You were always an odd person. Even as a child, you were much different than the other children; much.. darker. You loved anything to do with the dark, whether it was dark/sadistic humor, blood, horror, etc. You enjoyed scaring the crap out of anyone, jumping out from the shadows at people and the like. Even more so, you were fascinated by the mythical Bogeyman.

While other children fawned over Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny, you were addicted to the Bogeyman. He shared your dark obsessions and you felt that you were connected to him, in a sense. You believed that he existed, and that belief had stayed with you all the way to adulthood. You kept your dark tendencies and still had a feeling he was watching, in the dark.

Though you knew the Bogeyman was meant to strike fear into the hearts of humans, he didn’t scare you, at least not as much as many others. Your nightmares varied from death and gore to the thing you feared most. When blood and torture, you didn’t mind them too much. But when your personal demon appeared, you were more scared then a young baby.

People were scared of you and avoided you like the plague, and you were glad of that. You enjoyed the loneliness, the feeling of solitude while being in the dark. Sometimes though, you would get lonely, though you would rather die than admit it. One in four weeks, you would find yourself alone in your room, hating everything and everyone, just wanting to commit murder.

It was one of those nights where you met the Nightmare himself. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you eyed the lock-and-key dresser where you hid the knife you kept in case you happened to need it. That particular night, your homicidal thoughts were so strong you were just minutes away from losing control.

As you stared at the droor, you noticed shadows flickering slightly out of the corner of your eye. You disregarded this, however, and continued to stare. You soon noticed, though, that these shadows were not simply a figment of your imagination, but real, very real. Standing up, you demanded, “Who’s there?!” At first, there was nothing, but a minute or two later, there was a laugh; a very.. evil-sounding cackle that left goosebumps in its wake.

“Oh, very well,” a male voice said, and a dark figure stepped out of the closet. You widened your eyes slightly. This man--at least, you thought he was a man--was dressed head-to-toe in black, with pale skin that contrasted the dark color, and piercing yellow eyes that made you think twice about him being human. He was quite tall too, towering over your shorter form.

“Who are you, and how did you get into my house, let alone into my room?” you growled at him, edging towards the dresser that held your knife. “Pitch Black,” laughed the man. “Though you’ll know me as the Bogeyman.” You stopped dead in your tracks. “The.. Bogeyman? You?” “Yes, I am. I’m hurt that you didn’t recognize me,” Pitch mocked, putting on a pained face.

You moved closer to the acclaimed Bogeyman and examined him. He certainly didn’t look human, and if he wasn’t, that would explain his appearing out of nowhere. “Well… I suppose.. you could be him,” you conceded. “So, why are you here?” “For you,” Pitch said. “You are the only one that believes that I exist, yet you do not fear me. Why is that?”

“If you didn’t notice, I share similar interests as you,” you stated flatly. Pitch raised an eyebrow. “What?” “Allow me to enlighten you. I like dark things. I enjoy scaring others, dark humor, blood, death, anything of that sort.” “Sure you do.” With that said, Pitch snapped his fingers and you passed out instantly.

It was dark. Very dark. You tried to move, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t speak. The silence was deafening; you longed to hear something, anything. Then there was a laugh, one that terrified you. “I know what you’re afraid of,” the voice said. “You’re afraid of yourself. You’re afraid of feeling anything, so you lock yourself away. It’s pitiful. Pathetic.”

It was then that you let out a high-pitched scream, and you jolted awake, sweat covering your body, your clothes sticking to you. You saw Pitch peering over you, smiling. “Did you have a nightmare?” he chuckled darkly. You shook slightly, and glared at him. “It’s my job, to make you afraid.” He bent to down to look you eye-to-eye, as your legs were shaking too much to stand up. “You are complex. I won’t deny that I’m quite interested in you. I only have one question now for me to decide what I want to do with you. Are you afraid?”

Pitch’s yellow eyes glinted with something you couldn’t quite identify. After a minute, you finally said, “I am, alright? I won’t deny it. Maybe I am afraid, but I won’t let that stop me from--mmmph!” You were cut off when Pitch pressed his lips to yours in a forceful, cruel kiss. You tasted copper as the force of the kiss pushed you back to the ground, lying on your back with Pitch on top of you.

You felt tears pushing against your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall. Pitch bit your lip hard, and you whimpered, a tear slipping down your cheek. He pulled away then, smirking darkly. “Right answer.” You stared up at Pitch, fear sparking in your eyes. This was the Bogeyman, there was no doubt about it. You lifted your hand up and gingerly touched your lip, only to whine in pain and pull your finger away instantly. It was covered in blood.

“Like it?” Pitch chuckled at his work. “It appears I’ve split your lip well down the middle.” You swallowed, not daring to speak for fear of simpering in front of him. You slowly stood up, your legs shaking so much you thought for sure you would fall back to the ground, once again beneath Pitch. You looked at him eye-to-eye, your eyes shining with tears, yet also fierce determination.

“I won’t back down from you,” you said, though your voice wavered towards the end of your sentence. “Really now?” Almost instantly, shadows appeared out of nowhere and threw you against a wall, binding your arms and legs to prevent you from moving. Pitch approached you, smiling, revealing the needle-sharp teeth that had destroyed your lip.

“I think, ____, that you’ve already backed down.”