| General Fiction posted June 22, 2010 | Chapters: |
...7 8 -9- 
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Annabelle tells her one story
A chapter in the book Tales to Terrify Tots
Tales To Terrify Tots - Epilogue
by snodlander
The Bogey Man slipped out of the wardrobe, grinning his usual grin, walking with his usual swagger and, as usual, ready to trick Annabelle into screaming for her long-suffering parents.
“I’ve brought ear plugs tonight, because you are going to scream so loud the roof is going to collapse,” he boasted.
Annabelle shook her head. “No, tonight you are going to scream, because I’m going to tell you a story.”
The Bogey Man froze as still as an ice-lolly, an expression of shock on his face. Then he laughed. He laughed so loudly Annabelle was sure her parents would come in. He laughed until he had to hold his sides. He laughed until he fell over backwards. Annabelle waited, sitting in her bed with her arms folded, waiting for him to be quiet.
“Oh, oh dear me. Oh, sorry. Oh, but that is the funniest thing I have ever heard,” gasped the Bogey Man, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “You? Scare me? And how do you think you are going to manage that? I do scary all the time. I’m friends with trolls. I have dinner with monsters. I go to ghosts’ birthday parties. How is a little, scaredy-cat, girly baby going to scare me? I am the Bogey Man!”
Annabelle scowled. “I’m not a baby! Just you sit down there, Mr Bogey Man, and listen to my story. You are going to be so scared you’ll beg me to stop. I’m going to scare you so much you won’t be able to sleep for a week. I am going to make you scream so loud that they will hear you all across Bogeyland.”
Shaking his head, giggling quietly under his breath, the Bogey Man sat on the edge of Annabelle’s bed and waited for the story.
Once upon a time, there was a brave, clever girl called Anne.
“Oh, so this isn’t a true story then, if she’s brave and clever,” interrupted the Bogey Man. Annabelle ignored him.
Every night Anne was visited by a Bogey Man who was learning to be a proper Bogey Man.
“I am a proper Bogey Man,” whined the Bogey Man.
“This is a totally different Bogey Man from you,” replied Annabelle. “He just happens to be just like you.”
The problem with this Bogey Man was: he wasn’t very scary. He would try to frighten Anne by creaking the wardrobe door, but the squeaking just annoyed her. He tried to scare her by making shadows look like monsters, but they just looked like furniture in the dark. He tried to terrify her by groaning and moaning, but he just sounded like he had tummy ache.
But the Grand Council demanded that little girls scream for their parents. It was the Bogey law. Anne was too brave and clever to be scared by the Bogey Man, because the Bogey Man was too cowardly and stupid to scare her.
“I’m not …” started the Bogey Man, but stopped when he saw Anne’s angry glare.
The only way that the Bogey Man could get Anne to scream was to trick her with his stories. He told her stories of ghosts and ghoulies. He told her tales of blood and guts. He told her legends of murder and mayhem. But instead of frightening Anne, she enjoyed them. They weren’t scary in the least.
“You must have been scared a few times. Just a little bit?” asked the Bogey Man.
Annabelle shook her head. “No, not once. Not even a tincey wincey bit. But this story isn’t about me, it’s about Anne. Be quiet!”
Anne liked hearing the Bogey Man tell his stories. They were different from the usual fairy tales Mum and Dad read to her, as though she were a baby. And the Bogey Man was funny, trying to be all scary and horrible but being so very, very bad at it. The only way he could get her to scream was to trick and cheat and lie, and even then, she only screamed in a fun sort of way.
And so it was, night after night, the Bogey Man would tell Anne a bedtime story, and Anne would scream at the end, just so the Bogey Man didn’t feel bad.
One evening, when the Bogey Man was sitting by Anne, telling her a completely ridiculous story (about the headless teacher that spent all eternity giving ghostly detention to children), Anne decided it was time to thank the Bogey Man.
So she sat up in her bed and threw her arms around the Bogey Man’s neck, like this.
Annabelle threw her arms around the Bogey Man and hugged him. The Bogey Man was horrified.
