In Which The Boogerman Finds Fanfiction
One evening, while scrolling through the pages upon pages of interweb, Pitch Black, A.K.A the Boogeyman, stumbled upon something rather odd.
Since his defeat at the hands of the Guardians, commonly known as the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Sandman, Santa Claus and Jack Frost, he had been nearly powerless and forced to retreat to his secluded deep cavern home. That was about two to two and a half months ago. During that time, all Pitch Black had the energy to do was move his cordless mouse.
He hated not being able to go out and perform his usual duties. He missed the sweet sound of screaming and the pale-wide-eyed looks that children gave him. Pitch hated being cooped up. He really hated it. He was meant to be a free spirit of the night. A shadow, coming and going as he pleased with no one to stop him! However, though he relished in his freedom the price for it, being a shadow of his former self, was too high and so after about a month of waiting while he built up enough strength and energy, he headed to the mouth of his cave, intent on getting his fill of Nightmares of which he'd been starved during his recuperation.
Pitch stood at the mouth of his caves, smiling in his usual evil way. “Now, my Guardians, let's see how you like being beaten!” He yelled to the empty air, laughing maniacally as he rode Onyx through the twisting, winding tunnels and upwards towards the surface. There was light ahead. He could feel the wind, he could almost taste the nightmares of children on his tongue. “FREEDOM AT LAST!”
His victory was short-lived however, because a second later he found himself being thrown back into his cave and landing on his rear by a very strong magical barrier, no doubt put there by the Guardians to prevent him from leaving his caves for an extremely long time.
Once he had stood up and dusted himself off he had raged and ranted for about three minutes, then slunk back to his cave to begin plotting their downfall. Again.
Which brings us to where he currently is, sitting on his couch, looking at the list of especially evil ways to deal with each individual Guardian which he kept on his laptop.
His day hadn’t started in the best of ways, what with waking up yet again in his dark caverns to no one but his Nightmares who had taken to skulking outside his bedroom door, in the event that he had a nightmare and they might get the chance to feed as they hadn’t been able to for months.
Pitch was feeling a little self-piteous today, so to make himself feel better he opened the file with the list and scrolled through it, reading it aloud to himself.
“North: starve him. Toothiana: pull out all her teeth and use them as a necklace. Sanderson—” Pitch paused when he read off the Sandman's name. He'd never been able to come up with anything quite evil enough for the little man in gold. Pitch deleted Sandy's name and continued. “Bunnymund: take every single one of his eggs, fry them, and make him eat them.” Oho, he was particularly fond of that one. Then he glanced down at the last name on the list and grimaced. “Jack Frost,” he read scathingly. He'd come up with dozens of punishments for him. From taking him to Death Valley and leaving him there to putting him on a shuttle to the sun, but nothing seemed painful enough to compensate for all the pain the Frost boy had caused him.
Pitch saved his evil deeds list and exited. He was sure he would think of something eventually. He had many long years of sulking in the caves ahead of him in which to think, so time wouldn’t be an issue. He almost turned off his computer to try and get some rest, but then he noticed the little internet icon in the corner of the screen.
“Hm.” He muttered to himself as he clicked on it. “Who knew you could get service this far below.”
(Yes, the Boogeyman has internet. Deal with it)
After checking his Gmail account, (yes, even magical super-villains have Gmail accounts,) Pitch decided to search himself. He always got a kick out of seeing what the world thought of the Boogeyman, even in the times when there wasn’t such a thing as the internet, but now that there was he used it to his full advantage. It was the only way he could maintain the meager amount of belief he had attained. Occasionally he would even comment on these posts and make some of his own, just to keep himself alive.
He hit Google Chrome for a search engine— it was much faster that Internet Explorer, and typed in Boogeyman. A Wikipedia page popped up. He clicked it, wondering what his adoring fans had to say about him this week.
It was mostly blether about the mythology of the Boogeyman. How the name had originated, how there were many different types of Boogeymen all over the world, etc. Stuff he had known for ages. Nothing new. Pitch was about to exit out again and power down his computer when he spotted something at the bottom of his- the -page.
