Summary

Sherry McGuinn, a writer from the Chicago area, shares her personal struggle with fear and anxiety in the night, which is exacerbated by her husband's own battles with his demons and the ever-present Boogeyman who torments her thoughts.

Abstract

The Boogeyman is a universal figure of fear, often used to scare children but also manifesting in adult nightmares. Sherry McGuinn experiences the Boogeyman as a relentless presence that feeds on her deepest fears, particularly when she is alone at night. Despite the comfort of her cat, Conor, and the reassurance of her husband in the next room, Sherry's anxiety about the future and the well-being of her loved ones is personified by the Boogeyman's haunting whispers. Her attempts to dismiss these fears are futile, leading her to resort to medication to find peace and sleep. Sherry's professional life as a writer and screenwriter is juxtaposed against her personal battle with this embodiment of fear, highlighting the stark contrast between her public success and private turmoil.

Opinions

The Boogeyman is perceived as a real and malevolent entity that preys on an individual's deepest fears, not just a myth used to scare children.
Sherry's fear is intensified by her isolation, even within the presence of her husband and pet, indicating a profound sense of emotional solitude.
The use of medication (Seroquel) is a coping mechanism for Sherry, reflecting the severity of her anxiety and the lengths she must go to manage it.
The Boogeyman's whispers suggest a personalized form of torment, exploiting Sherry's specific worries about her husband's health and their shared future.
Sherry's internal dialogue reveals a struggle with self-doubt and the fear of being incapacitated by her own mind, highlighting the impact of mental health on one's sense of identity and purpose.

The Boogeyman

He lives. He breathes. He feeds on your darkest fears.

The Boogeyman comes to me at night. At random times. Like an overly-attentive lover.

He whispers in my ear. His breath, a feather on my cheek.

My husband is not here to protect me. He is busy fending off his own demons in another part of the house. A sliver of light under the closed bedroom door tells me, in my half-conscious state, that he is still awake.

One of our cats, Conor, is curled up in the crook of my legs, the warmth of his body like balm to my soul.

I time my breathing to my cat’s, the gentle rise and fall lulling me into a deeper state. I embrace it…this cocoon of warmth, of relative safety and just as I am about to fully succumb, he strikes.

In the film, “Halloween,” when eight-year-old Tommy Doyle asks his babysitter, Laurie Strode, “What’s the boogeyman?” she basically dismisses the question and tells him he has nothing to worry about.

That was before the arrival of Michael Meyers, Haddonfield, Illinois’ very own Boogeyman.

Every culture seems to have its own version of the boogeyman. (Also known as Bogeyman.) Krampus. Baba. Yaga. Bhoot. Although the names may change, the monster’s purpose is the same: To steal and punish children.

Allegedly invented by adults to scare the bejesus out of children and elicit compliance, because the Boogeyman is universal, it’s virtually impossible to track down its true origins.

The Boogeyman may have originally been birthed to frighten children, but mine is for “adults only.” He…it…instinctively knows what scares the bejesus out of ME. Evil and relentless, he gnaws at my soul like a rat on a cinder block. His voice, so deep in my subconscious, is low, dark, a rasp.

Sherry…what are you thinking about…hmmm? Is it your husband? His health? I bet I know. You’re wondering…what will happen if he goes first. If you’re alone, in this house, with the mortgage, and the bills and the cats who depend upon you. How will you manage? How will you live without the love of your life? Think, Sherry. Think on this as your breathing quickens and your eyes dart to the sliver of light under the door. You want to check on him…don’t you? You want to get right out of this bed and make sure he’s alright. But you can’t, can you? You literally CAN’T MOVE.

I put my hands over my ears, bury my head in the pillow. But, he is relentless.

And think, Sherry…what will happen to your husband if you’re the one who checks out, first? He needs you…you need him…and your cats need you both.

All of a sudden, I can’t breathe. I am drowning in the dark. Quickly, I sit up and turn on the bedside lamp, jostling Conor from his warm nook. My breathing is elevated now, my brain churning in a million directions at once.

Gingerly, I get out of bed and tiptoe into the adjoining bathroom where I pick up my bottle of Seroquel. I shake it, flip off the top and peer inside. Plenty left. I consider taking a “chaser” to the pill I took earlier, but the possibility of being too groggy to write the next day puts me off. I replace the bottle and climb back into bed. Thankfully, Conor is still there.

I lay on my back and stare at the ceiling, the light still on. I consider turning on the TV but don’t want to wake my husband, in the event he’s actually getting some much-needed rest.

I’m stronger than a phantom. I tell myself this. Whisper it over and over like a mantra, but it’s not working. I’m a fraud.

It’s cold in the room. A breeze stirs the curtain at one of the windows. I get up to close it. I return to the bed and stop before getting in.

I go back into the bathroom, grab the Seroquel, pop the top and shake a pill into my hand. I swallow it down with a handful of water from the sink. I look at my face in the mirror: Pale, except for the blue-tinged shadows under my eyes.

After a second’s hesitation, I swallow another pill, my third of the day. I flip the bathroom light off and climb back into bed. I pull Conor closer to me, his soft purring like balm for my soul.

I consider leaving the lamp on, but turn it off. After all, I’m a big girl.

Quite soon, the Seroquel starts to kick in and my last conscious thought is: Fuck writing. I need peace. For now.

Sherry McGuinn is a longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.