The Bogey Man
The Bogey Man is realer than you think.
As children, at the first mention of this elusive man’s name, instilled in us is a primordial twinge of fear. Before we understand the prank our tired, work-worn parents are trying to play on our gullible minds as they narrate this man’s gruesome adventures to us, we go to bed every night terrified of the man living under the bed or in the closet. Our widened eyes and tiny trembling bodies are then under his control. Most of us will swear we have seen his menacing eyes glowing out of a corner, or felt a gnarled claw tickle our cheek as we try in vain to sleep. Some of us will move on, and these are luckiest. The rest, like me, will never forget the man that wanted to eat us as children and all that he stood for.
Darkness comes from a deep place. I suppose this place must vary from person to person, as well as its depth. Some recognize in themselves a Light towards which they may move away from this Darkness that can be overwhelming, that may threaten to swallow you whole. When this Darkness takes origin at the very pit of your physical being, and quite literally shows itself as wanting to swallow you whole, there is nowhere, really, to go when you search for an Inner Light. You are enveloped in Dark. No, you are the very vessel that contains the Dark that you’re trying to get away from.
I splash my face with freezing cold water from the shiny silver faucet of the upstairs bathroom sink. My skin constricts and stings with the cold. I look up at myself in the mirror. I am pale. My slanted, brown-almost-black eyes look back at me, and they do not smile. My similarly dark eyebrows hang above them on a low ridge, then slope down to my slightly widened Japanese nose. My shiny, long black hair falls around my face, sweeping my cheekbones that are wide and lay high near my eyes. Down, and there is my mouth, somewhat full but drawn, wide pink lips; a crack on an otherwise pretty face.
I open my mouth, two rows of perfect white teeth, a tongue, the uvula hanging down; a stalactite marking the entrance to a tunnel that goes deep down inside me. A gurgling sound comes from my throat, up from my stomach, bringing with it a deathly stink. I quickly shut my mouth again. I cannot let It escape. It wants out, or else It wants me to go down with It. It is hungry, wants to swallow me up. My eyes are round on my face. It is time to go downstairs. Breakfast almost always quiets It, at least until lunch time.
I walk into the sterile-white kitchen; fresh coffee is brewing on the counter, but I won’t drink it. The smell makes my stomach churn and I know I have to eat soon. I walk past the coffee pot over to the refrigerator. I open up the white door and look in. The food that meets my eyes brings me comfort. The milk, cheese, vegetables, fruits and jellies are colorful in their places. They take up just short of all the room in the refrigerator. I have to feed It, cannot neglect Its hunger, so I feed It these things so that It won’t eat me. Never do I feed It meat. Its first taste would only lead to lust for another and another until finally It would simply swallow me whole.
I pull out a gallon of milk and a half-empty jar of orange marmalade and close shut the door of the refrigerator. I scoop up a bag of sliced wheat bread sitting on the black-tiled white counter next to the refrigerator. I pull two slices of bread out of the bag. It growls again; It is becoming impatient.
I throw the bread right onto the counter. There isn’t enough time to bother with a plate. It needs to be fed soon. A little drawer in the cabinet next to me holds an arrangement of shiny silver forks, knives, and spoons. I open this and take out a butter knife, then quickly scoop and spread marmalade onto my bread. I reach up overhead into a cupboard with crystalline-looking glasses and pull out a tall glass. Milk is filling. Quickly I pour milk into the glass and take a huge swallow. I take a bite of my bread, chew quickly. Before swallowing, I take another bite and alternate chewing and swallowing my milk. Soon I have finished my breakfast. It is seven o’clock, and in five and a half hours I will eat lunch, and It will be pleased, It will be quiet.
Hector, or Hec as he likes me and my younger brother, Daichi, to call him, walks into the kitchen. He looks at me, smiles brilliantly white teeth, clear blue eyes marked with crow’s feet, and full lips at me, and walks over to the coffee pot, taking long, smooth strides. His long blonde hair moves back away from his face as he walks. His forty-four years are well-disguised—he hardly looks older than thirty-four, the way the Bogey Man looks when he’s trying to coax little girls to kiss him so he may swallow them whole.