References, it said. Below that was a short list of inconsistent babbling, separated by numbers that he didn’t understand in the least. Something about a Dilber Bogey Man, or whatever. He continued to scroll down, casually skimming the page and scanning for something of interest which he didn’t find until he reached the bottom of the page and saw his name.
3. Boogeyman: Pitch Black.
With a look of pure incredulity on his face, Pitch clicked the link and soon found himself scrolling through something called a Rise of the Guardians Wiki.
“What in the name of darkness is this?” He wondered aloud as the page slid smoothly down, looking at pictures and massive quantities of text. He had seen a Wikipedia page before- of course, who hadn’t? -but nothing like this! This was like a virtual biography on...something.
Pitch squinted at the words highlighted in blue. There were eight sections labeled characters, locations, history, book characters, relics, species, merchandise and music. The one labeled characters had his face in the little bubble floating beneath it, so he clicked on it. It brought him to a list of names, all of which were highlighted in blue. Nicholas St. North, Toothiana, E. Aster Bunnymund-
Pitch recoiled. The names of the Guardians. “What’s this, another pathetic attempt by North to boost belief?” He sneered, getting ready to leave the page simply for the fact that he didn’t see anything about him. He was vain that way.
As he moved his mouse up towards the exit icon, his eyes drifted to the bottom of the page out of pure boredom, trying to find something to interest him and just as he was about to bring his finger down and click suddenly, through the midst of meandering text two words caught his eyes. They were his name, highlighted in black and were obviously a link. Delighted, he clicked on it and it brought him to a page labeled Pitch Black with a bunch of text and a picture sitting next to it.
The text seemed to be labeled and divided into sections, but Pitch had eyes only for the picture.
“What in darkness?!” He murmured, staring in horrid fascination at what was clearly a drawing, but it was an incredibly life-like drawing of himself, standing against a white backdrop with two Nightmares flanking him and a familiar scowl set into his features. Where had this come from? It was like a photograph someone had taken, though he certainly had not posed for such a thing.
His curiosity peaked, Pitch decided to look up more on this. Tearing his eyes away from the picture he scrolled down, reading the text resting beside the picture for clues as to what this might mean. Was this a new story some hack adult had invented? He had seen those before, when adults had tried to change the story of the Boogeyman to suit their needs. Or was this something else entirely?
He soon found himself regretting his decision as he read aloud from the first section.
“'Pitch Black, the Nightmare King,” he read, “Is the Rise of the Guardians' re-imagining of the Boogeyman, the mythic creature that haunts the closets and dark corners of childhood nightmares and the main antagonist. He is voiced by-'” Pitch stopped reading aloud and stared at the screen, a little thrown off. “Voiced by?” He repeated incredulously, re-reading the name. “I don't know who this Jude Law person is, but I've certainly never met him.”
Thinking that it must’ve been a typo by the person who had written this wiki, he ignored it and continued to read aloud. “'Physical appearances: Pitch is tall, lithe, and dark in appearance.'” He stopped and his mouth split into a self-satisfied smile. “Well, it seems whoever wrote this actually knows what they're doing in some areas.” He admitted, a little pompously.
The wiki continued to describe him in pin-point accurate details, from his golden yellow eyes resembling an eclipse to his ashen pale-gray skin and glossy black hair that was styled to come out as slick spikes from the back of his head. Another thing he was proud of and when he read it Pitch stopped and patted his hair in a way that would would not expect from the terrifying Boogeyman. After all, he'd used countless hair gels to get it like this, and it was nice to hear a little recognition.
“'He wears a long black robe, obscuring his body like a shadow and is about a foot taller than Jack.'” He froze, wondering angrily what the Frost boy's name was doing on his Wikipedia page. Did the brat hate him so much that he had to invade his tiny slice of stardom?! “It wouldn’t surprise me, vindictive little–” Pitch grumbled, then turned back to his Wiki Page. The personality part was very interesting, so he decided to read that.
Personality: Pitch is everything a child fears, and he thrives on the fear of children, taking a cruel delight in turning their pleasant dreams into nightmares. But what Pitch hates is when children overcome their fears and don't believe in him, particularly when parents tell their kids that the Boogeyman is just a bad dream.
