Augie twisted the key in the lock and pushed open the door. Something metallic, like knives, flashed in the gap between the door and the jamb. “Mona says hello. All my friends say hello. See, you can see them!”
Boogeyman
Susie Schwartz
Part 1
It doesn’t matter if the sun is shining or if the moon is sitting in the sky. It still comes for me.
I’ve heard of the boogeyman before. My friends in kindergarten talk about It sometimes. I don’t know if I am ‘llowed to call It that, since my daddy hates nonsense talk. But when my friends chatter about It, it sounds just like what happens in my own house so I guess that’s what I’ll call it too. I’ll just call It that in my head though, and not say the word out loud so my daddy doesn’t catch me.
Some of my friends say the boogeyman lives under their beds and comes for them after they’re tucked in for the night. Mine lives in my whole house and no one tucks me in so I guess it is different for me. Some of their brothers and sisters say It’s not real. I don’t know what my brother and sister would say. I can’t tell them about it. My daddy would get mad. All I know for sure is that my boogeyman is real.
I wish I could tell my sister. She is pretty and smart and can play the organ. When she turns it on and starts hitting notes, the mouses that live in there come scurrying out, giving my cat Fluffy some fun. It doesn’t matter that some of the white keys are broken. She still makes nice music. I just started taking lessons too, so I can be just like her some day.
I like her lots ‘cept she’s always with the babies. Babies in our house come and go like kittens. We never get to keep those either. My sister always has a baby in her arms. I guess we are doing a good thing, saving babies by giving them a home, but sometimes I wish I were one of them instead of me.
I can hear it now. The boogeyman I mean. It’s down the hall and Its screams sound like when I reach out to the right side of the organ and press a bunch of notes at the same time.
It’s loud this afternoon. The screeching I mean. I’m huddled against my closed bedroom door and hoping It doesn’t come any closer. My head is spinny and hurts and I push my hands against my ears to make it stop. Should I get up to grab my lucky penny out of the drawer beside my bed to make a wish and risk It coming in to get me? Or do I stay put? My teacher put me on a scale a few days ago cuz she’s says I’m too skinny. I hope being 49lbs will be enough to hold the door shut. I can feel my heart going babump, babump, babump when I put my hand to my chest and I hold my breath to stay quiet. I start to feel dizzy and I’m desperate for air. Finally, the screeching gets quieter and I let the old air out and suck in some different air.
Grabbing my lucky penny and slipping it into my pocket, I run out of my room, through the living room and then the kitchen and out the door in my bare feet. I keep running, opening the fence gate, not bothering to close it behind me. I know if the cows get out, my daddy’s face will get red and hot and mad but I can’t stop running. As I catch my breath, I start calling for her. Sugar, my spotted Arabian is out here somewhere and what I need is to feel her soft, pokey nose whiskers against my face. She’s my best friend. I think I’m hers too, since I’m the only person she comes to when her name is called. She stays hidden in the bush from the rest of them, ‘cept if my daddy gets out the hay tractor. Then she comes running.
It doesn’t take long before we find each other in the trees down by the creek.
I used to cry when the boogeyman came for me, and well, sometimes I still do, but today, I just talk.
Today It was loud, Sugar. And close. I could smell It as It came closer. It smelled like the swamp. Oh Sugar, when will the boogeyman go away? It’s been ‘while since It came out. It likes to stay in my daddy’s room lately. I like it better when It’s in the basement. Then It’s not so close. The other night, after my night snack, It was lying down in the hall closet. I saw a knife in its hand. The yard light was shining through the window and I saw something shiny. I think it was a knife. So I ran to my sister’s room and told her I was having a bad dream. She told me I could lie in her bed for a few minutes while she checked the baby. Then I had to be brave and go back to my own room.
Oh Sugar, I know you are kinda old and my daddy says when people get old, they die. Please don’t ever die, Sugar. I love you so much. More than anyone in the whole wide world. I wish you could live in my room with me. I think the boogeyman would be scared of you and would stay out of there for sure.
My heart sinks as I hear my sister calling my name over and over. It must be suppertime. And just when my heart stopped jumping all jittery too.
