Boogeyman - Michael Lisboa

“Why am I awake?” I thought.

I was groggy. I rolled over to check out the green LED display of my alarm clock and been stunned to read 12:34 on it. I’d gone to bed a scant two hours before, yet I felt like I’d been sleeping for hours.

I’d had strange and vibrant dreams. Something about a family portrait when I was younger, except there was a lion in it. Another about sex with a woman with a half-shaved head. And yet a third about urinating for what felt like an hour. This last was no surprise now that I was awake. My bladder felt like a bulging water balloon.

I made my way down the hall to the restroom careful not to wake the kids. It was my weekend with them. Tim, 7 going on 12, and Victoria just turned 3 and blessedly sleeping long, full nights.

I sat down on the toilet. Many men consider this a sign of weakness for reasons I don’t understand. I consider it a sign of cleanliness. Get closer to your target, make less of a mess. Seems simple enough to me. Immediately after I sat down, I heard a scratching at the bathroom door directly in front of me. Marcus Aurelius, the cat. It would only get worse if I didn’t let him in. He loved rubbing his head against my knees while I sat in there, regardless of what kind of business I was doing and would not be denied.

I leaned forward and cracked the door. I’m not sure about what happened next, so here’s my best recollection: Instead of cat’s paw, something akin to a lobster’s leg loudly onto the white tile of the bathroom floor. Before I could register a reaction, another appeared beside it and then a third. Jesus Christ, how big is that cockroach? I thought. I tried leaning forward to slam the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Whatever belonged to those 3 enormous insectile legs was strong enough not to let itself be crushed between door and jamb. I had however managed to pin in between the two. Sensing my intent, the hardened legs began hurriedly scratching at the floor. Whatever it was wanted to get in or out and I didn’t want to find out until I had my pants somewhere other than around my ankles.

I stood up from the toilet, careful to keep my weight against the door. In retrospect, I’m both aghast and amused that my overriding thought at the time was keep that thing away from your penis, Dan. I had 2 relatively helpless children sleeping 15 feet away and I was worried about my johnson. I’m not sure who would have more to say on that subject, my ex-wife or Freud. Especially considering that once I got up and got my pajama bottoms pulled up with my free hand, my precious manhood was now armored with all the protection that an 1/8 of an inch of 100% cotton could provide.

Sensing an impasse perhaps, the intruding legs had stopped their furious clattering against the tile. I had to know what I was up against. I had thought cockroach before, but really, what cockroach has foot-high legs? Now that I was really awake, I realized my folly and decided I was in dire need of a weapon. The toilet brush seemed ineffectual. The plunger slightly less so. The only other potential blunt instrument within reach was the shower curtain rod. Still leaning against the door (the more I regarded those legs, the more intent I was on not letting that thing move until I was armed), I reached up with my right hand and yanked on the shower rod. It wouldn’t budge. It was probably never going to budge. Two years back, I’d redone the bathroom. As part of that makeover I’d opted for the fancy convex curtain rods one sees in hotels. To mount it, I’d drilled into studs on both ends. To bring it down, I was going to need more force than I could muster from my half-lean against the door. The plunger it was.

I was just able to reach it’s wooden handle with the tips of my fingers. Gingerly at first, then firmly I took in my grasp. I placed it underneath my foot and unscrewed the handle from the rubber sucker at the end. I heard something and looked down to see one of the legs tapping impatiently, like the grotesquely manicured nail of the world’s most horrific DMV employee. Child, you best have brought your birth certificate if you don’t want to get back in that line.

I had been breathing heavily before, but now I panicked. Whatever was on the other side of this door was demonstrating impatience. I had coped with my relative nudity. I had coped with the alien presence. I had even coped with its relative indestructibility against the pressure of the 200 pounds of weight I had thrown against the door. I was not prepared to cope with its peevishness.

At that I threw open the door and swung down toward the... the thing... with all my might. I landed a solid blow to no avail. The plunger handle snapped and went flying. This fight was over before it had begun and the thing knew it. I knew it knew it because it proceeded to tell me so.

“Really, Dan, that’s going to leave a bruise,” it said in a bored, patrician voice. “Did you really get a glimpse of these legs and think you were going to subdue me with... what was that? A toilet plunger.”

I sat back down on the toilet. I was staring at relatively intact (completely intact except for the bump that was rising where I had whacked it) human head resting on foot-long insect’s legs. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but I knew it wasn’t going to matter if I was sitting or standing.