Pitch stopped just long enough to clench his fasts. “Oh yes,” He said cracking his knuckles. “I really really hate that. 'As such, he is hatefully jealous of the Guardians, who are believed in and beloved by children. Eventually, his hate and jealousy would convince him to undertake a conspiring vendetta against the Guardians and destroy the children's beliefs in them, and he could usher in another Dark Age.'”
Pitch licked his lips. “Oh what a lovely thought.”
“'Pitch however does have a sad side, as he has suffered loneliness and being shunned just for being what he is.'”
Pitch froze, staring at the Wiki page in disbelief. “What?!” He screeched, re-reading the paragraph. “Sad side?! I do not have a sad side! I am Pitch Black, ruler of Nightmares and fear! I am the king of cruelty and the bringer of despair and misery!” Though, somewhere in his mind, he felt that the page was telling the truth.
He decided to skip right over the powers and abilities- he knew them all anyway, and went right on to quotes, which confused him even more.
“'What an adorable dream. What's more powerful? It's fear.' 'I'd say "pleasant dreams"... but there aren't any left!'” Those sounded like him, but the ones about the unicorn and longing for a family were just plain rubbish.
Pitch went down farther and found the Trivia section. Trivia was just a bunch of miscellaneous information. He laughed at a few of them, but mostly he sneered at them.
“'Nightmares come from the fears that live in every heart.' Completely true.” He nodded his approval of the writer's taste. Then he looked farther down and rolled his eyes. “Again with this voiced nonsense! I don't know what this stupid human is talking about, but I've never met this Jude Law person.”
Pitch decided, right then and there to find out once and for all what this voiced business was all about. He also wanted to find out why they were calling it Rise of the Guardians Wiki, instead of Pitch Black Wiki. So he pulled up another tab, then clicked the search engine and typed in, Rise of the Guardians. A second later, he was staring in disbelief at the screen.
“They've made a movie for those cretins?!” He bellowed, causing the entire cavern to quake. Pitch flung himself across his laptop to protect it from falling rocks, shutting the lid and bracing himself for impact, but luckily his yell wasn’t strong enough and nothing more than his pride got damaged. When he had gotten back on and pulled up the Rise of the Guardians page, he nearly blew his top.
“They've made a movie for those cretins?!” He seethed, though his voice was much quieter for fear of a rock falling and smashing his beloved computer.
Furious, he clicked the link to a preview of the movie and nearly vomited. It was...horrible? Horrendous? No, there weren’t words to describe how utterly disgusting this movie was, and he hadn’t even seen the whole thing yet!
It started with a picture of something called Dreamworks, which was presumably the company that made the movie, then Jack Frost's voice sounded out of the speakers, narrating.
“I've been around for a long time. My name. . . is Jack Frost.”
“I know your name, you impudent brat!” Pitch howled at the screen, enraged by just hearing the sound of his voice.
“I love being on my own.”
“Yes, so did the rest of the world!” Pitch sneered.
The screen showed Jack running with his staff across a lake, then it cut to him flying, then to him doing a somersault off the side of a truck, yelling, “SNOWDAY!”
Pitch groaned, rubbing his face into his hands. Was this movie going to be all about Frost?
“No rules, no responsibility. . . It's as good as it sounds.” It cut to a child's tongue being frozen to a stream or fountain water and Pitch laughed.
“Ha! Serves you right.” Then he felt sick with himself. He did not find the Frost boy's antics funny, unless they messed with the season or holiday of another spirit, like the Blizzard of '68. Now that was truly inspired!
The screen cut to a scene of Jack, standing in a dark alleyway with his staff at the ready. He glanced around, seemingly anxious about something.
“Maybe this is where I come in. . .” Pitch muttered hopefully. He knew he was in the movie somewhere.
Pitch let out a growl not unlike that of a pitbull. Not him then. Bunnymund, and what kind of a voice was that? Kooky English mixed with New Zealand?
“Been a long time. Blizzard of '68, I believe.” Bunnymund came out of the shadows and Pitch groaned again.