Oh Sugar, I’m so sick of hamburger and potatoes. I wish we could eat pizza. I only get to have pizza at Cathy’s house when her mom lets me come over. Will you walk home with me, Sugar? All the way?
As I get closer, I decide to peek in the windows and see if I can see the boogeyman before I go in. My daddy gets mad when I hide outside but It was just so loud today. I don’t see any sign of It so I make some courage and carefully go in for supper. Hamburger and potatoes. What a surprise.
After we eat, my sister and I do the dishes and then she tells me I should do a puzzle or color. I’d rather go back outside and be with Sugar, but there’s not enough time to find her before I’m supposed to take a bath.
I have to go to bed at 8:00 every night whether I feel tired or not. After I drink my glass of milk and eat some soda crackers, I tip-toe to my room so I don’t wake the boogeyman if It is sleeping. I make some more courage and count to three before quickly opening my closet door to check for It. It isn’t there.
As I climb into bed, I tuck myself deep under my grandma’s quilt and squeeze my eyes shut. Can I hear It? Can I hear It breathing or hissing in the walls of the house? Sometimes I hear It in the middle of the night, banging around, roaming free. Why does no one else hear It? Why is it just me?
Sometimes, when I ask the kids at school what their boogeyman is like, they tell me it only comes in the dark and their mommy or daddy can make it go away. They just shine a flashlight around and in and under everything in their room and it goes away. They say theirs hides and they can’t really see it, they just know it’s there. Until their mommy or daddy comes.
I can see mine. And I can feel It. Sometimes It reaches for me and Its grabby claws dig into my back as It wraps Itself around me and my breath gets stuck. I just tremble and hope that It’ll let go before It kills me with Its talons. That’s what the teacher called the fingers of the different birds we learned about in school. The eagle and the hawk and the owl. I don’t like birds. They pick up little animals and eat them. I feel like a little animal sometimes. Like the mouses who live in the organ. I wish I lived in an organ. I would never come out, ‘cept if I had to pee.
Sometimes It pushes me out of its way. I think It’s coming for me but instead, this time, It’s going for somebody else. Only they don’t seem to notice. They aren’t afraid like I am. ‘Cept the babies. Sometimes the babies scream when the boogeyman is near. I think they can sense the danger like me. Usually my sister saves them. She takes them to another room and rocks them until they aren’t scared anymore. I know I’m a big girl now but I still wish I could be rocked to sleep.
I lie in my bed and again beg for happy dreams of me and Sugar, us walking on the worn-down paths in the woods or on top of the green or brown hills, our manes blowing in the breeze. Her mane is dark and light—different shades of grey, but mine is just light, yellow like the little girl named Goldilocks that we read about in school. Sugar has a big belly so I think she likes her food more than I do. My belly is flat and sometimes my pants slide down a little, unless the elastic is really tight. Her feet look too big for her legs but I think my dad just needs to clip her hooves. They are splitty and dirty. My toenails are kinda dirty too, and my sister needs to clip them for me but my fingernails are okay. I bite them so they stay short and clean. My dad yells at me when he sees me chewing on my fingers so I do it in secret, when no one can
see me. No one, ‘cept the boogeyman. But I don’t think It cares about my nails cuz Its are cracked and sharp. I think It wants to chew me up so It doesn’t go hungry and die. Sometimes I just wish It would die.
So after I say my prayers, I think about Sugar. And my cat Fluffy. Sometimes Fluffy takes his paws and presses them one at a time, over and over into my soft, flat belly while he purrs. Then I know he’s happy. And it tickles. Then I feel happy too. When the boogeyman presses against me, it doesn’t tickle. Even when it doesn’t hurt, the scariness makes me hurt inside my tummy. Then I don’t feel happy. Sometimes the boogeyman laughs at me, and I see Its teeth. They are yellow but not like the yellow of my hair. They look rusty, like above the tires on my daddy’s hay tractor. When I see Its teeth, It looks old, like the man with greasy white hair who sits in front of the grocery store every day, smoking his pipe. When It is dressed in clean clothes and has a baby in Its lap, It doesn’t look so old.
