The Boogeynan

"The monsters under your bed aren't always what you think they are. Sometimes the surface hides more than you’d imagine. Instead of tearing your bleeding flesh apart, they might flash a friendly smile from behind lips hiding razor-sharp teeth—brightening even your gloomiest day."

A wild storm raged outside. The deep rumble of thunder filled the night, and the rain drummed heavily on the windowpane. Branches, whipped by the fierce wind, danced like the shadowy hands of skeletons on the cartoon-painted walls of eight-year-old Jordy's room whenever lightning flashed. After one particularly loud crack of thunder, the little boy peeked out from under his blanket and screamed in terror:

"Ridge, can you hear me? I'm scared!"

No answer came to his cry, but a shadow seemed to stir in the corner. Jordy snapped his gaze in that direction, and the blood froze in his veins. A tall, black, faceless figure stood beside the small table cluttered with Lego buildings. It had no eyes, yet the boy felt its piercing gaze fixed on him. When the next flash of lightning lit up the room, he screamed at the top of his lungs—the creature grinned at him with a jaw full of razor-sharp teeth.

"Ridge! It’s here again!" he shouted, and tears streamed down his cheeks as the shadow slowly started moving toward him. But his brother still didn’t come to his rescue. Throwing off his blanket, Jordy gathered all his courage and dashed toward the door. Grabbing the handle, veins bulging in his neck, he tried to yell over the thunder:

"RIDGE! THE BOOGEYMAN'S HERE! SAVE ME!"

Ridge heard none of this. Metal music pounded in his ears through his headphones as he lay shirtless in bed, watching a concert recording. The eighteen-year-old had other plans for the night—he’d even chilled the beer—but the storm had ruined everything.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, wishing the apocalyptic weather to the pits of hell. The guys were supposed to meet at the park—if the sky hadn’t opened up.

Just then, a thin voice called out from behind his door:

"Ridge?"

A second later, the handle turned, and terrified Jordy stumbled into the room.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not this again.

"What do you want now, you little turd?" Ridge snapped, eyeing his sobbing brother, who could barely speak through his tears.

"The Boogeyman is back. In my room. He tried to eat me."

Ridge rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. His face, pierced in multiple places, showed exactly how much patience he had for this bullshit.

"How many times do I have to tell you that the Boogeyman isn't real? And if something doesn't exist, it can't eat you," he said, for what felt like the millionth time. He was seriously getting tired of Jordy's vivid, horror-filled imagination. "Those kinds of monsters were made up by helpless, desperate parents to scare their bratty kids into behaving."

But Ridge’s explanation didn’t calm Jordy down.

"I saw it! It was there!" the boy insisted. "Its teeth were sharp like a dinosaur’s. It could totally bite through my neck!" he added with dramatic flair. "When I saw it looking at me, it started moving toward me. I screamed for you, but you didn’t come," he finished with a reproach that left Ridge entirely unfazed.

"And what did this thing look like, exactly?" Ridge asked, sitting up and pretending to be interested.

"Like a shadow," Jordy replied, still lingering in the doorway.

"So… you saw a shadow. In a dark room." Ridge nodded as if drawing a serious conclusion. "Fascinating," he clapped.

"Yes, but I know it wasn’t just a shadow," Jordy defended himself. "It was him!" he whispered the last words, afraid the creature still prowled the apartment.

"You’ve got way too much imagination, shrimp," Ridge shook his head. "Listen up!" he raised a finger. "Let me say it one more time: the Boogeyman does not exist. Got it? And while we’re at it, let me tell you—there are no fairies, demons, vampires, or zombies. And Santa Claus? Total bullshit."

Jordy knew that most magical creatures were make-believe. But he couldn’t ignore the terror he had experienced firsthand.

"But I saw it! You have to believe me!" he stomped his foot, frustrated that Ridge was brushing it off.

"Maybe stop watching all those dumb cartoons. They’re melting what little brain you have left," Ridge said, trying to end the conversation and get back to his concert.

"This has nothing to do with cartoons. Please, Ridge..." Jordy sniffled, eyes wet, and took a hesitant step toward his brother.

"So what do you want me to do now?" Ridge asked, arms wide.

"Perform an exorcism and ritually cleanse the apartment?"

"Would you?" Jordy’s eyes lit up with hope, thinking Ridge was serious.