“Could they have exaggerated him any more?” He griped, looking at the six-foot tall rabbit. His fur was like a carpet covering his body and those eyes were abominably bright.
“Easter Sunday, wasn't it?”
Frost leaned against his staff, fixing the rabbit with a smile and those innocent ice-blue eyes. “You're not still mad about that, are you?”
The rabbit very much looked like it was. “Yes, but this is about something else.” The rabbit leaned against the wall of the alley and studied his boomerangs. “Fellas.” He said. Obviously some kind of pre-arranged signal because something grabbed Jack by the collar and stuffed him into a sack, then threw him through a magic portal.
“Please be to the underworld, please be to the underworld,” Pitch muttered, closing his eyes. When he heard the fanfare he groaned again. “Not the underworld then.”
“There he is! Jack Frost!” It was North, his sickeningly jolly Russian accent booming from Pitch’s speakers.
“Are all these buggers in this movie?” Pitch asked, staring in disbelief at the screen. Apparently so. All the Guardians were gathered together around Jack at the Pole, looking at him with wide grins. Except the rabbit. He looked bored.
“Oh, yeah,” Jack was complaining. “I love being thrown into a sack and tossed through a magic portal!”
“Oh, good. That was my idea.” Pitch groaned. Had no one taught North the concept of sarcasm? Apparently not.
The rest of the commercial- excuse me, trailer, played out and the more they showed of Jack and the rest of the Guardians, the more he wanted to vomit. He nearly shut down the computer again, but again, he saw something that changed his mind.
“Now we face a threat bigger than ever before.” That was North, and Pitch held his breath, waiting for the rendition of himself to be shown. He wasn't disappointed.
“What an adorable dream.” Pitch remembered this line from the quotes section and spoke the words along with the character. “'What's more powerful? It's fear.'”
Pitch froze the screen when it showed his face and studied the drawing. “Not too bad. . .” He murmured. Unlike the drawing in his wiki, this picture was enlarged and in so much more detail that he could see the individual strands of his hair which, once he noticed it, made him glare at the screen in outrage. “My hair is not that spiky!” He groaned, readying himself for a few disappointments. After all, they'd never met the real Nightmare King. Then he pressed play and a new flash of scenes greeted him.
“We need your help.” North again, probably pleading with the frost brat for assistance.
“Boooring,” Pitch said flatly and skipped to the next time he was mentioned.
“You cannot kill fear, Jack.”
Pitch frowned at the rendition of himself. He looked at the face, the eyes, the nose, (which was far too large,) and then he noticed something that made him scream at the screen in anger.
“They didn't give me any eyebrows!” He clicked full screen and staring at the picture. “They didn't give me any eyebrows?” He repeated, more out of astonishment than anger with his own eyebrows raised. How could someone make such a stupid mistake?!
Well, then again, they were very light eyebrows.
Figuring that, in spite of their major mistake and insulting enlargement of his nose, the movie couldn’t be all bad, Pitch decided to click play again. Maybe it would give him some clues as to the Guardian’s weaknesses.
He watched the trailer fly by. He had to admit, it looked promising. When the trailer was through, Pitch searched the web for any other mention of Rise of the Guardians. He found the web site, which he promptly ignored because it looked far too childish to be of any use to him, he found the Wiki again, which he also ignored, then he found something that made him frown with confusion.
“What in the world is a Fanfiction?”
He clicked on the web site and scrolled down, reading carefully.
Apparently, a Fanfiction was a story written by someone that doesn't own the original story, but uses characters from that story, book, movie or T.V show. Mostly it seemed like kid stuff, but there were some interesting ones, if you looked hard enough.
Pitch searched until he found a section for Rise of the Guardians, in the Movie division under R, and clicked. He scrolled down and read each story summary with morbid fascination, getting redder and redder in the face.
“Are all these about Jack Frost?!” He raged, scrolling through them again. Apparently so. He clicked the next page and finally, to his satisfaction, he found one that featured him in it.
“Listen to your Heart. . .” He murmured, reading the title aloud. Sounded creepy.