My eyes are heavy and then it’s tomorrow. The high notes of the organ are playing again. I need to pee but know I can’t leave my room until the scary music stops. Crawling down and under my bed, I clutch my privates and squeeze my legs shut, hoping not to wet my nightie before it’s safe. Sliding to the edge of my hiding spot, I reach up and into my drawer and feel for my lucky penny. It’s not there. That’s when I remember it’s still in my pocket of the pants that lie in a heap in the far corner. My tummy feels sick and I start to shake. A little pee slips out at the same time as my tears. I lay there for forever in my soggy mess until finally, finally the noises stop.
The bathroom is just steps outside my door and I make some courage and run as fast I can and slam the door behind me. The boogeyman is not here. Relieved, I sit on the toilet and empty my aching tummy until there is not even a drop left. My tears won’t let up and I rub at my eyes to make them stop. I am not a baby! I can’t let my daddy see me like this. He has no patience for a cry-baby.
After my eyes dry up, I quietly race back to my room, close the door, and pray the boogeyman hasn’t beat me here. I jump as somebody knocks loudly on my door. It’s my sister saying it’s breakfast time. I get dressed in some clean panties, my grubby jeans, and a plain green t-shirt, and then I stop for a second with my hand on the door handle before taking a deep breath of my courage and step toward the kitchen.
It is there.
Sitting in the regularly empty chair, It turns and grins at me with Its rotten teeth and tattered clothes. It looks old today. Old and hungry.
My dad and my sister with the baby and my brother sit silently eating their porridge, as if we were all alone. I feel like screaming CAN’T YOU SEE IT?! IT IS RIGHT HERE!! IT WANTS TO EAT ME! My dad looks up at me and says, “Eat up.”
I don’t know how I can eat when I feel like barfing. Usually It isn’t this bold. Usually It hides in the dark corners of the house. Usually It’s sleeping while we eat. Why do they make me sit right beside It? Why aren’t they scared too?
The second my dad gets up to go work outside I jump up, tipping my chair over, run to the toilet, and throw up.
Barfing and barfing, all of a sudden, I feel Its hands pull back my hair.
“It’s okay. Mama’s here now. Mama’s here.”
Part 2
I can’t make them stop. They torment my thoughts with their scraping talons, taunting with their prickly words and tricking my mind with their convincing lies. They shout their profanities, scoffing, laughing, sneering eerily through their rotting teeth. One is especially loud, its voice stronger than my own. It sinks Its teeth into my brain and chews and swallows, chews and swallows, gurgling wheezing sniggering. Small bits of me disappear into Its belly with each bite. So sharp. Teeth so sharp. Like razorblades slicing my eardrums, making them bleed into my skull. wheeze growl hiss. I hear shrieking from somewhere far away, only it gets closer and circles around my head. Are those screams my own or Its? I must run. I must get free. hiss pant wheeze. It is not working. I bang my head against the wall trying to shake It, this boogeyman swimming in the blood under my skull.
You’re no good Awful mother GO GET IT Babies Dizzy Foghorns BLASTING too many notes Whispering SHOUTING GO GET THE KNIFE We must hide Hide from it RUN Sleep GO. SHOUTING Whispers More foghorns CrAsHiNg SYmBoLs STOP GO GET THE KNIFE Spiders everywhere Crawling crawling Biting Ants Snakes in my bed GO NOW GO GET THE KNIFE
The closet. I must get to the closet. It is safe there.
I will bring the knife with me. Its blade so sharp it slices through bone like butter. The gleaning metal will save me. From me or from It, I cannot tell.
The bugs are here. A spider. And another. And another. Thousands. They creep over my whole body, getting tangled in my hair which grows inward, inward through my skull, split ends a knotty chaos inside. Flies are buzzing, waiting to feast on my flesh like a dead dog carcass. Circling, Circling. Sliding. Slithering. The snakes are back, constricting my throat like the noose I sometimes hang in the attic. They slither up my body backwards, their scales catching and snagging, leaving my arms and legs scratched and raw.
Moments or hours pass.
ONE DEEP SLICE. JUST ONE DEEP SLICE. One Deep Slice. one deep slice.
Slowly, slowly, It disappears, leaving only a footprint in the heavy sand that has settled underneath the gloomy loitering fog of my mind. My memory fights to move. One step, two steps, so slow, tiny stones sucking it down. Why is there skin trapped under my nails?