"Fuck no," came the flat, soul-crushing reply, accompanied by a yawn.

"Then can I sleep with you tonight? I’m scared to go back to my room. And I… I kinda peed a little," Jordy added in a small voice, eyes glued to the dirty floor.

"Of course! Piss in my bed too!" Ridge barked, getting up, ready to escort his brother back to his room.

"Please!" Jordy looked up at him with sad puppy eyes—and Ridge’s heart softened.

"Fine," he sighed, "but this is the last time."

"Promise," Jordy said with relief, and gave Ridge a shy hug.

"Get under the blanket. I’ll be right back—I gotta drain the lizard."

Fear gripped the boy again. Clinging to his brother’s shorts, he begged:

"Don’t leave me alone in the dark!"

"You’re such a damn wimp. Quit whining!" Ridge barked. "The second an evil spirit gets a whiff of my dirty laundry, it’ll run screaming. Works on Mom too, so don’t sweat it!"

Believing in the protective power of Ridge’s stinky socks, Jordy let go and scurried under the thick blanket. As Ridge walked off into the dark hallway, the little boy called after him:

"Okay… but hurry!"

"One minute," Ridge replied, disappearing into the night. Jordy pulled the blanket over his head—and almost instantly drifted to sleep. This round, he’d won against the Boogeyman.

By morning, not a trace of the storm remained. Warm sunlight gently caressed Ridge’s bare skin as he sleepily reached for his blanket to pull it over his head—but instead of fabric, his hand landed on a small, hard lump that didn’t budge.

The little shit even stole the blanket… he grumbled, burying his face deeper into the pillow.

A soft click came from the door, followed by cautious steps approaching the bed. A light cough signaled that Ridge should probably get up.

"What do you want?" the boy mumbled.

"Excuse me for caring how my sons are doing after a long shift," his mother hissed—just enough anger to make Ridge feel it, but quiet enough not to wake Jordy.

"You could’ve done that by letting me sleep," he snapped, and his mother’s patience began to wear thin. Not that it took much with a son like Ridge.

"Sure. So you can be late to school again? Not happening!"

Ridge didn’t move. He didn’t care. If he was late, he was late. School would go on without him.

"Get the hell out," he grumbled. But his mother was as stubborn as he was—he got it from her.

"I’m not leaving while you’re still in bed."

"And I’m not getting up while you’re still here."

At the sound of their bickering, Jordy's tiny body stirred beneath the blanket. Their mom addressed him sweetly, as if her blood pressure hadn’t just spiked thanks to Ridge.

"Jordy, honey, go get dressed in your room. I’ll make some breakfast in a minute. I just need to have a quick word with your lazy brother."

Jordy didn’t need to be told twice. He was the complete opposite of Ridge. He liked making their mom proud. He obediently got out of bed and ran out—but not before carefully peeking both ways down the hall to make sure the coast was clear.

"Won’t you just leave me alone?" Ridge groaned as their mom refused to vacate his kingdom.

"No. And look at me when I’m talking to you!"

"Not a great idea," Ridge said, turning his head slightly to glance at her with one eye—his body still face-down. "I’ve got morning wood." But that didn’t faze his mom; she just rolled her eyes and replied:

"Please. I changed your diapers for years. And I work in the ER—there’s nothing I haven’t seen."

Ridge’s irritation shot sky-high. He had neither the will nor the filter to censor himself anymore. Like a cold-blooded executioner, he spat:

"I don’t give a shit. Get the fuck out of my room. Now."

"Ridge Yadiel Alvarez!" her voice cracked like a whip. "Watch your mouth, young man! If your father was here—"

"But he’s not! Because he’s a dick who bailed ten years ago!" Ridge snapped. "And I don’t give a damn if he’s dead."

His mom stood at the edge of despair and fury. She sighed—or maybe it was more of a snort. She realized she needed another tactic. Maybe Ridge still had a sliver of emotion she could appeal to.

"I don’t know where I went wrong raising you, but this has to stop. I won’t let your reckless, shameful behavior put your little brother at risk. You’re setting a horrible example—skipping school, drinking, staying out all night. This is your last year before college, and your grades are awful. You’re making it very hard for me. You know I take extra shifts because of you two. I can’t afford a babysitter—they charge a fortune. I have no one else to rely on but you, and all you do is let me down."