“The Guardians thought he was over. They thought he would never find his center, whatever that meant. But when Nalanie comes into his life and has an amount of nightmares due to his interest in her, were they wrong? Sorry for the lame summary, but I swear the story is better...hopefully. Pitch x OC- Wait a minute!” Pitch said, swiftly clicking on the title and beginning to read.
The beginning wasn't so bad, but the farther he read, the higher his eyebrows rose until finally, he realized what this. . .Fantesydreamer244 was doing! She/he was pairing him with a human girl!
He read on, stopping at certain intervals to marvel at the detail this writer had put into her/his story, but mostly he stopped to fake-gag. The idea of him, the Nightmare King, falling for a human! But, Pitch just couldn't bring himself to exit before reading the next chapter. Maybe he was getting addicted to this stuff. Nevertheless, he steeled himself and read on.
He hadn't read very far when strange thoughts began to crop up in his mind, when he read a particular sentence or passage. The scenes that he was reading were, to him, slightly repulsive, but they were extremely well-written.
Pitch stopped once more, irritated. “Well written?” He scoffed. Then, something inside him made him pause and his eyes slowly drifted to the center of the page. These children, the ones who were writing the fanfictions, (if they were children,) were at least acknowledging his existence. True, they were mostly idolizing Jack Frost, but he found that, on some level, he didn't mind it.
Pitch stared at the page and thought to himself, this child, the one who wrote this, she's just trying to use her imagination. She wants the characters of the movie to be different than how they were written. But mostly me. She took it into her own hands to make me a story, albeit a very dramatic love story, but a story nonetheless. Pitch glanced longingly at the tunnel that led up to the surface. And... maybe the love part isn't so bad. It's just a way for her to feel like she's made a difference by helping someone which that stupid movie shows is alone and lonely and bitter.
Pitch sighed and, for the first time in his life, admitted something that he'd gone to painstakingly hard lengths to hide from himself and every one of his enemies.
“I wish I was a Guardian.”
There. It was out. He'd finally said it, and he'd meant every syllable.
Pitch sighed for an unknown reason and turned back to his laptop, beginning to read again.
He still skipped over the love scenes, but he did a quick glance-over as he did so each time. He felt that he owed it to the author to read as much of it as he could. Eventually, Pitch began to get slightly nervous when he glanced over the love scenes. They were incredibly detailed, and worse, they were getting funny!
I understand that the writer wants me to have a good time, but does she have to write it so lividly? He thought as he read through another scene with him and the girl. This one featured her chasing him around the lair with a hair brush.
Pith instinctively reached up and patted his hair. No one messes with the hair, he thought, and then groaned. Great! Now I'm starting to sound like the character! He sighed, dropped his hand and his gaze back to the story.
Eventually, no matter how hard he fought it, the scenes got too much for him to handle and he exited out in a panic. Then he could've kicked himself.
“This is ridiculous. Will I, the Nightmare King, be beaten by a mere story?!”
Yes I will, He thought, staring at his desktop picture. It was his most favorite picture of the Boogeyman, and yet it was also the most simple. Just a hooded figure, resting under a bed. All that was visible was a scarred and mottled face slightly reminiscent of the monster in Jeepers Creepers.
Pitch gritted his teeth and opened a window to again, but before he could click on Listen to your Heart, something else caught his eye.
Thinking that it would be better to wait and finish Listen to your Heart when he was feeling more up to it, he clicked on the title. It did feature the Frost boy, but it had him in it too, which was the only reason he was reading it.
“Tortured.” He liked the sound of that. “When the Guardians get captured by Pitch Black, Jack must pass five tests to set himself and the Guardians free. It sounds simple enough. But when Pitch gives him the tests, will he be able to pass them? Or will he fail? Rated T just in case. T?” Pitch said, wondering what T had to do with it. The story looked wonderful, so he quickly clicked on it and read through the first chapter. It was magnificent. The story was very well-written, and the characters weren’t too off.
