The Boogeyman
He was wearing a houndstooth fedora and grinning and laughing as he pulled me around in the red wagon underneath the pecan tree. I was three and a half years old, and this was the first time I had been at my grandmother’s house and met my great-uncle Roy.
He was over for a reason I can’t remember. What I do remember is my grandmother and uncle Roy standing in the garage underneath the string to pull down the ladder to the attic. He was asking her things she needed help with as I walked, and she said that she needed something out of the attic. Uncle Roy said that it would be too dark up there to see, but wanting to help my grandmother, I chimed in, "I could go up there and get it, Granny", trying to pull the string.
Uncle Roy replied, "Oh no, you don’t want to go up there."
"Why?"
"Because The Boogeyman lives up there!"
"What’s The Boogeyman?", I replied.
"He’s a monster that lives in the attic. No one has ever seen him because he hides in the dark. If you go up there, he’ll GET YOU." He growled, he stuck out his hands, and grabbed me.
That’s when the wisdom of a three and a half-year-old perked up through the suppressed terror and replied, "Then let’s not go up there."
He just grinned and laughed.