But Ridge wasn’t stupid. He saw through the guilt trip and stood firm against the emotional ambush.

"Jordy’s old enough to be alone now and then. Summer’s coming. It’s gonna be party after party. I’m not gonna give up my social life for him."

"School’s not over yet," his mom warned. "So get your act together—unless you want to be grounded."

Ridge snorted.

"You can’t ground me. I’m eighteen. An adult. I do what I want," he said, though he knew full well that adulthood didn’t magically come with independence. He still relied on the comforts and security of the family home.

"Then good luck finding a job and an apartment, adult!" she snapped, stomping her foot. As she turned to leave, she added, "And open a damn window before you go—your room smells like ass!"

Ridge, in response, hurled his pillow after her. It hit the hard wooden door with a dull thud just as it was closing, then tore down a poster depicting the anarchy symbol and fell to the grimy floor.

“What now?” Ridge grimaced as he found himself face-to-face with his mother’s angry glare in the kitchen.

“Don’t you have something to say?” Isabella demanded, arms crossed.

“Well, sorry about earlier,” Ridge shrugged. “You know I’m grumpy in the mornings. Don’t take it personally.”

His mother shook her head with a deep sigh.

“Apology accepted, but next time you won’t get off so easily.” Ridge nodded as if he agreed, but they both knew who was really in charge. No matter how much his mother flailed against it, there was nothing she could do about that.

“Anyway, I’m sorry too, for barging into your room!” she finally apologized. “I was worried when I couldn’t find Jordy in his place. Another weird, comatose patient was brought in last night. That’s the third this week. All of them young, healthy women. The doctors have no idea what caused their condition. Their vitals are perfectly fine, but they just can’t be woken up. It’s pretty frustrating...” She drifted into her thoughts for a few seconds while Ridge poured himself some coffee.

“By the way, how many days have you been wearing that shirt?” she demanded. She didn’t even comment on the coffee anymore. “No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

As if that’s the reason... Ridge rolled his eyes. Everyone but his mother had figured out that girls didn’t really interest him, no matter how popular he was with them. After a few failed attempts, he had to admit to himself that the opposite sex simply didn’t do anything for him. On the other hand, a chiseled jawline, broad shoulders, and defined abs — now that stirred something.

“I hope you at least changed your boxers,” Isabella added, full of doubt.

“Mom, I’m not a caveman,” Ridge explained. “I just like this shirt. It still smells almost nice. Totally wearable.”

“Or maybe you just didn’t do your laundry like I asked two days ago.”

Judging by her son’s sly grin, she’d hit the nail on the head.

“Could be.”

She looked up at the ceiling in an exasperated prayer.

“What am I going to do with you?”

“Well, for starters, you could give me a bit of money,” Ridge said, with blatant shamelessness.

“What happened to the money I gave you yesterday?” she demanded.

“I spent it on beer,” the boy answered with noble simplicity. “But I need more for tonight’s party. The bike won’t fuel itself, and I’m not walking all the way out to the woods. Mak’s cabin is fucking far.”

“I’m not sure I even want to let you go. Jordy’s going to need you.”

“You’re hilarious today, Mom,” Ridge said, patting her shoulder as he headed for the door. “Love you! Bye!” he called back, and he was already gone.

“Hey, wait for your brother! Ridge!” she shouted after him, but by the time she reached the hallway, it was already echoing with emptiness. She at least closed the door behind her careless son.

“Left without Jordy again. Unbelievable…” she muttered. As she turned back toward the apartment, rubbing her temple, she noticed a flyer on the doormat.

“Hm? What’s this?”

As she bent down to pick up the plain white sheet of paper, she thought she caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye at the stairwell. Probably one of old Martha’s runaway cats. They often wandered around and made a mess in the shared spaces.

Still, a sense of unease swept over Isabella, driving her back into the safety of her apartment. Only after the door lock clicked shut did she turn the flyer over and read the lines:

“Do you often work at night and struggle to find reliable and affordable babysitters?

We have the solution at Dusk to Dawn Nanny Service!

Call 6969-8886942 anytime, 24/7, and entrust your child’s peaceful sleep to our trained professionals!”

“Never heard of them before, but they might just come in handy.”

And she was already dialing the number, as if her fingers were being guided by an invisible hand across the phone screen. A strange, cold shiver ran down her spine as the line began to hum.