The Boogeyman

 

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                Tiffany sat in the playroom by herself, or so she thought. On one wall sat a mirror, reflecting the room back at her, while on the other side of the mirror, her parents were talking to a doctor. “And how long do you say she’s been doing this,” the doctor asked in a hushed voice. The mother and father looked through the two-way mirror at their daughter as she scribbled on a series of papers. “For about three weeks now.” The mother’s words send a chill up the father’s spine as he watches Tiffany in silence. “At first I thought she was just trying to get something out, but that’s all she’ll ever draw. Day, night, even in her sleep, doctor.”

                “In her sleep, you say?” The doctor’s bushy eyebrows raised slightly, turning to look at his newest patient. She was feverishly drawing something on the paper, though she obscured the view from their hidden location. “Does she speak of it any?” The parents both shake their heads, which intrigues the doctor even more. “The copies you brought in were certainly interesting, but I think I will try and communicate with her, to see what she has to say about them.” Without waiting for confirmation from the parents, he quickly left the viewing room and entered the playroom.

                Standing there beside her, he could see she was hard at work drawing another image, an exact replica, of what her parents had brought in with her. It was made of black circles drawn in crayon, red dots for eyes, and the size comparison to what he could only imagine was the girl and her family was not quite to scale. Putting it to the side of his mind for now, he sat down and adapted the fakest of smiles, hoping to fool her. “Tiffany, may I have a word with you?” She didn’t seem to register his existence, but he sat down beside her anyway. “What’s that you’re drawing?”

                “I’m not supposed to tell you,” she said, keeping her eyes on the picture. She stopped briefly, setting the picture to the side, and picked up another sheet of paper to repeat the process. The doctor picked up the drawing and compared it to the one he had brought in with him. There was one difference that he could readily see; the black figure was growing in scale to everything else. “He won’t like you looking at his work,” she spoke out in a sing-sing voice. The doctor’s eyes slowly shifted up to look at her, but when he looked at her face, she briefly looked back, and the reflection he saw in her eyes was not solely his own. He quickly turned around as if something were behind him. He held his breath for a second, gulping down the slightest fear he had, and turned back to view the girl. She had the cruelest of smirks on her face.

 

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