I’m tired. Too tired to remember. Too tired to think. Too tired to breathe. Rust has eaten through my joints, leaving holes in my bones, an excruciating ache left in the absence. Knowing I can’t hide in the closet forever, I crawl my way up out of the sticky cobwebs the spiders have left behind, drag myself back to my room and fall onto the mattress, praying no one has seen this disaster of me. Pulling the covers up and over my head, I try to disappear. I try to be small. What if It comes back? It can’t. I can’t. Rest would be so easy. It would only take one handful of doctor-prescribed, multicolored candy. With just a couple of sips.
Then, then I could dance on the ocean, letting my toes dip into the cool blue waves of freedom any moment I chose. Then my hair would blow in the salty breeze. Then my head would feel weightless, soaring above cloud and darkness, where sanity dwells in blissful ignorance. Then angels would hold me and sing me lullabies, only there would be no need for sleep. I might even join them in their song.
But I am too tired.
He’s making me go to the basement. Banished. Says he can’t stand the sight or smell of me. I know it’s bad but I’m just too tired. So very tired. Getting undressed. Turning on the water. Getting the temperature just right. Shampoo. Conditioner. Lathering up. Rinsing off. Turning off the taps. Climbing out of the tub. Towelling off. Combing my hair. Underwear. Pants. Shirt. Even just a nightgown. Day after day. Month after month. Year after year. All too much work.
He doesn’t touch me anymore. I know I disgust him. My body, my mind—all of me is repulsive. It wouldn’t matter if I showered. When I reach for him with my fingertips, he shrivels and hurries away. He doesn’t understand. And that I can understand. I am a gross, unlovable raving-mad lunatic in the disguise of a woman. He doesn’t see my curves anymore—only my insanity. I just wish he would hold me sometimes. Obviously, I am not a child, small enough to be rocked to sleep. But I envy the babies.
I worry about my children. My two oldest might be fine and even the babies are looked after but then there’s my little darling. She talks more to her horse than to all of us in this house put together. How must she view me through her little ocean-blue eyes? When I’m able, I stretch out my arms to embrace her but in my saner moments, I see black fear in her eyes. Is it just a reflection of my own? Or is she terrified of her own mother? Her tiny body trembles whenever I am near. Near equals Fear. I need to throw up.
I am a complete failure. A failure as a housewife, as a mother, as a lover. They all cringe and shrink away with my touch. I am poison. Death in a bottle made of glass. Falling
, spilling, shattering on the floor. Contaminating everyone around me.
Is it today? Or is it tomorrow? Or am I still in yesterday? My clock, the only light in the room, glares at me with disapproval. Must. Get. Up. My children need me. Oh! And the baby. I must give him a bath. A bath. Yes. I should take a bath. See? I’m fine. I just needed a little break. I think I’ll vacuum. The floors are dirty. Maybe I’ll sew. Or make a craft. Oh! I want to bake some fudge! It will be delicious! Here I come! I am better now! Better than better! I am great!!
Scrambling from bathroom to living room to kitchen to living room, I hear music playing in my mind and I hum along to We’re here for a good time, not a long time by Trooper. I make a mental list of all that I will do in the next hour and it is glorious. Where is everyone?! Let’s play a game! How about Yahtzee? Yes, let’s play Yahtzee! Oh! There’s my girl! With the baby! I want to hold the baby! Please give me the baby!
As soon as my fingertips touch his tiny warm body, he starts to bawl, curling into my daughter’s arms. As I continue to grab and pull, wails of torment fill the room.
He doesn’t want me?! He doesn’t want me! He doesn’t want me.
The hurricane under my skull begins to slow, leaving clarity in its wake.
My heart crashes.
I get it.
I am a stranger. Both unfamiliar and oddly strange.
My ups and downs make mess and mayhem.
I get it.
I am crazy. Not now at this moment, but when my boogeyman takes over, I am thoroughly crazy.
I feel like a broken roller-coaster, never knowing when or where I will stop or start. I do know this: when I’m at the top it’s for sure that I will soon go racing down to the bottom once again, and It is always there waiting.
The Half That You See Page 10
