1. More Monstrous than Monstropolis
Boo's most greatly-feared nightmare seemed worlds away by now. He was nothing but a violet, eight-legged iguana in comparison to her new greatest nightmare: the King of Fear himself made Randall J. Boggs seem almost insignificant. With a presence so foul, Pitch Black could make every termite in the Grinch's smile cower in petrifaction. This darkest of dark spirits loomed forward, towering over the tiny toddler as she slept. She was tucked tightly beneath her covers, clinging to the soft comfort of a bedtime toy and smiling even in sleep as she snuggled it close.
Pitch leaned lower and spied on the child's golden dream sand. He watched with keen interest as "kitties" played alongside tall, fluffy monsters resembling spotted yetis and a dwarven cyclops too.
"How intriguing," he whispered, so as not to wake the girl.
Pitch always treasured the children with the most creative imaginations...as they were the gateway to the most unusually horrific nightmares. His long, bony fingers reached toward Boo's happily dancing dreams and as soon as his tips touched the closest grains of gold sand, they turned to shades of ash. Mike and Sulley changed from merry to menacing as the latter roared a thundering roar and the former gnashed his gnarly teeth. They carried Boo and strapped her into the Scream Extractor. Randall was there too. His crimson eyes glowed in the darkness as he whipped his nimble body around Boo and constricted her like a python. The real Boo grumbled and kicked under her sheets. Her pulse quickened and her cries of unease grew louder by the second.
"That's it little darling, scream for me," Pitch cooed. "Tremble and moan to your heart's content, because not even "mummy" can save you tonight."
His dark voice was as smooth and as velvety as a fine chocolate fountain. The almost sickeningly sweet sense of delight he derived from torturing the mind of his defenseless victim oozed forth from his very soul. It slithered into every crevice of young Boo's slumbering subconscious, latched on with coal-colored claws and never let go...Not until the child awoke, of course...some hours later. And as she did, the sensation of her swift-pounding heart could only be matched in intensity by the Boogeyman's mental climax. He had reached the pinnacle of pleasure upon hearing her sweet, sensual screams. Each one, so perfectly panicked, so unique...was like a fingerprint for his ears...for no two shrieks were ever exactly alike. Each one had its own special brand of "sinister satisfaction" for Pitch.
The screams snaked themselves up his neck, caressing its pale, wintery complexion until reaching his ears and flowing through them like chimes on a windy night. With a pleasant shiver, he sucked in the fear and grew more powerful than he'd been but a moment before. Pitch basked in his power, letting it grow as tingling ripples coursed through every vein in his black-blooded body.
Suddenly, a bright light flickered in the hall and a worried voice was on its way. Despising the light, Pitch made himself scarce mere seconds before Boo's pink-petaled door swung open and in rushed a very concerned mother.
"Sweetheart, what's the matter?" she asked.
Her voice was slathered with concern - though not as delicious or primal as fear itself - concern was Pitch's second favorite emotion. It was the appetizer to a main course, building his anticipation for something stronger. A visually terrified Boo leapt into her mother's arms at once. This was her safe spot, where no evil monsters, ghosts or things that go "bump" in the night could find her. She knew that. And so, the poor girl dug her petite fingers into the sleeve of mom's robe, gripping as tightly as they were able.
"Oh honey, come here. It's all right. What happened?"
Pitch lingered in the shadowy space beneath Boo's bed, waiting for her mother to leave. It took nearly forty-five minutes of doting, cuddling and reading cheerful fairytales - the kind filled with classic "good trumps evil every time" themes - before (once more), Boo was tucked back in bed and falling under sleep's imminent spell. Her mother kissed her cheek and tiptoed out of the room, easing shut the door yet leaving it ajar this time. She switched off the lights as she retreated, much to the Boogeyman's relief.
Finally! Pitch thought to himself. He stretched his elongated form and switched from a resting position to a creeping one. He slithered out from below the mattress, making his shadowy way back to Boo's bedside - silent as a sleeping songbird.
"Tsk, tsk. It appears your dearest mother has abandoned you, child." Pitch laced his fingers through Boo's hair and made her tremble before his ominous touch. "Are we ready for round two?" he teased. "I certainly hope so, because-" Pitch glanced outside the bedroom window and grinned upon gazing dark clouds in a lightless sky. "When I cannot see the Man in the Moon, he too cannot see me, and when he's not looking…your soul and the souls of all sleeping children belong to me." He lifted a particularly unkempt strand of hair and twirled it between his index finger and thumb - toying with it as a bored cat might toy with a mouse's tail.
"And guess what?" Pitch paused to allow every drop of venom in his heart to resurface through his teeth. "There is not a Guardian-forsaken thing you or anyone else can do about it." He spent the rest of the evening haunting the girl and inhaling her every horror - relishing it - as a meth head might relish an ice-clear batch of "crystal." Only when twilight announced its presence and the clouds retreated back to whence they came did the Man in the Moon order Pitch Black to exile. His blinding rays weakened the Boogeyman, and at long last…just before the dawn traded places with dusk, Pitch vanished.
"Perhaps you've won the battle, Moonpie, but I'll be back tomorrow," he chuckled in a tone so obviously unintimidated.
The sinister sound of his laughter reverberated off the walls in Boo's room and swept through the curtains like an unforgiving breeze. Poor Boo whimpered and clung to her dolly until the dark presence was gone. She stared up at a familiar picture on her wall and wished more than anything that her precious "Kitty" would come back to save her now.
Half an hour passed slowly and in silent dread.
Will he come back? was all Boo could wonder until the first ray of sunshine shone through her window and, like a heroic beacon, chased away the darkness. Somewhere in the distance a rooster crowed, and everything finally seemed a little less scary than it seemed before. Morning, for the shaking and startled child had never felt quite so friendly.