Mark Monro, blind moody teenager, returns!

Bogey Problems

Stretching his arms over his head, as a yawn escaped his lips, Mark Monro looked groggily around his room. His room was bathed in the yellowish light of morning sun that was creeping through the slits of his blinds. The light cast misshapen shadows across his room thanks to all the piles of clothes and papers that had taken up residence on the floor. What Mark saw, however, was pitch black darkness.

Moving to the edge of his bed, and sliding off it, he stretched once more, before running his hand along a bedside stand. His fingers came in contact with a smooth surface, and Mark grabbed his collapsible cane. Once the pieces clicked into place, Mark started out of his room with the cane being waved idly to and fro in front of him.

It was slow going, since his cane got snagged on an article of clothing once in awhile, but Mark did eventually make it to the kitchen. Just as his foot hit the chilling tile of the kitchen, it landed smackdab into something sticky, squishy, and altogether gooey.

"What the f--"

"Mark, watch your language!" interrupted Mark's mother from somewhere in the kitchen, "And don't come in here. Rosie has made a huge mess."

"Well, can you at least give me a towel then? I just stepped into some muck." Retorted Mark, coldly, with a slight inflection that indicated it would have been nice to know the kitchen was a mess before stepping foot into it. Getting the towel he wanted, delivered irately onto his head, he grabbed it, and glared moodily at the room in general.

After wiping the gunk from his foot, Mark threw the towel casually into the kitchen, not caring a bit where it landed, and wandered into the living room with the help of the cane. He knew he left his mother in a state of bitter resentment when he threw the towel so carelessly into an already messy kitchen. Yet, Mark knew she'd deal with it. She couldn't very well harm her blind son.

Flopping down onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions, Mark silently glared at the television. Or, at least he assumed where the television was. With his mother's need to move the furniture at least once every three months, it was hard to Mark to know anymore. It wasn't as if he could watch it anyhow, so he supposed it didn't matter much. Vaguely, though, he wondered where Zaimix, his little seeing eye muse, had gotten off to. Usually the little flying nitwit was in his room, awaiting for Mark to wake up.

"Mark?" murmured the familiar voice of his little sister Rosie as she flopped down beside him on the couch. Mark moved his head to where he assumed she was and waited for her to talk. He knew people preferred him to look at them when they spoke to him. Beside, it was a habit now, to turn his head towards whoever was speaking.

"What's the matter, Rosie? You sound kind of upset." Mark's eyebrows furrowed as a frown etched itself deeper onto his lips. Despite being twelve years apart in age, Mark and Rosie were very close. Mostly, it was thanks to the fact that Rosie was also able to see what Mark now saw. She wasn't blind, like him. Instead, she was much more insightful than most adults.

After Mark's accident on school premises that robbed him of his sight, he had been given a new gift. It was the ability to see magical creatures, and whatever those creatures touched. Children were always able to see certain creatures, like their imaginary friends who would later evolve into muses as the children journeyed into adulthood. Rosie was the only member of Mark's family that knew of his new talent, and was the only one would believe him, since she saw the creatures too.

He waited, in the eternal darkness of his world, for Rosie to answer. She was hesitant, he knew that. Yet, he remained silent, since he knew Rosie was merely working up the courage to ask. Finally, after fidgeting for a few moments, Rosie piped up, "Mom's real mad at me, Mark. But, I didn't make that mess in the kitchen! I swear!"

"How bad could the mess be?" asked Mark, since he had only been introduced to the mess via stepping into a pile of slop on the floor. Again, Rosie was hesitant, but she answered after half a moment of silence. From the picture Rosie painted about the kitchen, Mark assumed they'd have to go grocery shopping again.

"Chocolate syrup was dripping from the ceiling, and eggs were all over the floor with flour. The fridge was left unplugged, and the ice cream was left out on the kitchen table and melted all over the table." Rosie took a deep breath, before going on, "The chips were all over the floor, and stepped on, and the cookies were the same way. And there was Jell-O in the microwave, and ketchup all over the counters."

