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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Mystery
- Subject: Crime
- Published: 04/01/2013
The Boogeyman
Born 1992, M, from Daytona Beach, FL, United StatesAfter I fail yet again at this stupid jewel stacking game on my phone, I notice the time at the top right of screen. It’s 9:37. Fishy. He said he only needed 30 minutes, tops. Reclining in a car seat is nowhere near as comfortable as a La-Z-Boy. I’m getting antsy now. He said this would be an easy first job. When will he be finished in there? “In and out, like a fast food restaurant” is what he told me. I’m not the guy in there, why I am so nervous? Whoa; was that a cop car? I lean up from my seat and look around. There’s nothing in sight. This street is dead tonight– almost eerily so. My chest pounds so hard it feels like I have a mini-Mike Tyson treating my heart like a speed bag. What if he gets caught? What if he has to get rid of that innocent, old lady? It’s not her fault she lives in the nicest house on the block. I bet she had a husband, once. Yeah, I’d wager he was a good guy, too. Like a War veteran who came home and started a car dealership. He positively contributed to society, unlike my “friend”, who coaxed me into this. I’m just as guilty. I’m just as guilty, unless I sit back up, turn the key, and get the Hell out of here. No, I can’t do that. That would make me a flake. I can’t leave him hanging like that. Even if what we’re doing is so messed up. Ugh… I hate this honor amongst thieves B.S. Why am I even here? Is the score really worth it? I don’t know. I mean, I guess it’s better than wearing a stupid visor, flipping burgers in a greasy kitchen. How about an orange coverall with a shovel in hand? It’s 9:40 now. I’ll give him 5 more minutes. If he isn’t out by a quarter-to, I am gone. I don’t care what others will think of me. This was such a bad idea. I hear a knocking.
“Hello Mister,” the little girl outside my car window asks, “What are you doing?”
“Taking a nap, kid.” I say. “What are you doing out here so late at night by yourself? Shouldn’t you be inside right now?”
“Are you the boogeyman?”
“No. Why would you ask such a silly question? If I was, I would be hiding under your bed. Duh. Now run along.”
“But you wouldn’t wait there all day. Surely you would have better stuff to do. You would only need to come here at nighttime. I thought you’d rather wait in here than in my house. You can smoke, and pick your own music to listen to in there. Mommy tells me the boogeyman doesn’t like the music I play. But one time, I thought Daddy was the Boogeyman because he told my mommy that hearing pop music hurt his ears. Soon after, he left us.”
“Oh, man.” I can’t tell if this girl is too dumb, or too smart for her own good.
“Then sometimes, I would see him outside during the day in his car. He’d wait until mom left for her night shift. Then he would come inside, kiss me on the forehead, and would say, “I’m not the bad guy.” And then he would leave. I asked mommy about it, and next thing I know, I haven’t seen him sense. The last couple days, I look out the window and saw this car parked outside for a few hours, and then it would drive away. I wondered if Daddy had been too afraid to come inside. Tonight I looked out, and the car was empty. I look around my house, and he’s not there. Not even under the bed! Then I wondered if he went to the wrong house because I see a light on over there, and I saw a guy wearing a mask, like Spider-Man 3, and he was looking for something. Maybe the mask blocks what he can see. Are you helping daddy? Because I live in this other house over there; Not that one.”
How did I not notice? How did she? I thought he was a professional. I ask her: “You’re home alone?”
“Yes. Are you helping daddy?”
“No, sweetheart. I’m the boogeyman. Now go home, or else I’ll have to spook you!”
“But, then you’ll just wait until I go to sleep, hide under my bed and scare me anyway.”
I scramble for words. I hear a loud noise from inside the house. Too loud for the type of heat I thought he was packing. He must have taken care of the old lady. This girl isn’t safe. God, he better grab the stuff, and get back here right now. I say to the girl, “Get out of here, now.” I look back at the target house, and the front door bursts open. That’s not my partner. Crud! Crud! Crud! It looks like Judi Dench holding Bambi's worst enemy.
The old woman says to me, “Hey you! Yeah, you in the car. You must be the getaway driver. Get your stupid butt out here, and let’s wait for the cops together. Slowly, or else.”
“OK, lady. I don’t want any trouble. I don’t have any weapons. Just let me take the keys out of the ignition, and I’ll walk over, with my hands up.” Not a chance, grandma.
I turn the key, shift the car to drive, and stomp the pedal. As I peel out of there, I hear her fire a couple times. Nothing hit the car. She’s obviously a lot better at close range. She yells. I look in my rear-view to make sure I’m not followed. She’s across the street now… kneeling? Weird.
Forget that guy. If he couldn’t handle a senior citizen, I have no sympathy for that lowlife. I just hope that little girl got away in time.
