An Interview with The Boogieman

To this day there isn’t a corner too dark, or place too quiet for the infamous Mr Boogie (aka The Boogieman). He enjoys a cold howling wind on most occasions, and the sound of floorboards creaking at night. For Mr Boogie: hiding in wardrobes, creeping behind trees and living under children’s beds, are all in a day’s work. Admittedly, he told me that he’s petrified of the light, and will quickly disappear at the slightest sight of it. Therefore, parents are often able to convince their children that he doesn’t exist, by simply flicking a switch. I’ve often wondered where he runs to, once the lights are turned on.

As a child I had tried to capture The Boogieman several times, while he was creeping around my room and making sounds. I set up mouse traps, obstacles and trip ropes, but all to no avail. After a while I grew to admire his heightened existence in my imagination; the way his character and scare tactics were made all the more petrifying and convincing, after watching a scary movie before bed. Whenever I lost control of my fear and hid beneath the fortress of my covers, I could hear his terrifying laughter coming from my wardrobe. He had won the battle again. He was very good at his job.

When I finally had the chance to meet him recently for an interview, I was initially frightened by the idea, transported back under the blankets of my childhood in the early nineties. At first, we corresponded by email and then by phone. He opened up about his love of gardening, and why he’s nothing like the bad guy you’ve been lead to believe he is. These conversations gave me the confidence to arrange a meeting in person.

Over the phone he sounded exactly the way I imagined he would. If I didn’t know any better, I was speaking directly to Tom Waits. He agreed to meet at midnight, unsurprisingly. I wanted to hold the meeting somewhere populated, as a safety precaution. Being an urban man, Mr Boogie suggested an alley way behind a high-rise, just off York St. It was a Saturday; so the city was a packed ashtray of parked cars. I skilfully positioned myself in a Wilson car park; which was seemingly designed and based on the Alexey Pajitnov game – Tetris. We sat on milk crates, beside a garbage bin, joined by the company of a homeless man, who Mr Boogie introduced as his assistant Larry.

Me: Firstly, what attracted you to the business of scaring children?

Mr Boogie: The hours are good. I’m a bit of night owl, so staying up while kids are trying to get to sleep is a breeze. Plus, the work itself is pretty darn easy. Making odd noises comes a little natural to me, especially in old age. My grumbling stomach does most of the scaring these days.

Me: You’ve never been caught, since you tend to disappear at the sight of light and the presence of an adult. Where do you go when the lights get turned on?

Mr Boogie: I used to climb out of windows quite a bit, and often end up breaking an arm, or neck. Often I would hide behind a big winter coat.
But these days I only work in rooms that are fitted with secret passage ways that lead out the backs of wardrobes.

Me: Where do the passages lead to?

Mr Boogie: Gardens usually. I love gardens, flowers and Willow trees. In fact, I’ve recently started haunting public gardens and parks at night, freaking out young couples and stray cats. That’s where I met my faithful assistant here. Isn’t that right Larry

Larry trembles and nods.

Me: What is it about gardens?

Mr Boogie: They’re peaceful. Not as stuffy as a wardrobe or a tight squeeze underneath a bed. I’m a few hundred years old; my bones aren’t what they used to be. Nothings what it used to be actually. I’ve got everything from arthritis, to osteoporosis and spinal injuries. You know, I should have apologized in advance. My breath is terrible, you see, I’ve never been to the dentist…ever.

Me: That’s fine. I thought it was coming from the trash to be honest. So gardens free up your space to work?

Mr Boogie: Yeah I guess you could say that, I’ve scared shit loads of adults in parks too, as opposed to just children in bedrooms. Plus, nobody is switching on a light, that’s a relief.

Me: What scares you about the light?

Mr Boogie: It’s fucking bright. My eyes are sensitive. My skin crawls in the light, I get a weird rash and my ankles swell.

Me: What do you think of your public perception? Especially among children

Mr Boogie: You know, I’m not such a bad guy. I’ve never killed anybody, I’m not a criminal. Breaking and entering and getting some screams, that’s all I could go down for. It’s rather tame when you think of all the violence and crime out there. A lot of uncles and parents, use me as a way to scare and discipline their own kids. ‘Don’t climb on the table, or the Boogieman will come and get you, watch out!’ As soon as I hear that, I know I’ve just been asked to do a job.