"I see." Mark replied simply, not realizing the irony of his words. He leaned back into the couch, and closed his eyes. Letting his thoughts meander for a moment, Mark's half-asleep mind finally jolted and started to swirl with questions. Moving his head to face towards Rosie, knowing she was still there from the weight on the cushion beside him, he cracked his eyes open a little, "Well, I believe it wasn't you, Rosie. But, who was it, then?"

"Rodney." Whispered Rosie in an ashamed tone.

"Who's Rod--"

For the second time that morning, Mark was interrupted. Although, this time, it wasn't by his mother snapping at him. Instead, it was from a light popping sound, which was soon followed by a light, almost non-existent mist. In the swirl of the smoke, Zaimix, Mark's seeing-eye muse, appeared in a fluster of feathers and anxiety, "Mark! We have a dangerous situation. A named bogey monster! Right here in the house!"

Mark blinked for a moment, staring at the little muse that was the only thing in his view of darkness. His mind wobbled, not sure why a bogey monster with a name was a bad thing. He raised an eyebrow, silently inquiring Zaimix to elaborate on the situation. Rosie, on the other hand, sucked in a sharp intake of air, causing Mark to tilt his head slightly towards her.

Zaimix's own eyes wandered over to Rosie, before the information about the bogey monster flew from his lips, "Bogey monsters aren't supposed to be named. They're supposed to be projections of fears, and once named they get a personality. Yet, when their instinct of being a fear-rendering imp starts to clash against that personality, a bogey will lose control and trash the house." The muse paused for a moment to glide over to Rosie. As he flopped onto her shoulder, thus bringing the little girl into Mark's vision, Zaimix continued, "This has happened many times before, where little kids have lost their imaginary friend or have yet to have one assigned to them. Parents always blame the child, and usually the child ends up being a miscreant in situations where the bogey hasn't been contained."

Mark's little sister hung her head, guiltily, realizing that all the problems that had been happening to the family were her fault. The blind young man sighed as he closed his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. This rogue bogey would explain all the socks that had started to go missing a few weeks ago. Then there was the fact that the VCR had a popsicle shoved into it, and that their mother's car 'mysteriously' had lipstick scrawled all over it. Vaguely, Mark pieced together his very limited knowledge of bogey monsters.

Usually, they preferred dark places, but they weren't seen by adults anyhow. Only a child could see these legendary creatures, and usually they were the ones put to blame for whatever problems arose thanks to a named bogey. Usually, though, when left nameless, bogey monsters were harmless creatures that only fed on the fear of children. They would never go as far as hurting a child, since the child is their main source of energy. Yet, Mark wasn't sure how much a rogue bogey that was slowly losing control was capable of.

"This is all my fault, Mark." murmured Rosie after a long silence. She looked up at Mark just as he moved his head to look at her. As she gnawed at the inside of her cheek nervously, Mark observed her. His heart slightly melted at her looking so worried, and he knew she probably was trying to help the bogey or give him a friend. It wasn't her fault that she didn't know about naming boogies. He didn't even know about that little trait of them until Zaimix told him.

"Don't worry about it, Rosie. I'll fix this. It shouldn't take too long." replied Mark, moving a hand to ruffle Rosie's head full of curls, "Just keep clear of mom until this all blows over. You know how she gets when her home life isn't under her complete control."

His tone held bitter resentment to the woman he had to deem mother, but Rosie was used to hearing that tone when Mark spoke of the woman. Halfheartedly, she nodded her head, still feeling immensely guilty for bringing this trouble into her family's life. Mark simply sighed, and attempted to smile warmly at his little sister. It came out more awkwardly, though, and didn't cheer the little girl up.

Pushing his failure aside, Mark got to his feet, and made sure his cane was still clicked together. The darn thing had a habit of coming loose when during moments of not being used. Glancing over at Rosie, Mark inquired, "Where's Rodney at?"

Zaimix flew off of Rosie's shoulder as soon as Mark turned and asked the question. The little muse knew that the young man was about to take the matters of the bogey into his own hands. As Rosie faded into the blind darkness of Mark's 'normal' world, she answered, "I think he's in my room, in the closet."