket.

With extreme purpose and with the preciseness of a surgeon, he uncoiled his index finger with its’ long sharp finger nail and stabbed it directly into her heart, turned his finger slightly scooping up a bright purple florescent ball. His mouth opened in awe as he held the bright ball inches from his eyes. “All your truths,” he said softly and smiled. Then he tilted his nail upward allowing the ball to roll onto the print of his forefinger. As he pressed the ball with his thump, a chuckle escaped from his soul. With a puff, the ball burst sending purple wafts of truths swirling in clouds. The clouds swirl, and then fall as powder to the bed sheets where they speckled her sheet beneath his rubbing thumbs. The powder sparkled in a ray of moonshine then little by little disappeared. 

He smiled at her before slithering out the window leaving her to slumber. In the morning she will awaken feeling empty, lost with no hope, and in despair. This gladdened his wicked sprit.

            From window to window, cottage to cottage, he moved, randomly repeating his act and with each occurrence his joyfulness grew. As he danced beneath the rock archway on his exit, he tipped his hat and said, “Yes, and thank you,” to the welcome sign.

Down the country road he danced, with filled pockets of dreams, wishes, and prayers. From his index finger dripped large purplish drops of truths to the road side that turned to powder, sparkle and fade. His task for tonight is finished.

As he past by the mice, the little mouse who saw him before stopped to watch him dance.

He bounced on one foot then the other as he joyfully hummed a tune only familiar to him, a happy tune emitting from some long forgotten part of his soul. His heart filled with a presence he only wished would last. The warmth, the glow of a smile, the bitterness removed from him. What a great time to be alive. The man’s dance carried him further down the road until he disappeared from whence he came.

             The mouse blinked, and then blinked again. He nibbled a nervous nibble on a seed of wheat watching the man disappear in the shadows of the road far away. So, perplexed was he that he did not hear the owl swooping down above him.

 

 

End     

 

 

Author's Note

Written in Past tense as a pratice.

Reviews

[TJ Graham]

I'm not very good at reviewing, but yes, I agree with Dane. It is indeed dark, very ominous as well.

[Dane Osborne]

This was very impressive. it was very dreamlike and darkly whimisical.You have a great talent for detail and making the images you are trying to express come alive in the readers mind. i only have one piece of constructive advice. There is a sentence in this that goes:
His soul was lost in a cloud of multiple hues meshing and twirling around the darkness that was his soul.
The fact that you mentioned the word "soul" twice in the way you did makes it come off as awkward. I would reccomend writing that sentece like this:
His soul was lost in a cloud of multiple hues meshing and twirling around the darkness

But other than that this was a very solid and amazing write.It is almost like a childs nightmare that is being expressed in the form of a parable.
Kudos:)