Pitch even decided to review the story, just because he liked it so much. Of course he used a guest username, and his review went like this:
Dear starskulls, your love of violence truly is delicious. However you lack finesse when you think up these tests. Give Jack something a little more difficult than regular pain. What is pain to an immortal? I suggest making him fly straight at the sun, or telling him he has to stay in Death Valley for three days. Something like that. Besides, if he still lives through one of the tests, then obviously you are doing something wrong.
Pitch posted his review with glee and went back a page, looking for Listen to your Heart. He found it in under a minute and in two minutes, he was back to the place where he'd left off.
Within five minutes, he was back to rocking on the edge of his seat and muttering to himself. It was very hard to read when all those, details kept popping up.
Eventually, after he calmed down again and convinced himself that he wasn't scarred for eternal life, Pitch turned back to his computer and found that he was shaking, but not in rage. No, definitely not rage. Things were running through his mind. Mostly, Oh darkness, please darkness no! Darkness was Pitch's version of saying, "Oh god," and things like that, for obvious reasons. Pitch shot the screen where he'd left off a quick glance, then he took a deep breath and spoke to himself.
“That was. . . interesting.” He said, glancing at the computer again. “I think I'll just wait to read the rest.” He decided, shakily moving his mouse to click on something else. “Anything else!”
Pitch feverishly clicked and scrolled through the many many fanfics about him and the rest of the characters from the movie. Some of them were entirely repulsive. He could tell from their summaries, and it took him quite a long time to find something more appealing to his own taste.
"Absolutely nothing lovie-dovie,” He said firmly, coining a phrase he had found on one of the reviews for Listen to your Heart.
He searched and searched until he finally found something good. Or, at least, he thought it sounded good. Something else to read that wasn't all lovie-dovie and mushy.
Finally, he found one.
It was titled Cursed Luck, and it looked slightly odd, but, hey, if it was about him odd was just fine. He decided to skip the summary and clicked the title. The page loaded and he began to read.
It was official: luck was out to get me.
In my fifteen years of being, I could give you many examples, like the time the railing at the zoo gave away and I landed in the lion's den, or the time I somehow managed to reactivate a WWII bomb at the museum, or even the time a stray dog bit my leg and shattered the bone in four different places.
As you can see, I am not the luckiest person in the world. And the jam I'm in proves it.
It all started when the two kids I babysit, Jamie and Sophie, who are also close friends of mine, said I should go outside more instead of "wasting away" in my room. Looking back on it, I don't know why I took this to heart, but I did, and it leads me my current dilemma.
I took a walk in the woods, being mindful to watch where I stepped and where I put my hands; I wouldn't be surprised if the first tree I touched was covered in poison ivy. After a few minutes of walking, I came across a clearing in the woods, which wouldn't have been that unusual, if it wasn't for the old, broken, wooden bedframe smack-dab in the middle.
Now, being the curious teen that I am, I went to investigate this strange sight. Looking in every direction for any sign of freak bear attacks or something, I ventured to the bedframe.
From what I could see, the wooden structure was very old, with splinters jutting out of the sides, but that's not what caught my attention. What I noticed was the dark, ominous hole directly underneath the broken boards that would usually hold the mattress. My curiosity got the best of me as I leaned over to get a better look.
Worst. Mistake. Ever.
As Pitch read, his anger faded into a frown of lurid fascination. The writer was obviously a maniacal genius, but they also seemed to know him better than the others.
The story continued in like fashion and Pitch continued to be engrossed in the plot. It was written in first person, so as he read it he felt like he was in the girl’s place.
I run over to the person on the floor and flip him over. The first thing that I notice is his strange light grey skin. Then there's his dark grey robe-dress thingy, not to mention his black hair, which looks like a strong gust of winter wind blew it back and froze it in place… or maybe Jack Frost threw a snowball at him.
Either way, what I want to know is: how did he land so gracefully, and not in a mess of tangled limbs, like I did? It's not fair, I tell you!
Although, this man can't be too lucky. I mean, he is in this cave with me.
Unthreading my arms from my jacket and backpack, I fold my jacket to make a pillow for the stranger. I shiver a bit, my bare arms exposed to the cold.
