Jenny Christine and the Boogieman

 

Jenny Christine was every parent’s dream,
a quiet child who would rarely scream.
She did her homework every night
and never fussed or picked a fight.

She cleaned her room without being told
and was, they said, worth more than gold.
A bookish girl, both sharp and keen,
the smartest child they had ever seen.

She mastered math and spelling tests;
in French she ranked among the best.
She swore she’d fix a car with a wrench,
if they'd just say yes and give consent.

One thing Jenny knew was fact:
monsters were myths. That much she’d cracked.
So finding one there in her room
should have filled her heart with doom.

But Jenny only shook her head,
shut the closet door, and went to bed.
The Boogie Monster stood stunned and pale,
unsure how he could ever fail.

He popped his head back in its place,
then leapt so she could see his face.
He ripped it off and howled in pain,
then snapped it on his neck again.

He growled and groaned and thrashed about,
determined he would draw a shout.
Jenny yawned and softly said,
“Are you quite finished with your dread?”

His jaw fell hard against the floor.
He fixed it fast and tried once more.
He climbed her dresser, checked his look.
The scariest monster in the book.

He plucked his eyes out, one by one,
stomped his feet and shrieked for fun.
He clawed his hair and split the air,
but Jenny only watched his stare.

“Is that it?” Jenny coolly said.
“My brother’s tantrums wake the dead.
Next to his fits, you’re rather tame.
For such a monster, that’s a shame.”

“I do not understand,” he said.
“Why don’t you hide beneath your bed?
You should be trembling there instead,
too scared to lift your little head.”

“Why would I?” said Jenny then.
“You are not real. Just dreams pretend.”
“I am not a dream,” the Boogie said,
and leaned in closer to her bed.

“You want me false. You want me lies,
so you can hide behind wise eyes.
But Jenny Christine, I know your fears.
I’ve stood in shadows through your tears.

You tell yourself you’re not like them
so it won’t hurt you’ve lost a friend.
And if I were just make-believe,
you would not feel this.” He pinched her sleeve.

Jenny’s breath caught sharp and thin.
The fear she locked came rushing in.
She let out one piercing scream,
splitting night and breaking dream.

Her parents burst into the room.
The Boogie vanished in the gloom.
They checked her closet, searched her bed,
and heard each trembling word she said.

When all was proved both safe and sound,
they tucked her in and left the room.
But Jenny lay there, wide awake,
aware at last of what was fake.

She turned and slowly checked her bed,
then faced the closet where he’d fled.
“Good night, Boogie,” Jenny said.

From dark above, a floating head.

“Good night, Jenny,” soft and low.
“And now,” it said, “you finally know.”