“Ew. Let go,” cried the Bogey Man. “Eeeww, that’s horrible. Wait a minute. I can smell soap! Oh no, you’ve had a bath, haven’t you? Yuck! That’s disgusting. Stop it, stop it. You’re getting me all clean and nice-smelling.”
The Bogey Man tried to push her away, but Annabelle kept tight hold of him.
And then Anne leant close to the Bogey Man’s ear, so close he could feel her breath, and she whispered, “I love you, Mr Bogey Man.”
The Bogey Man shivered, as though a big centipede had run up and down his back. “That’s a horrible thing to say to someone. Love? Ew, I hate that. Don’t say it, don’t say it!”
And then, do you know what she did? To thank the Bogey Man, Anne pursed her lips like this …
“No,no,no,no,no,” shouted the Bogey Man. “Don’t say it, please don’t say it.”
Then she turned her head like this ….
The Bogey Man started crying. “Stop it, stop it, stop it, please.”
And she gave him a big … wet … sloppy … slurpy kiss, just like this.
And Annabelle gave the Bogey Man a big, wet, sloppy, slurpy kiss on his cheek. The Bogey Man gave out a scream, so loud, so high, so horrible that only bats and children could hear it. He tore Annabelle’s arms away from his neck and danced around the room, trying to rub the kiss and hug off his face.
“You cheated!” he shouted. “That wasn’t scary, that was … that was … that was nice! Being nice to a Bogey Man is a terrible thing to do. Cheating to make me scream doesn’t count.”
But, of course, they both knew that it did count.
The Bogey Man slipped out of the wardrobe, grinning his usual grin, walking with his usual swagger and, as usual, ready to trick Annabelle into screaming for her long-suffering parents.
“I’ve brought ear plugs tonight, because you are going to scream so loud the roof is going to collapse,” he boasted.
Annabelle shook her head. “No, tonight you are going to scream, because I’m going to tell you a story.”
The Bogey Man froze as still as an ice-lolly, an expression of shock on his face. Then he laughed. He laughed so loudly Annabelle was sure her parents would come in. He laughed until he had to hold his sides. He laughed until he fell over backwards. Annabelle waited, sitting in her bed with her arms folded, waiting for him to be quiet.
“Oh, oh dear me. Oh, sorry. Oh, but that is the funniest thing I have ever heard,” gasped the Bogey Man, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “You? Scare me? And how do you think you are going to manage that? I do scary all the time. I’m friends with trolls. I have dinner with monsters. I go to ghosts’ birthday parties. How is a little, scaredy-cat, girly baby going to scare me? I am the Bogey Man!”
Annabelle scowled. “I’m not a baby! Just you sit down there, Mr Bogey Man, and listen to my story. You are going to be so scared you’ll beg me to stop. I’m going to scare you so much you won’t be able to sleep for a week. I am going to make you scream so loud that they will hear you all across Bogeyland.”
Shaking his head, giggling quietly under his breath, the Bogey Man sat on the edge of Annabelle’s bed and waited for the story.
Once upon a time, there was a brave, clever girl called Anne.
“Oh, so this isn’t a true story then, if she’s brave and clever,” interrupted the Bogey Man. Annabelle ignored him.
Every night Anne was visited by a Bogey Man who was learning to be a proper Bogey Man.
“I am a proper Bogey Man,” whined the Bogey Man.
“This is a totally different Bogey Man from you,” replied Annabelle. “He just happens to be just like you.”
The problem with this Bogey Man was: he wasn’t very scary. He would try to frighten Anne by creaking the wardrobe door, but the squeaking just annoyed her. He tried to scare her by making shadows look like monsters, but they just looked like furniture in the dark. He tried to terrify her by groaning and moaning, but he just sounded like he had tummy ache.
But the Grand Council demanded that little girls scream for their parents. It was the Bogey law. Anne was too brave and clever to be scared by the Bogey Man, because the Bogey Man was too cowardly and stupid to scare her.
“I’m not …” started the Bogey Man, but stopped when he saw Anne’s angry glare.
The only way that the Bogey Man could get Anne to scream was to trick her with his stories. He told her stories of ghosts and ghoulies. He told her tales of blood and guts. He told her legends of murder and mayhem. But instead of frightening Anne, she enjoyed them. They weren’t scary in the least.
