"C'mon, Raymie. Time for bed." Teller pried his son's hands off of his leg. Raymond's tears had soaked through his pants, leaving large wet splotches on the fabric.

"No, I wan' sleep wiff Mommy-Daddy!" Not Mommy and Daddy, but Mommy-Daddy, one word, spoken as a charm to ward off evil and the nameless monsters which wait in dark places to prey on small children.

Teller took his son's hand, his own fingers enveloping most of his son's miniscule forearm. Speaking to his son softly, using nonsense words and warm sounds to comfort his terrified kid, he led him to his bedroom. "It's okay. There's nothing in here to be afraid of. You'll see. Come on. I'll show you." Raymond dug his heels into the carpet, resisting Teller with a force he wouldn't think possible if he wasn't experiencing it.

"Wan' sleep wiff Mommy-Daddy. Don' wan' sleep by mytelf." Teller picked him up and carried him into the room, pausing only to pry Raymie's hand from the door jamb.

Teller flipped on the light. "See? Nothing here." He watched his son scan the room fearfully and he made a show of looking around too. That's odd. I thought I left that window closed. Arialla must have opened it earlier to let in some fresh air. It does get pretty stuffy in here.He set Raymond down and walked over to the bed. He knelt and looked under it, reaching his hand under it to feel around. "Nope, nothing under here. Let's check in the closet." He pushed himself up with a soft grunt and walked over to the closet. He opened the door and pulled the light chain hanging from the ceiling as Raymie peeked cautiously from behind his knees. The closet was flooded with light. Teller moved the clothes around, searching every nook and cranny.

"Nothing in here but you, me and the dust bunnies, sport." He closed the closet door and knelt so that he could face his son. "There's nothing in here to be scared of, okay? Mommy and I will be right in the next room. If you get scared, you just yell and we'll come running, okay? I'll plug in your new nightlight and I'll even leave the hall light on." He tickled his son around the tummy, then swept him up in his arms and carried him to bed. Teller lovingly tucked his son in and gave him a kiss, blowing raspberries on his cheek.

"Don' wan' Daddy go!!" Raymie said with a whimper, reaching out for his father, tears gleaming in his eyes.

"You're a big boy now. Time for you to sleep in your own room like other big boys." Teller plugged in a large nightlight of Taz the Tasmanian Devil playing basketball. "This nightlight will keep all the bad things away, okay?" He left the room to the sounds of his son crying. You have to be firm about this, Teller. You can't back down now. Teller clicked off the light and left the door open a crack.

After Teller had showered and changed into his pajamas, he went to check on his son. He was glad to see he was finally asleep. As he closed the bedroom door, he didn't hear the closet door slowly opening. He climbed into bed beside his wife, a sweet faced, 30-something with his son's blonde hair and cupid bow lips.

"How's he doing?" she asked, looking up from her newspaper. She always read a bit before turning in.

"He's finally asleep," he answered, leaning over to kiss her lightly on the cheek and again on the lips. He laid back on his pillow, reaching up to turn off his lamp.

"That's good." She folded up her paper and tossed it on the night stand. "Did you hear about those two boys who disappeared last week? They still haven't found them."

"Yeah, I know. What do you think happened to them?" He stretched out lazily, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I don't know. It's really weird. There's not a single clue as to what happened. The parents are adamant that no one could have gotten into the homes to snatch up the kids. I hope they find whoever's been taking those kids though." She turned off her lamp and snuggled up to Teller. "I'll sleep a lot better when they do." Teller drifted off thinking the exact same thing. A strange thought followed him down into his dreams. Wasn't Raymie's window just open? Who closed it?

What felt like only a few minutes later, Teller sat bolt upright in bed. It took him a minute to figure out what had awoken him. His clock radio was on, blaring Metallica's "Enter Sandman". He turned it off and was just about to settle back into sleep when Raymie's screams reached his ears. Fully awake, he jumped out of bed and raced into his son's room. Immediately upon entering, he felt as though something had rushed past him, disturbing the air in its wake. He fumbled around in the room, moving towards his son's screams. It took him a few seconds to find his son in the pitch black room, but his outstretched hands finally made contact with his flannel pajamas. He grabbed his son and made his way to the door, fighting away waves of panic that threatened to consume him. He didn't know why, but he had the distinct feeling that he was being watched by something that was angry for being interrupted in... But that was silly...wasn't it?

