“Don’t tell me you believe in The Bogeyman.”
“I didn’t call him that—the media did— he didn’t even call himself that.”
Lainey furrowed her brow, “What did he call himself—Master of Midnight? —That’s almost as scary.”
I glared at her. “Look, it’s bad enough we’ve got to sit here on stakeout not knowing who this guy is or even where he’s going to strike next—but don’t glorify him by giving him a title.”
1 Mike 1, what's your 10-20? the mobile radio crackled.
First and Main, I answer.
Possible 5150 at 218 Elm.
“Responding.”
I put the flashing beacon on the roof and floor the accelerator.
The unmarked car squeals and fishtails down the street.
I glance over at Lainey holding on tight to the dash. She’s a pretty gutsy detective, but hates pursuits.
“Hey, what’s your hurry? Dispatch said a possible mentally disturbed person.”
“You think they’re going to say Bogeyman? They know why we’re out here.”
We get to the street and it’s filled with people milling about. All the house lights are on.
Lainey cranes her neck out the window and tries to take in the whole scene. “Can you believe it? —The street’s lit up like a Christmas tree.”
“They’re scared Lainey—Can you blame them? The TV and Press have got them spooked—they’ve got the whole damn city spooked, for that matter.
Before we can get out of the car, angry residents surround us. “Where the hell were you? You let him get away.”
“Who phoned this in?” I shout over the din.
A middle-aged man raises his hand high and motions for Lainey and I to go back to his house. We follow him and wait for him while he shuts the door on the shouting from the street.
“It’s crazy out there,” he says. “They’re all work’d up—ain’t nobody thinking clearly.”
“What happened?” asks Lainey.
“I spotted this suspicious guy lurking near the park—watched him through the curtains. He looked weird, like he had no face, or something. There was this fog—a kinda greenish mist—never saw anything like it before.”
I stop him. “What was this guy doing?”
“I dunno—he was all bent over, ya know and he had this sack with him. I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t know about this Boogeyman crap, but if I ever saw someone who looked like a nightmare, it was this guy.”
“So, that’s it?” Lainey says, “You got us out here cause you saw someone who looked weird?”
“Well, not exactly. Mrs. Canduso—she’s my neighbour—she’s got three kids—she’s home alone and hears this scratching at the window. She calls me and I figure it’s this Bogeyman.”
“I thought you didn’t believe this Bogeyman crap?” I say.
He shrugs, “Don’t really know what I believe any more.”
That was about it. We take his information, talk with the next-door neighbour, then run the gauntlet of angry residents, before ducking back into the car and roaring away.
Neither of us said much on the way back.
I was thinking it was some mass hallucination and wanted to dismiss it outright, treating it like a UFO flap, except for one thing—three children kidnapped in a week—that wasn’t a fairy tale.
It’s funny sometimes how things happen—weird, unexplained things—the kind that make the hair on your arms stand up.
Suddenly, you’re back in your childhood fighting the same fears and demons that made you run up the stairs at night, or check your closet or under your bed.
Well, for all our adult sophistication, some fictional ghost or shape-shifter can catapult us right back to shivering beneath the covers and dreading the dark.
But Lainey and me, we don't have the luxury of duck and cover--nope, we're out in the dark with this freak who may be nothing but mass hysteria...
Or that nightmare that didn't fade when you finally woke up.
