Beyond Grim And Evil

(A/N: This is a series of one shots dealing with each character I work with in my recent series, Beyond Grim And Evil. There are no OC's, but minor characters are brought out more. These one-shots delve into the characters psyche. Not necessarily as I portray it in the series, but it is all touched on. If some seem OOC forgive me, but I believe that each one of them has a deeper side to them, and secrets they think about. After all, who doesn't have such inner secrets?

They will, as often as possible, be put up with each posting of my multi chapter story- Beyond Grim And Evil: So It Begins. This story is located in the 'Grim and Evil' section of this site for the sake of a larger reader population, in case you want to read it. Enjoy, and if there are any characters you want to see, ask about it. I may have them, I may not have planned on putting them in but might later. Enjoy. Feel free to guess at who each character is.)

To Lose His Identity…

It was all he had. Everything he was lay upon it. Everything he knew and loved was based around that one thing. His raison d'etre. Fear was his food and drink. Fear was his rest and his vigour. Fear was his everything. The boogeyman, fear. Was that all he was? Not technically. Was he a bully? Yes. Was he a monster? Yes. Was he a kidnapper? Yes. Was he a murderer? Yes. Was he scary…? He didn't know. He'd once thought so.

He was the living embodiment of fear. The mere mention of his name had once made the boldest of children wet themselves. The mere mention of him had horrified even adults. For eons he'd been used to frighten children into behaving. For centuries he'd been used to scare citizens into obedience. Yes, even adults. You see, to adults he was especially frightening. Why? Because adults knew the boogeyman didn't exist. Because adults knew he wasn't really there. That was what made it all the worse.

He wove beneath the light of the full moon, clothing for his stolen souls. He was the smallest hint of fear. He was the thing reaching out from under the bed, in the closet, ready to grab you. He was the figure scratching at the window. He was the moaning and weeping of the wind. He was the phone call that had never came through, or the breathing on the other end. He was the unidentifiable shape in the dark. He was the dread of the dark, of open spaces, of isolation, of death. Everything. He was the fear of the unknown.

He was your darkest and most horrific nightmares, the tingling sensation up your spine, the sense of… of what? Of anything you could possibly imagine that gave you a sense of doom, despair, or dread. He was the feeling that someone was lurking right over your shoulder, or crouching ahead and lying in wait, hidden in some area shrouded by the dark. He was the horror in horror movie, the root cause of the most terrifying of situations. He lured unsuspecting victims into his merciless hands by making the sounds of a crying baby; luring them from the safety of the light and into the unforgiving darkness. His unforgiving clutches. He was the creature materializing from the mists upon the moor! Fear him mortals, fear him!

But they wouldn't. Fear was no longer him, though he himself was fear. Fear was no longer attributed to him. He was considered a separate entity now. So, was he scary? Yes. No. In all senses of the word he was still terrifying, still as powerful as ever, if not more. Yet he was nothing. Just the boogeyman. Just fear. He wasn't scary, oh no, but fear was scary. But how did that work? He didn't understand. He was so confused. Fear itself not scary, yet fear was scary? Why couldn't he understand? How could he be so terrifying yet such a has-been?

Terror and trepidation were what made him up. It was quite literally his body and being. Fear. Was fear itself afraid of anything? Could Fear, fear? Yes. Fear was his identity, his existence. To lose his identity would be to lose his life. He was his own salvation, and he didn't want to be.