The bogeyman laughs, the sound more of a staccato of screeches than anything else. “Because you’ve wronged someone I hold dear, and I would see you suffer.”
“Who? Tell me who, and I’ll apologize. I’ll make it right. I’ll—”
“Silence!” Every sound disappears, even Timmy’s incessant chewing, like it was sucked up by a vacuum. The room is a hollow cave. My ears twitch for any noise, anything at all. Even my own heartbeat is gone. “It’s too late. I’m here now, and I have a mission to accomplish.”
I’m shivering in my seat. Panic gnaws at my insides. My tongue feels too big in my mouth. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to.
The bogeyman points one long knobby finger in my direction, the blackened nail jagged at the edge. “Tonight, you’ll be sent to visit three men who you’ve wronged. Justice is theirs to dole out however they see fit. You’ll take what you’re given and say thank you for their valuable lessons or…” He pauses, and I hold my breath. “I shall haunt you until you go mad and become nothing more than a paranoid man, drooling and spouting nonsense for all eternity. Do you understand?”
I don’t. I really don’t. But my head bobs of its own volition.
Next to him, the dog yawns like these proceedings are beneath him. The bogeyman idly strokes his fur, but his intense glower remains on me.
“Touch my robe.”
“No.” The word is out before I can stop it. The last thing I want to do is touch this cursed creature.
One snakelike eyebrow arches over one beady sunken eye. The bogeyman tilts his head, and the cloak creeps from his face, revealing gruesome melted skin, prominent bones, and sharp, wicked teeth. “That’s the last time you’ll say no tonight, or I’ll forgo the lessons and proceed straight to stripping you of your precious sanity. Don’t make me tell you twice.”
I gulp. Hand shaking violently, I inch closer and closer to that dusty black robe until my fingers brush the hem.
A violent wind knocks me from my chair, and I’m sucked into a dark whirling void.
“The first man is waiting, Max,” the bogeyman’s voice echoes in my skull. “Remember to thank him for the lesson.”
Lurching, I squeeze my eyes shut and find little comfort in the black behind my lids.
7
Max
The vortex spits me out,leaving me dizzy and terrorized, as the howling wind dies down around us. The bogeyman fists the back of my shirt tight, holding me up. I’d be on my ass otherwise, tossing up my protein shake.
I’m blinking, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The world is hazy. Faraway cheering echoes growing louder by the second. A dense fog lifts, revealing a place I remember from my youth.
This is my high school. We stand along the sidelines of the football field, shoddy old metal bleachers behind us, neatly mowed lawn in front of us. We’re alone. So where’s that noise coming from?
By the low placement of the sun in the darkening sky, I’d say it’s maybe 8:00 p.m. on a late summer’s eve. Football’s early season. Somehow we’ve traveled through space and time. Moments ago, we were in the pitch black of a cold winter’s night.
My head throbs, and confusion clouds my thoughts. “How?”
The bogeyman doesn’t answer with words, just with a flourish of his ashy skeletal fingers.
I grimace and look away across the field to the distant tree line where a chorus of bugs sing at full blast. “Why are we here?”
“Your first lesson,” the bogeyman says, voice low and gravelly like he makes a habit of gargling with sand. “But before we meet your teacher, let us observe a glimpse from the past.”
With his words and another fluttering wave of his hand, the scene morphs, bending to include a crowd. Where once the bleachers were empty, now they’re full of rowdy students. A cacophony of voices and cheers rings loudly in my ears. The scent of popcorn wafts heavily through the humid air.
I whip my head to gaze at the field where the marching band plays the opening beats of We Will Rock You to the thunderous stomping of sneakered feet on aluminum boards. It’s halftime. I know these kids. This is my graduating class. Those are my classmates. Along with the underclassmen, some of whom I deigned to socialize with.
Cheerleaders wave pompoms and execute stunning high kicks, flips, and stunts. It all comes back to me in a rush. The excitement of the game. The thrill of winning. The celebrations afterward. I was the team’s left tackle.
Everything is so real, down to the plastic neon orange whistle dangling around Coach Herman’s neck.
The dread and fear that’s been hanging over me like a storm cloud dissipate as the old feelings lift my spirits. Why would the haunt bring me here, where I have such pleasant memories?
A glance at the scoreboard tells me we’re tied with our main rivals, the Chesterfield Spiders.