Teller carried his son into his room and laid him between himself and Arialla, stroking his head to calm him down. Raymie clutched his Daddy around the neck and went to sleep, tears drying on his cheeks. It was quite some time before Teller was able to go back to sleep.

The next morning, rising early, Teller went to check out Raymie's room. Raymie's sheets were puddled on the floor. Teller picked them up, intending to put them back on the bed, but he stopped, his gaze arrested by the grimy tears in the sheets. He felt the ripped areas and the black grime rubbed off on his fingers. It felt slimy, like wet clay and soot. Then the stench hit him, the smell of overripe garbage. Just as he began to fling the sheets away from him, he caught sight of a few spidery tendrils of dried blood in the slime. He threw the sheets onto the floor and looked around the floor. There were faint traces of smudges with the approximate size and shape of footprints on the carpet trailing towards the closet. The closet door was slightly ajar.

He approached the closet with caution, afraid of what he would find there. He yanked open the door to find... nothing but his son's clothes and toys. "Nothing here but you, me and the dustbunnies," he muttered to himself, closing the closet door, hearing the latch click. As he walked towards the door, he caught sight of Raymie's nightlight. There was something wrong with it. He pulled it out of the wall socket and held it up. The top half was missing. "Not just missing. It looks like..." Teller fingered the broken edge delicately, noticing how oddly familiar the rough edge looked. "Looks like something bit it off. But that's absurd." The way the edges looked though... "Absurd..." he said, less confidently. He suddenly felt like he had to get out of that room, and now.

As he reached the door, the closet door slowly creaked open. He stood frozen, watching the door. Before more than a thin bar of black could be seen, he slammed the closet door shut and put his back against it. Just as he leaned against the door, a heavy object hit the other side. Teller pressed his full weight against the closet door, listening for any other sounds over his own panicked breathing. When he heard nothing else, he slowly removed his weight from the closet door. His fear was slowly replaced by cold shame. I'm too fucking old to be jumping at shadows and bugaboos... He went to the bedroom door and opened it. That's weird... I must have closed it behind me when I came in without thinking about it. He walked into the hallway, closing the door behind him again, making sure he heard the latch catch. As he stood outside Raymie's bedroom door, he heard the closet door open quietly, almost stealthily. Suddenly, he felt cold all over. He looked down and realized that at some point, he had wet his pants. He shuddered silently and went to shower and change.

As he joined his family for breakfast, Teller tried to hide the fact that he was still trembling slightly. He held his coffee mug with both hands to keep it from shaking too badly as he brought it to his lips. "Are you okay, hun?" Teller started and looked up into his wife's eyes.

"Excuse me? I was lost in my own thoughts. Did you say something?" he asked, carefully setting down his mug.

Arialla's face was cloudy with concern... and something else? "You look a little pale. Are you okay?" She put a hand on his shoulder as he took a deep, calming breath.

"I'm fine. I guess I'm a bit anxious about that trick Penn and I have been working on. We haven't gotten all of the bugs out and we're supposed to be putting it into tonight's show." He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. It must have worked because Arialla gave him her gleaming smile in return.

"That's my perfectionist. You're going to give yourself an ulcer one of these days," she scolded playfully, kissing him gently on the cheek.

He pretended to be blushing. "Oh, pshaw. See, now you've gone and done it. I've gone positively crimson." He gave up trying to eat his breakfast as a bad job and finished off his coffee. "I guess I should go in to work and see if we can hammer out the problems with that prop." He stood up and, covering his son's eyes playfully, kissed his wife warmly on the mouth. He then bent and blew a raspberry on Raymie's cheek. "You take care of Mom for me, okay buddy?"