Me: So that’s how you get work?

Mr Boogie: Yeah. I hear my name mentioned by an adult and I’m sent out to the kids bedroom. With the parks, I guess you could call that freelancing.

Me: What scares you about adults?

Mr Boogie: They’re taller for one. Kids are easy targets. Like I said, I occasionally get adults too.

Me: As a child, I tried so many times to catch you in the act, but failed every time.

Mr Boogie: Did you? It wouldn’t be wise to catch me. What would you have done if you got me anyway?

Me: I’m not sure; I never thought that far ahead. I guess I would have showed my mum that you were real.

Mr Boogie: Hmm. Freak her out a little huh?

Me: Most likely, it probably wasn’t the best idea, seeing you now. We both would have had a heart attack

Me Boogie laughs, as does Larry who receives a stern look from Mr Boogie.

Me: What kind of things have you witnessed taking place in parks at that time of night? Anything interesting?

Mr Boogie: Sure, all sorts of perverted things. Technically I’m not insured to step in and physically do anything to anyone. So there have been times where a mugging is taking place, and all I can do is make ghostly sounds from behind a tree. Sometimes it works, you see I’m not such a bad guy after all.

Me: Will you ever retire? Stop scaring for good?

Mr Boogie: Fuck no. What would I do then? If I retire, I would be like Larry here.

Me: What sort of work does Larry do for you, as an assistant?

Mr Boogie: He lights my cigarette (laughs). He’s sometimes my getaway driver. If I’m stuck in a tight spot, say in a wardrobe and a parent is about to open the door… Larry might appear at the window and scare the shit out of both the kid and their mum or dad. He’s a scary looking fella.

Me: Larry, how long have you worked for Mr Boogie?

Larry shakes his head, and doesn’t make a sound.

Mr Boogie: Answer him Godammit!

Mr Boogie slaps Larry across the face. He falls to the ground and cries, like a child.

Mr Boogie: Larry never grew up you see, he’s still scared of the Boogieman.

Pillow Paper.

I decided my pen wasn’t comfortable writing on regular paper anymore; so I started writing solely on tissue paper and napkins, to make things easier and softer on my poor old pens. Most of my pens, admittedly, are stolen. Not in the way that a thief steals from a shop, or robs a bank, no. But rather like the way people use torrents and file-sharing. You understand, you’re more than likely guilty of the same crime.

The internet pirates upload media online, and people leave pens on tables, or on seats, evidently, where I happen to sit. A movie streamed online is shared by many, as are the pens I end up with. The consequence of pen-sharing, misplacing and re-finding them, fortunately, has little impact on the world in comparison to film piracy. Perhaps I’m wrong, pens are one important part of stationary as a whole, and the stationary industry probably deserves better. I’m sure manufactures of pens have taken this pen-sharing phenomenon into account with their retail prices. I recently purchased a collection of pens and pencils from Officeworks, for the first time in years, and discovered a figure on my receipt above and beyond my expectations. Then again, why would I have an accurate idea of what pens are worth these days? I’ve been innocently stealing them for years, and with little remorse.

Writing on napkins and tissues has become a bit of a habit. It’s pillow paper, and generally within reach when jotting down ideas in a cafe, or even the lavatory. Occasionally, I make the mistake of pressing too hard and tearing the paper, or bleeding too much ink and ruining my note altogether. Indecipherable scribe also occurs, which is particularly frustrating, especially when it’s your own writing. The issue which gets to me the most, however, is recovering a napkin from your pocket after a few hours and finding it in a completely different state to which it started. There it unfolds: crumbled, ruined and ultimately lost.

I’ve taken to writing on paper’s softer equivalent, even when writing letters. Pillow paper mail, I call it. One particular note written on several double sided napkins, was ruined mid-voyage by particularly wet conditions. A regular piece of paper would have certainly survived the trip in this case, but I refuse to watch the weather forecast at 26, (there will be plenty of time to discuss the weather, in old age). So my envelope was drenched, and the napkin inside, a soggy note of nothing.

I guess I’ll email them.