Despite what the legends say, the boogeyman is very real. And instead of living underneath your bed or inside of your closet, this creature rests comfortably within your very own home. -- Luna
Superstition is very easily held in a world filled with magic. Especially when your species' default state is having none. Cross your fingers. Cross your heart. Hold your breath when passing the estates of the dead. Never step on cracks if you can help it. Be very careful with mirrors.
From ghoulies and ghosties, and long-leggidy beasties, and things that go bump in the night...
If something lost is found, if an unfinished task is found complete, it pays to leave an offering for the good little people. While most lacked "a cup of gold for the court of auld," they could at least present honeyed milk in the fanciest vessel they owned. And it was always drained dry come the morrow.
If they don't, the legends say, the good little people turn bad.
Most Brauniin dedicate themselves to secret good deeds. There's whisperes if Nisse. Brauniin who dedicate themselves to one house and help everyone and everything within its walls. Nisse live in the un-used and forgotten spaces, the places where mortal hands cannot reach.
Ever wondered what happens if a Nisse goes bad? When they're blamed instead of thanked, when the offerings are paltry or pitiful at best. Nonexistent at the worst. When the people who live with them take advantage and leave tasks for the Nisse... all the kindness in them boils and pickles. It turns to hate, and the kind and gentle Nisse becomes... a Boogey.
It matters not if new people love the house, the hate is still captured in the walls. Trapped in the spaces nobody looks. Left in the cracks nobody can probe. Crammed into the shadows nobody can illuminate. Waiting...
Waiting to become a nightmare.
Like all Faekindred, they have rules. They prey on children's fears. They lash out against the sensitive. They move things when nobody's looking. But you can hide from them under your blankets, and they will not hurt you. If you have a soft toy in your bed, you are protected.
And if luck is with you, you can bribe them.
Unwelcome people know the secret. They're the ones who have to stay in places that have a Boogey, because they have few alternatives.
First, overpay for a wooden peg from a traveling tinker. Second, turn it into a doll with ink and any special fabric one might have. If you have paint, use it to give the doll shoes. Third, leave it where the Boogey is sensed more often, saying, "You need a dolly too, so you don't have to feel scared."
Sympathy, empathy, and a gift of kindness can do much to temper hate. At least, it can do so for the Faekindred. A fact which many Elves use to prove their superior nature to Humanity in their hardy perennial argument with Humans. The Humans, of course, counter that Hellkin had to discover it because Elves lacked all three key emotional capabilities. The fight has been going on for centuries.
The house that the Burnhoof family could afford barely qualified as such. The fact that it had more than one room made it more house than hut. The fact that the house had been impossible to sell at a higher price should have been a warning. Of course it had a Boogey.
It had more than one.
Melody Burnhoof couldn't afford a peg. The whole family barely had two coppers to rub together. They scavenged what they could, and foraged the rest. Her father was busy, as were her mother, brothers, and sister. The Boogey was giving them all terrors when they were trying to sleep, and definitely needed a dolly.
She couldn't carve a peg. She wasn't allowed to use knives for that, yet. Since her family was busy, she had to find other ways. Melody looked about for things the family wouldn't use for the fire, searching the places her family would let her go.
Melody did her best, but her best was made out of a pine cone, leaves, feathers, and half a mouse skull she found in a hole under the roots of a tree.
It was a sad, sorry thing, but it was the only doll in the house.
"I'ss the best I can do," Melody said, tucking the construction into a small space by the family storage chest. "I can't make anyfing nicer for you. Mama sells our rags when we got 'em an' Papa don't got time t' carve. Please let us sleep?"
According to all the lore, it should never have worked.
That night, Melody lay awake in the middle of the tangle of sleeping siblings and heard strange voices.
"This is a work of true effort," said one. "Gifted with a plea for mercy."
"'Tis a pitiful mess," said another. "Not what we should expect."
"The work of a child who had nothing and nobody to help her. You may not remember, Thistlewine, but I remember. I remember giving joy instead of lashing out in pain. They have nothing. We should not be making it worse."
"Should, should, should," grumbled the second one. "They should have been kinder to us. They should have been more grateful. They left out poison!"
"Not. These. Ones," said the first. "They're new. They have horns. Temple mice have more wealth than they do."
"It's not the gift," said a new voice. "It's the intent. We accepted milk and honey with no herbs. We've accepted just the honey, and just the milk. All without a gilded goblet to hold it. They could gift us water in cups made of acorns to show gratitude and we'd understand. When did you get so bitter?"
"When the bastards put bitter almonds and ground up peach seeds in our milk," growled Thistlewine.
Melody dreamed through the rest of their argument, but she remembered about acorns. The next day saw her hunting around for six of the biggest, shiniest acorns. She badgered her older brother, Toil, to take her to the village wood-turner. Because Melody wasn't allowed into the village on her own.
"Work for work, please?" Melody said. "I wanna turn these acorns into liddle cups. I can sweep your floor. Or I could sort your tools? I can count up t' twenny if y' want me t' count somethin'?" She dug the acorns out of her pocket and placed them carefully on the counter.
The wood-turner looked to Toil, then to Melody, and glanced up and down the street. She sighed and said, "Sweeping the floor will be fine. You sweep up all the dust and shavings and put them in yonder sack."
"Yes'm," Melody leaped for the dustpan and brush. Methodically working on sweeping up shavings, and pouring them into the sack. Toil volunteered to split firewood. More out of boredom than anything else.
"What'd you want acorn cups for, little devil? You up to magic?"
"It's for the Boogeys inna house. So's they know we're not th' mean people."
"Ah. Appeasing the Faeries. A needful work indeed."
The shop filled with the sound of the axe, the turning wheel, and Melody's sweeping. The wood-turner was done by the time the day's light started to fade. She wrapped them carefully and packed them in a little card box. "Done and done. Fair trade, little devils. Take this home and be sure to tell your folks where you were."
"But I'm only half done," complained Melody.
"Your brother's done the other half. If any of you want a copper or three, you can come back and help me a mite more." She carefully put the box into Melody's hands. "Carry that careful-like. It's delicate work."
Toil was glad to take Melody back home, where she set up a tiny tea party in the same space she left her attempt at a doll. She had to fill them from a cup like she filled the cup from the household pail.
"Drink and be welcome," Melody recited. "And thank you for lettin' us sleep."
From that night forward, the Burnhoof family had a startling lack of annoyances. Things stopped dropping off shelves. Small items stayed where they were put. One dropped coin found four of its brothers lurking partially under a rock. The roof ceased leaking and the chimney's smoke went up it, instead of leaking out of the flue. Sewing finished itself.
When the family could afford a goat, the first milk went into Melody's little acorn cups. With a recitation of thanks, as was proper.
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