"Uh huh," Raymie smiled around his Cheerios. Teller tousled his hair, blew a kiss at his wife and headed out. At the door, he couldn't stop himself from glancing back up the stairs towards Raymie's room. Though the day was already very warm, he couldn't suppress the shiver that ran up his back, making the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

* * *

For a few nights, Raymond slept in bed with his father and mother, but after nearly a week of somehow waking up with his son's foot in his mouth, Teller decided it was time for Raymie to sleep in his own room again. He bought Raymie a dinosaur night light for his bedside table. It was the size of a small lamp and filled the whole room with colorful dinosaurs that capered happily around the walls.

"Come see what I got you, Raymie!" Teller called down the hall towards his room. Raymond came to his bedroom door but would come no further. "Come on, Raymie. It's okay." Raymie stepped reluctantly over the threshold, throwing anxious glances at the closet door as he clutched his teddy bear. Teller sat on his son's bed and plopped Raymie down on his lap. "Look at your new night light. It'll keep all the bad things away." He smiled reassuringly at him.

"Not him," Raymie whispered, pointing fearfully at the closet. He pressed himself into his father's chest until only one of his large, overbright eyes could be seen. Teller looked up and saw his own pale reflection in the mirror on the closet door.

He swallowed thickly and tried to smile, but he only succeeded at looking ill. He tried another smile and was relieved to find that it felt more natural. "Well, if the night light doesn't work, Daddy's got a baseball bat and I'll beat that boogeyman right back to whatever sewer he crawled out from." Raymie smiled bravely at his father and hugged him.

"Sleep in here wiff me, Daddy?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"I'll stay in here until you go to sleep, okay, Cap'n?" Teller put Raymie down. "Let's go kiss Mommy good night." Raymie and Teller walked down the hall to the other bedroom. Raymie kissed his mother good night and Teller grabbed an ash baseball bat he had stashed under the bed. When Arialla looked at him questioningly, he only shrugged, grabbed Raymie's hand and walked him back to bed. He tucked his son in and sat on the floor, cross-legged, with the bat propped against his shoulder.

As Teller waited for his son to fall asleep, he watched the dinosaurs parade around the walls and ceiling hypnotically. He was mesmerized by the lights and couldn't seem to pull his eyes away. As he watched, the dinosaurs floated away from the wall and circled around him merrily, tinkling a strange sort of lullaby. He suddenly sat bolt upright, his eyes darting around the room. He wasn't aware of falling asleep but he must have at some point; he had been awakened by the sounds of his own snores. His back was sore from the slouching position he was sitting in and he was freezing. What the fuck?! I know I closed that window. There was no mistake though. The window was open and the dinosaur curtains were blowing in the cool night air.

Teller stood up and closed the window, locking it for good measure. As he fixed the curtains, he could hear the soft sound of someone breathing. He walked over to Raymie's bed and tucked the covers around him more closely, kissing him lightly on the forehead so he wouldn't wake him. As he walked toward the door, he was conscious of the closet door being open. He moved to close it, but as he rested his hand on the door knob, he realized the wet breathing sound he heard was much louder.... and coming from inside the closet. He hoisted the baseball bat to his shoulder before throwing the closet door open and yanking the light chain. The closet was flooded with light and as the bare bulb swung back and forth slowly, the stark shadows it threw sent a thrill of fear through Teller. He jabbed the bat at the shadows, sweeping the clothes and toys aside. When he was satisfied that nothing sinister lay in wait in the shadows, he closed the closet door, leaving the light on for good measure.

He left the room, leaving Raymie's door open a crack. Casting one last wary yet shameful look behind him, he headed to his own room. He began to put the baseball bat back under his bed but, after a moment of deliberation, placed it beside his bed where he could reach it quickly if need be. He changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed. He held his wife protectively and wondered if he was doing the right thing by making his son sleep alone tonight. It was some time before he could fall asleep.

