The Boogeyman closed his eyes and placed the tips of his thumbs under his chin.
“See, kid, nothing’s hap—”
All of a sudden Jonathan Frederick Johnson III and the Boogeyman were not in the bedroom any more. They were in a strange pink bathroom. A woman wearing nothing but slippers on her feet and a towel around her head was looking at herself in the mirror. She was alone.
“Oh my God!” she yelled at her reflection.
And just like that Jonathan Frederick Johnson III and the Boogeyman were back where they started from.
The whole thing happened so fast Jonathan wasn’t completely sure it really happened at all. His head was spinning, and he didn’t know if it was because of the quick Dramamineless trip or his first sight of a real live naked woman.
“Well, what do you know,” said the Boogeyman. “I do still have a little of the old razzle-dazzle left in me. Man, that felt good! Don’t know how I managed to sneak it past the big guy, but man, that felt good!”
“What happened? Who was that lady?” Jonathan asked. “Why did she yell? Did she see us?”
“That was Mrs. Cardanella over on the next block. I was scheduled to haunt her next, and I guess that’s why we zapped over there when I closed my eyes to inventory my adult-spooking abilities. And hell yeah, she saw me; that’s why she yelled. I was the new wrinkle on her forehead. Pretty impressive, eh, kid? And that was off the cuff, with no planning or preparation or anything.”
“I knew you could do it. Let’s scare Father now.”
“No, too easy. Your dear old dad’s almost entirely motivated by fear. And since I’ve only got enough juice for one, maybe two, more grownup-spookings, I want to go for something challenging and memorable. Go out in that proverbial blaze of glory. Now, do you know any adults who are hard to horrify?”
“One time Larry Watson put a toad in Miss Whipperstaff’s desk. And she didn’t jump or scream or anything. She just picked up the toad and took it outside.”
“Fine, Miss Whipperstaff it is, then. But you’re going to have to stay here, kid. It’s strictly verboten to reveal any of this backstage Boogeyman stuff. If the incisor-mobile gets here while I’m gone, tell him I’ll be right back.”
“Please take me with you,” Jonathan pleaded. “I won’t tell anybody. And hey, maybe if you scare Miss Whipperstaff good enough, it’ll scare me, too, and you’ll get your job and your powers all the way back.”
The Boogeyman rubbed the palms of his hands together. Jonathan could tell his friend was almost as excited about scaring Miss Whipperstaff as he was.
“Well, hell, I suppose I should get used to working with an audience again. And what are you going to do?” the Boogeyman asked the ceiling. “Fire me? I’m already fired. All right, kid, fasten your seat belt. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
And the Boogeyman was right. It was a bumpy ride. First the room turned upside-down, then it turned sideways, and then it started spinning so fast Jonathan Frederick Johnson III couldn’t tell which way it was turning. A bright light — like the sun coming up all at once in the middle of the night — flashed, and when his eyes had adjusted, he was in his classroom at Harbor View Elementary School — well, sort of in it, sort of above it. He could see and hear everything and everybody, but nobody could see him. It was like he was floating around the room, invisible. He looked at the third desk in the fourth row behind Angela Mazcylyk, and there he — Jonathan Frederick Johnson III — was. He was in two places at one time, flying unseen about the room and sitting at his desk reading a Flash comic book hidden in his notebook. It felt weird to be looking at himself like that, sort of like hearing your own voice on a tape recorder, only weirder.
“All right, kid, face front. I’ve got a peg on Miss Whipperstaff’s psychology, and the show is about to start.”
He could hear but not see the Boogeyman beside him. He turned to the front of the class where Miss Whipperstaff, her black hair pulled back in a bow, was pointing to a poster of two children smiling and shaking hands.
“All right, class, today we’re going to learn more about good citizenship,” she said. “Yesterday we talked about manners and how important they are. Who can give me an example of—”
A sharp knock on the door.
Mr. Lavaliere, the assistant principal, didn’t even wait for Miss Whipperstaff to say “Come in.” He poked his bald head through the door and said:
“Doris, please forgive me for interrupting your class like this, but I need to speak to you right away. It’s about us.”
“Mr. Lavaliere, not now, please.” Jonathan Frederick Johnson III was so close to Miss Whipperstaff he could see the funny way she kept cutting her eyes and rolling her head over at the kids as she talked. “I will see you at lunchtime in the supply — in our usual place.”
“I’m sorry, but this can’t wait,” Mr. Lavaliere said. “And it won’t take but a minute. I just wanted to tell you that I can’t see you any more. I’ve decided to go back to my wife.”
Miss Whipperstaff’s bottom lip started to quiver, and then there were tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. Jonathan Frederick Johnson III couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He had no idea teachers ever actually cried.
“Oh, Marcel, how could you?” The pointer stick slipped from Miss Whipperstaff’s hand and hit the floor. Tears were running off her face now, and she didn’t even try to wipe them away. “You told me you loved me. Just last night you promised me we’d be together for—”
“Lower the curtain, roll the credits, hand me the statuette,” said the Boogeyman. Jonathan looked around. They were back in his bedroom.
“Well, what did you think?” the Boogeyman asked. “A bravura performance, wouldn’t you say?”
“That never happened to Miss Whipperstaff; I would remember that for sure,” Jonathan told him. “And it can’t be happening now because school is closed.”
“No, Miss Whipperstaff has not been unceremoniously dumped yet. Nor has Mrs. Cardanella discovered that forehead furrow. I told you grownups were more complicated. Kids’ fears are usually immediate, but you’ve got to work in the fourth dimension with adults. They’re not so afraid of what is happening, but they’re terrified of what’s going to happen. And make no mistake, it will happen. If you worry about — worry is just the grownup word for Boogeyman, for fear — something long enough and strong enough, eventually it’s going to happen. Every time without fail. That’s a universal law Haggerdorn MacRooly, the legendary Boogeyman of the Dark Ages, lobbied tirelessly to get passed.”
“But when is it going to happen?” Jonathan Frederick Johnson III wanted to be sure he didn’t miss school that day.
“I don’t know. Sometime in the future. When I’m on a roll, I can scare a twenty-year-old about his retirement, a thirty-year-old about how many people are going to show up at his funeral, a forty-year-old about what he’s going to do with his time after he’s been in heaven a couple of centuries and is starting to get bored with harp concertos. Truly I am the master of fear and of time.” The Boogeyman’s chest deflated. “I mean I was the master of fear and of time. Now I’m the master of disaster, a broken Boogeyman, a dark angel dewinged.”
“Okay, scare Father now,” Jonathan Frederick Johnson III said.
“You’ve got a real one-tracker there, don’t you, kid? Just dying to see Dad come undone. Well, sorry, I already told you I’m not going to waste my last little bit of Boogeyjuice on an easy mark. Why have you got it in for your old man anyway?”
“I don’t. I just want you to scare him because... because I don’t think you can do it, that’s why.”