The Big Bad Boogeyman

I am generally a pretty tough chick, at least I think so.


I have learned “tough chick” skills throughout my time in the military, like how to survive a nuclear or biological attack, weapons handling and how to effectively mount both an offence and an effective defensive position against the enemy. My point being, there is absolutely no justifiable reason that I should sometimes be scared of the boogeyman. And yet…still can’t watch the damn clown doll scene from Poltergeist. If you haven’t seen it, go Youtube it, seriously.


Here’s the deal, clowns are scary-ass. People should come to terms with it; everyone seems to understand this except the Shriners. Someone should tell them. And McDonalds, someone should write a letter. If it didn't scare you, are you made of steel or something?

Oh wait, maybe you didn't see it for the first time when you were six, like I did. You see, I had a friend whose parents loved horror movies and I mean...loved! I used to sleep over at her house frequently and we would watch those movies with them. I owe many sleepless childhood nights to Poltergeist, Freddie Kruegar and I won’t mention how hard it is to balance over the toilet late at night in case mini-Jaws is waiting to bite my poor behind. It also made me, despite all of the great training I have had, prone to the heebie-jeebies. What’s up with that?

All it takes is a noise at the wrong time, in the dead of the night, and I lose my mind. It’s sad really. I can attack an enemy hide with the best of them, full-camouflage paint and everything, but the boogeyman still waits under my bed, in case I let a leg or toe peep out.  Luckily, my sheets and blankets still possess the magical blade and boogeyman protective tendencies. Even sweating to death, I would rather die of dehydration than risk limb-loss to the monster under the bed.

Part of the problem may be my slightly over-active imagination. You see, when I hear a noise and think of something it may be (usually scary, drooling, scaled creature from the depths of hell), my imagination says, “Oh, that’s not scary! Do you know what would be scary…?” and ups the ante. Until I am a quivering mass of fear and goosebumps.

Perhaps I'll be less afraid when I'm all grown up. What about you...what are you afraid of?

Psycho Retro Print by Claudia Varosio via Etsy