It seemed that he had just closed his eyes when he was awakened by the sound of his son's screams. "Daddy! Dad! Da'eeeeee!!" Teller raced into his son's room, Arialla right behind him. As he threw the bedroom door open, a shadow seemed to flit by in his peripheral vision. He turned to try and get a better look at it, but it was driven from his mind by his son's wails. Arialla turned on the light and gasped loudly. Teller looked around the room. This time there was a clear trail of something like mud on Raymie's carpet leading to his closet. The door was ajar again.

Teller pushed the closet door all the way open with the barrel of his bat and saw broken bits of glass reflected in the light from the room. The closet was pitch black. "The light bulb..." he muttered under his breath.

"Teller..." he heard his wife gasp behind him. He turned and got his first good look at his son. Raymie's sheets lay shredded and pooled in his lap. The same weird slime from the floor was on his sheets and there was blood visible in it, even from this distance. Teller crossed the room in four long strides, grabbed his son and carried him out of the room, his wife trailing behind in his wake. "What happened to him?" she asked, as Teller set his son on the bed and began to examine him.

"If I told you what I think, you'd think I was ripe for the men in white coats." He gave a crazy little giggle. "In fact, I'm starting to think that myself." He checked his son over. His pajamas were covered in muck and the pants were soaked through with blood and piss. As he peeled off his son's pajamas, Arialla went for a warm, wet washcloth to clean him up.

Raymie's sobs had quieted a little, but were still of a heartbreaking intensity. Teller couldn't face his son knowing that he had let this happen to him, knowing that it had gotten to him... Arialla came back into the room and began to bathe Raymie's wounds. "None of them are very deep. But... God, Teller, they look like claw marks. What happened to him?" Raymie scrubbed at the tears in his eyes as Arialla looked up at Teller.

Teller gave another wild little giggle. "Would you believe the Boogeyman did it?"

Arialla looked at him incredulously. "The Boogeyman? Teller, this is serious. Something got to our son and all you can do is... is make jokes about the goddamned Boogeyman?" she screamed at him hysterically. All Teller could do was flop down on the bed and shrug wearily.

"Don't you think I know how it sounds? I don't know what else to tell you. If you can come up with a better explanation, I'd be glad to hear it. Prove me wrong. Please do." He gave a wild laugh and raked his hands through his hair so it stood up in crazy spikes and whorls. "I hope like hell that I'm wrong, that I'm coming unhinged... I'd rather be in a padded room than go around believing the Boogeyman wants my kid."

Arialla finished cleaning up Raymie, wiping away his tears with a Kleenex. "It's okay. You're okay now. You're here with Mommy and Daddy."

"I wan' sleep wiff Mommy-Daddy," Raymie sobbed as his mother put him into some clean jammies. He clutched at his mother as Teller closed the door. "You promised he woodnt get me." Teller turned to see his son looking at him with eyes that weren't accusing but woeful. If Daddy couldn't protect him, who could? Teller hung his head and avoided his son's eyes. As they climbed into bed, Teller watched the closet. He reached up to turn off his lamp. "No! No dark!"

"Okay, Cap'n, I'll leave the light on." He breathed a sigh of relief. He no more wanted to sleep in the dark right now than go three rounds with Evander Holyfield, but he wasn't going to admit it, not when his wife already thought him ready for a nice jacket with buckles on the sleeves. Teller pulled the covers up to his chin and watched his closet raptly, looking and listening for the slightest sign of movement. It was nearly two hours before he was able to fall asleep.

Teller slept fitfully for three weeks, jumping at the smallest sounds. Every time his wife or son shifted in bed, he'd sit bolt upright in bed and look for the source of the noise, not laying back down until he was satisfied that nothing was out of the ordinary. His partner and staff began to notice a peaked, watchful look about him bordering on paranoia.

"Hey, Teller." Penn tapped him on the shoulder lightly. Teller jumped clear out of the chair he was sitting in, the coffee mug he held shattering on the floor. "You're a mess. The missus been keeping you up at night?" Penn joked, his eyebrows knit together with concern for his old friend.