Wait. Oh, no.
The Boogeyman(Maxwell Zeldovich)
After I fail yet again at this stupid jewel stacking game on my phone, I notice the time at the top right of screen. It’s 9:37. Fishy. He said he only needed 30 minutes, tops. Reclining in a car seat is nowhere near as comfortable as a La-Z-Boy. I’m getting antsy now. He said this would be an easy first job. When will he be finished in there? “In and out, like a fast food restaurant” is what he told me. I’m not the guy in there, why I am so nervous? Whoa; was that a cop car? I lean up from my seat and look around. There’s nothing in sight. This street is dead tonight– almost eerily so. My chest pounds so hard it feels like I have a mini-Mike Tyson treating my heart like a speed bag. What if he gets caught? What if he has to get rid of that innocent, old lady? It’s not her fault she lives in the nicest house on the block. I bet she had a husband, once. Yeah, I’d wager he was a good guy, too. Like a War veteran who came home and started a car dealership. He positively contributed to society, unlike my “friend”, who coaxed me into this. I’m just as guilty. I’m just as guilty, unless I sit back up, turn the key, and get the Hell out of here. No, I can’t do that. That would make me a flake. I can’t leave him hanging like that. Even if what we’re doing is so messed up. Ugh… I hate this honor amongst thieves B.S. Why am I even here? Is the score really worth it? I don’t know. I mean, I guess it’s better than wearing a stupid visor, flipping burgers in a greasy kitchen. How about an orange coverall with a shovel in hand? It’s 9:40 now. I’ll give him 5 more minutes. If he isn’t out by a quarter-to, I am gone. I don’t care what others will think of me. This was such a bad idea. I hear a knocking.
“Hello Mister,” the little girl outside my car window asks, “What are you doing?”
“Taking a nap, kid.” I say. “What are you doing out here so late at night by yourself? Shouldn’t you be inside right now?”
“Are you the boogeyman?”
“No. Why would you ask such a silly question? If I was, I would be hiding under your bed. Duh. Now run along.”
“But you wouldn’t wait there all day. Surely you would have better stuff to do. You would only need to come here at nighttime. I thought you’d rather wait in here than in my house. You can smoke, and pick your own music to listen to in there. Mommy tells me the boogeyman doesn’t like the music I play. But one time, I thought Daddy was the Boogeyman because he told my mommy that hearing pop music hurt his ears. Soon after, he left us.”
“Oh, man.” I can’t tell if this girl is too dumb, or too smart for her own good.
“Then sometimes, I would see him outside during the day in his car. He’d wait until mom left for her night shift. Then he would come inside, kiss me on the forehead, and would say, “I’m not the bad guy.” And then he would leave. I asked mommy about it, and next thing I know, I haven’t seen him sense. The last couple days, I look out the window and saw this car parked outside for a few hours, and then it would drive away. I wondered if Daddy had been too afraid to come inside. Tonight I looked out, and the car was empty. I look around my house, and he’s not there. Not even under the bed! Then I wondered if he went to the wrong house because I see a light on over there, and I saw a guy wearing a mask, like Spider-Man 3, and he was looking for something. Maybe the mask blocks what he can see. Are you helping daddy? Because I live in this other house over there; Not that one.”
How did I not notice? How did she? I thought he was a professional. I ask her: “You’re home alone?”
“Yes. Are you helping daddy?”
“No, sweetheart. I’m the boogeyman. Now go home, or else I’ll have to spook you!”
“But, then you’ll just wait until I go to sleep, hide under my bed and scare me anyway.”
I scramble for words. I hear a loud noise from inside the house. Too loud for the type of heat I thought he was packing. He must have taken care of the old lady. This girl isn’t safe. God, he better grab the stuff, and get back here right now. I say to the girl, “Get out of here, now.” I look back at the target house, and the front door bursts open. That’s not my partner. Crud! Crud! Crud! It looks like Judi Dench holding Bambi's worst enemy.
The old woman says to me, “Hey you! Yeah, you in the car. You must be the getaway driver. Get your stupid butt out here, and let’s wait for the cops together. Slowly, or else.”
“OK, lady. I don’t want any trouble. I don’t have any weapons. Just let me take the keys out of the ignition, and I’ll walk over, with my hands up.” Not a chance, grandma.
I turn the key, shift the car to drive, and stomp the pedal. As I peel out of there, I hear her fire a couple times. Nothing hit the car. She’s obviously a lot better at close range. She yells. I look in my rear-view to make sure I’m not followed. She’s across the street now… kneeling? Weird.
Forget that guy. If he couldn’t handle a senior citizen, I have no sympathy for that lowlife. I just hope that little girl got away in time.
Wait. Oh, no.
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