“Good morning, Katsumi,” he says, grinning sharp teeth at me again. Daichi walks in, looks my way, and says nothing, but his eyes, veiled by the bangs of his long dark hair, know and have known. He walks to the table and carefully slides into a white chair. Hec sips his coffee at the counter. My stomach shifts. The smell of Hec’s coffee awakens It. I run towards the hall and up the stairs, and I know that Hec watches and leers at me as I go. Daichi will eat his toast without a word, but he will know.
In my room, I close my door and snatch up a pair of scissors from atop my nightstand. These I quickly jam between the doorframe and the door, a makeshift lock. It tries to force an animal scream up and out of me, but I bite my lips hard and hold It in. My throat wants to burst, but I cannot let It win. I swallow and swallow and swallow and finally It stops. I climb into my bed, move myself under the covers, and curl up, shivering, like I did ten years ago after the Bogey Man tried to eat me.
Hec had seemed like the perfect father—young, handsome, and doting on Daichi, who was six at the time, and I, who was eight. I didn’t understand why he didn’t have a wife or girlfriend at the time, and I asked him one day why.
“Well, Katsumi, that’s because I have two beautiful little children to love and take care of. I couldn’t share you two with anyone else,” he had said, stroking my hair, and making a face that to me looked like the face that a normal, loving father makes when he looks at his little adopted child. I felt special when he looked at me that way. Later I would realize that he made this face only to me when we were alone, never with Daichi. But I was special to Hec.
One brutally hot July night, I would lay awake in my orchid-colored room, sweating under the covers. I would look at the little purple alarm clock next to my bed, and it would read eleven twenty-six, and it would be a Thursday. The lamp next to my bed would be turned off, and the only light would be coming from the hallway through the door and it would be golden. I would be whimpering, eyes pink-rimmed as I cried. I would not sleep on top of the covers, because I knew the Bogey Man could get me that way. I would stay underneath, my blood would boil.
At eleven twenty-eight, I would hear Hec walking up the stairs, fump, fump, fump as his feet met the plush white carpet. He would walk up the hall towards my room, and stop in the doorway so all I would be able to see was his tall, black silhouette.
“What’s wrong, Katsumi?” he would ask me from the doorway. His voice would sound deep and comforting. He would walk over to my bed and sit down next to me. Eleven twenty-nine. He would reach across my small body to switch on the lamp on my nightstand. The light radiating from it would light only his face and his white button-down shirt that he wore for his work in an office across town. He would move closer, and I would sit up to cry into his shirt. He would rub my back up and down and in circles, and I would feel better. I would take no notice of the fact that he did not know what was wrong, nor did he ask again.
At eleven thirty-four, he would touch his hand to the underside of my jaw and gently move my face to look up into his. He would stroke my cheek. His blue eyes would hold a strange look, a look that was not affectionate, a look that wanted something, that way hungry. His bright blue eyes would flash, and there would be dark shadows underneath them. He would open his mouth slightly and start to move towards my mouth. I would smell stale coffee on his breath and at this point I would realize that I had been tricked, that It had gotten me. Our lips would meet, and It would kiss me, and I would be scared, but It would stop after a few moments, and nothing more would happen. It would look at me, the familiar affectionate look back on Its face, and it would slowly stand up.
“Good night, Katsumi,” It would say, then switch off my lamp and walk out of my room. It would walk down the hall, past Daichi’s room, and I would be relieved that It did not get him too. Daichi would walk into my room and sit with me for a while. I would shiver though I was sweating and my stomach would shift and growl the whole while. Daichi would leave after he thought I was asleep. I would stay awake until around midnight with the fump fump fump of Hec’s footsteps ringing in my ears long after he had made his way downstairs, back to a late night of work in his office.