"N-No... I'm fine." Teller smiled, but his eyes were darting around the room quickly then back up to the face of his partner. He looked positively ill. His face was pale and there were dark circles, like bruises, under his eyes. He was very twitchy, jumping at shadows, his eyes those of a hunted man.

"Right. And this is your... what? Third pot of coffee today?" Penn put a hand on Teller's shoulder and could feel him shaking. Probably from the caffeine rush he's feeling, Penn thought worriedly. At this rate, he's going to end up killing himself.

Teller rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. "Um, no. My fifth I think. Might be my sixth. I don't know. Lost count." Even his speech was jerky.

"Okay... I'm cutting you off, buddy. You're gonna give yourself a heart attack or somethin'."

Teller gave a wild giggle. I think he's finally lost what few marbles he had, Penn mused, backing away a step. "That's the least of my worries." He was suddenly straight-faced and the effect was frightening. "I have to pee. I'll be right back."

Penn followed a short distance behind. "Teller, you haven't been drinking, have you?"

He gave another crazy little giggle. "Nope. Never touched the stuff. But I think I might need to start..." Teller stood at the urinal and Penn took one beside him, not because he had to go, but for an excuse to keep an eye on his partner. "I wonder, do crazy people know that they're going crazy? Or do they think that they're normal and everyone else has gone mad?"

"You, uh, wanna talk about it, little buddy?" Penn asked, zipping his fly and moving to a sink as Teller did the same.

Teller looked at Penn hopefully for a second and opened his mouth to speak, but, seeming to think better of it, he shook his head so quickly Penn felt his own neck wanting to crack. "No, better not. I'm good, really." He smiled and almost looked himself as he looked Penn in the eye. "Really." He walked past Penn out of the bathroom.

"You're fine. Uh huh, and I'm the Reverend Al Sharpton," Penn muttered under his breath as the door shut behind Teller. He followed Teller out of the rest room, promising himself that he'd keep a closer eye on him. Meanwhile, Teller was brewing another pot of espresso as the crew gave him a wide berth.

That night, Teller returned home, so weary he nearly collapsed in the doorway. He walked to the dinner table as stiffly as a George Romero zombie. When Arialla kissed his cheek, he barely blinked. "How are you feeling, hun?"

Not catching the worry in her voice, or maybe willfully ignoring it, he smiled warmly and propped his chin on his hand. "Pretty well for a corpse. But as far as people go, I think I've passed frightful and gone directly for ghastly." He rubbed his eyes roughly before giving her his best roguish smile. "My friends think you've been keeping me up nights. You are positively insatiable lately."

Arialla gave him a playful nudge and set a plate in front of him. "Well, they're just jealous that their wives aren't keeping them active until the wee hours." She sat beside him and watched him eat. "Really, what's going on? I'm worried about you and Raymie."

Teller stared unenthusiastically at his food, shifting it around his plate with his fork. "What's wrong with Raymie?" he asked in an offhand manner, but the sudden sharpness in his formerly glazed expression spoke volumes.

"Well, he's sleeping about as well as you are, for one. He won't even get in the bed unless you're there..."

Teller looked around quickly. "W-where's Raymond?" he asked in a would-be calm voice.

"I put him to bed an hour ago. He put up a bit of a fight and spent at least twenty minutes crying, but he finally quieted down." Her voice faded to silence. "What's wrong with you?" Teller was looking at her as though he had never seen her before or had just noticed she was there.

"You put him to bed? Alone?"

"Yes. I thought we could use the time alone. And the activity might help you sleep a little better." She put a hand on his arm and smiled. Teller's face darkened as he pushed his food away, untouched, and stood. "What's wrong?"

"I'm going to check on Raymie," he answered, his voice deadly quiet.

"He's fine," she said, standing nervously.

"I'll feel better after I check on him." He moved toward the door. Arialla put a hand on his arm to hold him back.

"You'll feel better after a decent meal and a good night's sleep. You haven't slept in weeks and I can't remember the last time you've eaten." Her voice rose heatedly as she tightened her grip.

