Chapter Text
Pitch Black swooped from house to house, looking for any children who just might still believe in him. It was getting harder and harder these days, and with his deteriorating body, it was getting harder to feed as well.
You see, Pitch as the boogeyman, needed to feed off some fresh fear to remain strong. Doesn’t matter from who or how, but he prefers to scare them himself. Leaves him with less guilt that way. Why would he want to stick by a hospital, mooching off the patient’s fear of leaving their loved ones behind? Or from the hiker who broke their leg after taking a tumble down a rather steep hill?
No, he much rather just give some child a nightmare or two. Innocent fear. Stuff that they’ll laugh at when they're older. Nothing that will cause any lasting damage.
So as Pitch was sweeping a rather bland looking neighborhood, he could sense a large spike of fear from a couple of houses down. Not a sudden nightmare, mind you, those were always tame. This was a ‘scared for their lives’ kind of fear. A child’s one at that. That was never good.
Dashing from shadow to shadow, aided by how the evening sun lengthened each bit of shade. Drawing near the source, Pitch unconsciously started feeding on the vile fear. Another reason why Pitch preferred innocent fear, the alternative was fucking disgusting. But it was strong, it might be strong enough for him to help the poor kid.
Finally landing in front of his target, he quickly observed the surroundings. Another bland and dull house with a neatly trimmed yard and boring foliage. The only thing separating this house from the others is a neat little number four etched next to the door and the stench of fear coming from inside. Well, enough stalling. Time to see what he’s dealing with.
Slithering through the crack under the door, he snuck into what looked like the living room where the fear was the strongest. Not like it looked like anyone had lived in the room. Ever. Too clean looking. Well, except for the fresh blood on the floor. Wait. What!
A crubbled mass of limbs laid there bloody on the once pristine carpet. The mass was shaking terribly, both from crying and pure terror. All sound coming from the kid was drowned out by shitty pop music and some loud grumbling coming from the kitchen. Then it waddled out. A large walrus of a man came stumbling out of the kitchen with a large wooden cane, muttering loudly about something Pitch couldn’t quite make out, too slurred to understand. Shit. Drunk, angry, and armed. Primitive weapon it may be, but a weapon none the less.
Shit. He can’t do much to an adult. They don’t believe so nothing he did would so much as stall this obese golaith. Let’s just hope that the kid has heard of the boogieman.
Just as the cane came swinging down, a rope of black sand leashed around the kid’s balled form and yanked the child out of the way and into the shadows. Not that it was seen by anyone as the child was still cowering and the drunk asshole has grown out of so called children's tales. Much to Pitch’s annoyance. But it shouldn’t matter. Setting his wounded pride aside, he looked down at the child who is now looking up at him in terror.
“Hang on kid, my form of travel tends to be a bit unpleasant for others.” Pitch spoke in a hushed tone, hopefully not to scare the kid more than he already has. “Here we go.”
And with that blank sand swirled around, closing in until dropping back to the ground. Where before stood The Boogieman and a broken child now lay nothing but a few drops of blood.