Carefully lifting the man's head– so that I don't bother any injuries he might have –I slide the makeshift pillow under him and slowly lie his head back down on it. I have a bad feeling about this guy, like he could give me nightmares for the rest of my life… but I'll just have to deal with that. I don't want to be stuck here alone– I don't really want to be stuck here at all –and if he dies, if he leaves me here BY MYSELF, I think I'm going to go insane.
Waiting for this guy to wake up is like watching a pot of water that should be boiling– nothing happens. I've cartwheeled, sang Numa Numa, poked the wacko-wearing-dress-man… for goodness sake, I even took a Sharpie to his face and gave him a French moustache, but he still won't wake up.
I'm starting to really dislike this guy. What does it take to wake him up, an air horn? Wait… that might just work!
Rooting through my backpack for the desired object, I find magic markers; silver, gold, and black duct tape; meds for my ADD; enough food and water to last for a month; an iPod; and some blankets– but no air horn. Figures. Why would I have an air horn?! I was right. I really am losing it.
Great– now what?
I glare at Mr. Sleeps-a-Lot and proceed to nudge him with my foot. "Hey! If you're alive, wake up already!"
Pitch stared at the screen dubiously. “A mustache? The writer of this story is obviously a lunatic.” Pitch paused and a thin smile began to creep across his face. “I like her.”
He read more and more, muttering to himself every few scrolls, “This is strange. Just plain strange.”
From what I've gathered, this guy got beat up by Sandman, Jack Frost, and the Easter bunny. I do believe in those legends, even if I'm supposed to be too old – but seriously, this guy got beat up by the Easter bunny? If so, that's kind of sad.
I laugh, loudly, which prompts Mr. Sleeps-a-Lot to finally notice me. His eyes narrow with anger, and suddenly he is walking– wait, that's not it. Is he… gliding? How is he GLIDING? A shadow falls over me as I realize I've been distracted again. I look up, and Mr. Sleeps-a-Lot –let's revise his name to Mr. About-to-Beat-My-Brains-Out –is towering over me.
"Who," he whispers, "are you?"
I shiver, but I force myself to glare at him. Scary voice or not, it's kind of hard to take him seriously with the moustache that I drew on his face. I smile my I'm-crazy-so-fear-me smile. "The name's Haley Davidson. And you?"
His frowns, clearly furious, which only makes the mustache look that much more ridiculous. "I am Pitch," he announces dramatically, his voice booming around the cave. "Pitch Black. The Nightmare King and Boogeyman."
I stare at him, trying to grasp what I just heard. "So you're the… Boogerman?"
So help me he really is going to beat my brains out. "Boogeyman," I blurt. "Yeah, got it, sorry!"
He nods. It makes the mustache twitch.
I can't help it. I'm feeling brave again. "And you got beaten up by the Easter bunny," I say. "The fluffy rabbit that hides eggs for kids."
He scowls at me, giving me his glare-o-doom. "Leave child, before I make your worst nightmares come to life."
Pitch rolled his eyes.The more he read, the more irritated he became. The Boogerman comment was a very large thorn in his side; one he'd been trying to dig out for centuries and here it was, on the internet no less! Pitch's mind raced with thoughts of the things he could do to this irritating human, if he found her real name.
“Spiders. . .” He muttered. “All children hate spiders. Or rats! Yes. . . a lovely rat eye in a bowl of soup.” That sounded wonderful indeed. After a few minutes of contemplating revenge on Sparks for this repulsive dramatization of himself, Pitch stood up, slightly worried that if he got any angrier he would smash his beloved computer. Pitch, who was not normally a calm person, resisted the urge to destroy everything in sight by taking a few more minutes of slow breathing, then he turned back to the computer and began to read again and when he'd finished the chapter, he leaned back, staring at the screen.
"This might just be the oddest thing ever written about me," he said to himself, staring down his nose at the next sign beside the chapter selection.
Should I read on? He thought to himself. It's bound to get stranger after this. Hopefully violent, but stranger none-the-less.
Then he made a split-second decision and clicked the next button. The page loaded, and he began to read again.