"I'm not hungry. And I sleep plenty." He walked away hurriedly.

"Are you still on about the Boogeyman? You know, that's probably why our son is scared to death. You've got him believing in some cockamamie Bogey-thing or whatever."

"I'm not on about anything. Did you suddenly forget the scratches all over his body a few weeks ago? If you did, the scars are still there for you to get a good look at!"

"He probably scratched himself in his sleep or something; tossing and turning like that, I wouldn't be surprised if he did."

"Even if we ignore the disappearing kids and the gunk in his bed, the fact that he 'probably scratched himself in his sleep or something' is reason enough for me to watch him. I don't remember it being normal for children to have night terrors and cold sweats so badly they do themselves bodily harm."

"Don't get snappy at me!"

A thousand responses ran through Teller's mind but he kept his mouth shut tightly as he opened Raymie's door. In the light from the night light, he could see Raymie sleeping soundly, clutching his teddy bear, Dexter, to his chest. Teller straightened his son's covers and kissed him gently on the forehead.

"Are you happy now? He's fine. The Boogeyman didn't come and snatch him up," Arialla whispered fiercely. "He's sleeping just fine. It's time you do the same."

Teller glared at Arialla and waited for her to stop. "Are you through?" he asked coldly as he shut Raymie's door quietly. "Do you feel better now?"

"No. I'll feel better when you don't look like the walking dead. I'll feel better when you've eaten, when you've slept for more than ten minutes at a time, and when you've stopped sleeping with the lights on. Then I'll feel better."

"Well, you can sleep with the lights off tonight. I think I should sleep alone tonight."

"What? Why?"

Teller didn't respond. He simply went into their room and grabbed his pillow and the blanket they kept at the foot of the bed for those occasional cold nights. Ignoring his wife's protests, he laid down in his son's room, his back pressed firmly against the closet door. He drifted off as his wife stomped off down the hall.

Teller was awakened by a horrible stench, like a mix of raw sewage and rancid bacon. As he sat up on the floor, the closet door began to open. He slammed it closed again, distantly aware that his son was sitting up in his bed as well. "Daddy!" Raymie sobbed, screwing his eyes up against the tears.

"Shhh!" Teller whispered fiercely. He stood up, facing the closet door expectantly. The door exploded open, knocking Teller to the floor. Teller's mouth dropped open in horror as he saw some soggy, squooshy creature with red eyes that glowed like embers chuckling in the doorway. Before whatever it was could ooze out, Teller kicked the door closed with both feet. He scrambled up and threw himself against the door, bracing his feet against the carpet. He didn't realize that he was screaming until Arialla burst into the room, her bathrobe half on and her hair a halo of tangled wire around her head.

"What's all the screaming about?!" she yelled, trying to make herself heard over Teller and Raymond's shouts. She was answered by the rattling of the door knob. Teller's eyes fell on the door knob and he grabbed it with both hands. The door knob twisted under his sweaty fingers and the closet door pushed against him. Arialla watched as Teller put his back against the door, digging his heels into the carpet. She pulled at her face in horror as the veins in her husband's forehead and neck stood out vividly against his skin with the strain of keeping the closet door closed. Almost without thinking, she turned the light on. The noises immediately stopped.

"Oh my God, what the fuck was that? I mean, what the fuck!!" Arialla screamed, pointing at the closet door. Teller slid to the floor, ignoring the broken glass in the mirror and the shards on the carpet.

"Still think I'm a few sandwiches short of a picnic?" he asked, exhausted. He began to nod off, unable to fight his weariness any longer. Arialla shook him roughly.

"What the hell was in that closet, Teller?" She lifted his head so their eyes met. "And don't give me that crap about--"

"The Boogeyman?" he finished for her, smiling drunkenly. "How's about you open up the closet door and see? I won't stop you." He moved away from the closet and Arialla opened the door. She saw absolutely nothing inside...at first. As she began to close the door, she noticed a small pile of gooze beginning to sink into the rug.