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The Boogeyman

He lives. He breathes. He feeds on your darkest fears.


The Boogeyman comes to me at night. At random times. Like an overly-attentive lover.

He whispers in my ear. His breath, a feather on my cheek.

My husband is not here to protect me. He is busy fending off his own demons in another part of the house. A sliver of light under the closed bedroom door tells me, in my half-conscious state, that he is still awake.

One of our cats, Conor, is curled up in the crook of my legs, the warmth of his body like balm to my soul.

I time my breathing to my cat’s, the gentle rise and fall lulling me into a deeper state. I embrace it…this cocoon of warmth, of relative safety and just as I am about to fully succumb, he strikes.

In the film, “Halloween,” when eight-year-old Tommy Doyle asks his babysitter, Laurie Strode, “What’s the boogeyman?” she basically dismisses the question and tells him he has nothing to worry about.

That was before the arrival of Michael Meyers, Haddonfield, Illinois’ very own Boogeyman.


Every culture seems to have its own version of the boogeyman. (Also known as Bogeyman.) Krampus. Baba. Yaga. Bhoot. Although the names may change, the monster’s purpose is the same: To steal and punish children.

Allegedly invented by adults to scare the bejesus out of children and elicit compliance, because the Boogeyman is universal, it’s virtually impossible to track down its true origins.

The Boogeyman may have originally been birthed to frighten children, but mine is for “adults only.” He…it…instinctively knows what scares the bejesus out of ME. Evil and relentless, he gnaws at my soul like a rat on a cinder block. His voice, so deep in my subconscious, is low, dark, a rasp.

Sherry…what are you thinking about…hmmm? Is it your husband? His health? I bet I know. You’re wondering…what will happen if he goes first. If you’re alone, in this house, with the mortgage, and the bills and the cats who depend upon you. How will you manage? How will you live

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