Although the disappearing hole, my backpack's profound lack of air horns, and the murderous Easter Bunny theory could still use further explanation, I know one thing for sure: this Pitch guy is lying. There is no way he could be the Boogeyman. Maybe he's Boogeyman Junior or a Boogeyman Minion, but most definitely not the Boogeyman; there simply isn't anything scary about the man-dress. And besides, the real Boogeyman wouldn't have allowed me to draw a mustache on his face.
Pitch paused after about thirty seconds and stared at the page with a dubious look of indignation on his face.
”Man-dress?!” He bellowed, sending a string of spit flying across and landing on his beloved laptop. He carefully wiped it away and sneered at the screen. “This. . . Spark of the forgotten person will certainly be hearing from me, when I get out of this stinking cavern!” He glowered at the computer for a few minutes, then pulled it closer and began to read again.
Abruptly, I realize that all of the other horses have stopped circling Boogerman. They're watching me with flaming eyes, their bodies tensed, pawing the ground with their hooves. The horse that I'm dragging is starting to seriously fidget, which probably means that either it has to go to the bathroom or it wants to kill me. "Whoa, shadow-horsie," I mutter. "Think happy thoughts. Um… shadow-rainbows. Or a pretty shadow-unicorn. Or… something." Frantically digging through my backpack, I find what I need.
I turn back to Boogerman, grinning what I'm sure is a majorly evil grin. "This is how you teach a shadow-horse to behave," I say, and then I begin.
By the time I was finished with the unlucky shadow-horse, all of the other horses understood to mind their manners. I probably would, too, if my fellow shadow-horse got duct-taped to the wall, its mane braided with pink ribbons, its side reading "FREDRICK" in orange magic-marker. Yes, Fredrick. It just feels fitting, somehow. Despite the fact that I had to use him as an example, I think I kind of… like him. If he were something tamer, like a stray puppy, I would probably take him home with me.
Pitchwas back to eyebrow-raising again. “She... duct-taped one of my shadow-horses to a wall and braided its mane with... pink ribbons?” He asked, slightly impressed. His character seemed to be thinking along the same lines because he said, 'not bad.'
Pitch allowed himself a small smile, then as he read on, the smile slowly turned into a grimace and he glowered angrily at the screen. “She named it Fredrick? And what is this about old potato-hands? My skin is grey. Potatoes are brown. She must be color-blind or something.”
Slowly but steadily he kept reading. He got enraged at the part about cliche super-villains, and he almost laughed when she asked to call him 'old man'.
“If I'd have been at full power, you would be dust for even thinking of calling me that!” He sneered.
Pitch read on and when he got to the part about fighting with the Nightmares, he winced. “She had one of them bite me?” He said, rubbing his read end at the thought of it. Pitch grimaced, but read on. He stopped a moment later when there was another mention of his stylish mustache.
“Oh for the love of–” He said, glowering. “I do not have a mustache! And neither do I look French!” He read the last few sentences with a sneer on his face.
“I might not know what you're going through, but I'll be here for you if you need me. Nobody should have to go it alone.”
He just watches me. It reminds me of the kids I babysit, and I mean the little ones. He looks like a child.
“We share the pain,” I say. “You don't have to go it alone, Boog– Pitch.”
His gold eyes are intense, but the fire is gone from them. Without a word, he extends his arm. Our fingers interlock, and I lift him to his feet.
He smiles. More than anything else, he suddenly looks… human. “Thank you… Haley.”
Pitch nearly vomited. “Pathetic. As If I, the Nightmare King, would break down and cry, in front of a human, no less. This Sparks person is getting the foulest nightmare I can whip up!” He vowed, clicking the next button.
The minute the page loaded, he began to read. He made it about three paragraphs before he gasped and winced.
“This person certainly takes their writing seriously,” Pitch said as he read the paragraph again.
The paragraph itself wasn't so good, but the content was what made him wince. Apparently this child thought it necessary to kick him, where, in her own words, 'no man should be kicked– yep, that place.' He winced again and decided to wait and read the rest later, otherwise it would be impossible for him to leave until he was finished with the story, and it looked very long.
Pitch shut down his computer, bookmarking the story and went to his own private room, where he fell asleep and had his own nightmare of that entire story really happening!