“You must have been scared a few times. Just a little bit?” asked the Bogey Man.
Annabelle shook her head. “No, not once. Not even a tincey wincey bit. But this story isn’t about me, it’s about Anne. Be quiet!”
Anne liked hearing the Bogey Man tell his stories. They were different from the usual fairy tales Mum and Dad read to her, as though she were a baby. And the Bogey Man was funny, trying to be all scary and horrible but being so very, very bad at it. The only way he could get her to scream was to trick and cheat and lie, and even then, she only screamed in a fun sort of way.
And so it was, night after night, the Bogey Man would tell Anne a bedtime story, and Anne would scream at the end, just so the Bogey Man didn’t feel bad.
One evening, when the Bogey Man was sitting by Anne, telling her a completely ridiculous story (about the headless teacher that spent all eternity giving ghostly detention to children), Anne decided it was time to thank the Bogey Man.
So she sat up in her bed and threw her arms around the Bogey Man’s neck, like this.
Annabelle threw her arms around the Bogey Man and hugged him. The Bogey Man was horrified.
“Ew. Let go,” cried the Bogey Man. “Eeeww, that’s horrible. Wait a minute. I can smell soap! Oh no, you’ve had a bath, haven’t you? Yuck! That’s disgusting. Stop it, stop it. You’re getting me all clean and nice-smelling.”
The Bogey Man tried to push her away, but Annabelle kept tight hold of him.
And then Anne leant close to the Bogey Man’s ear, so close he could feel her breath, and she whispered, “I love you, Mr Bogey Man.”
The Bogey Man shivered, as though a big centipede had run up and down his back. “That’s a horrible thing to say to someone. Love? Ew, I hate that. Don’t say it, don’t say it!”
And then, do you know what she did? To thank the Bogey Man, Anne pursed her lips like this …
“No,no,no,no,no,” shouted the Bogey Man. “Don’t say it, please don’t say it.”
Then she turned her head like this ….
The Bogey Man started crying. “Stop it, stop it, stop it, please.”
And she gave him a big … wet … sloppy … slurpy kiss, just like this.
And Annabelle gave the Bogey Man a big, wet, sloppy, slurpy kiss on his cheek. The Bogey Man gave out a scream, so loud, so high, so horrible that only bats and children could hear it. He tore Annabelle’s arms away from his neck and danced around the room, trying to rub the kiss and hug off his face.
“You cheated!” he shouted. “That wasn’t scary, that was … that was … that was nice! Being nice to a Bogey Man is a terrible thing to do. Cheating to make me scream doesn’t count.”
But, of course, they both knew that it did count.
“I’ve brought ear plugs tonight, because you are going to scream so loud the roof is going to collapse,” he boasted.
Annabelle shook her head. “No, tonight you are going to scream, because I’m going to tell you a story.”
The Bogey Man froze as still as an ice-lolly, an expression of shock on his face. Then he laughed. He laughed so loudly Annabelle was sure her parents would come in. He laughed until he had to hold his sides. He laughed until he fell over backwards. Annabelle waited, sitting in her bed with her arms folded, waiting for him to be quiet.
“Oh, oh dear me. Oh, sorry. Oh, but that is the funniest thing I have ever heard,” gasped the Bogey Man, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “You? Scare me? And how do you think you are going to manage that? I do scary all the time. I’m friends with trolls. I have dinner with monsters. I go to ghosts’ birthday parties. How is a little, scaredy-cat, girly baby going to scare me? I am the Bogey Man!”
Annabelle scowled. “I’m not a baby! Just you sit down there, Mr Bogey Man, and listen to my story. You are going to be so scared you’ll beg me to stop. I’m going to scare you so much you won’t be able to sleep for a week. I am going to make you scream so loud that they will hear you all across Bogeyland.”
Shaking his head, giggling quietly under his breath, the Bogey Man sat on the edge of Annabelle’s bed and waited for the story.
Once upon a time, there was a brave, clever girl called Anne.
“Oh, so this isn’t a true story then, if she’s brave and clever,” interrupted the Bogey Man. Annabelle ignored him.
Every night Anne was visited by a Bogey Man who was learning to be a proper Bogey Man.
“I am a proper Bogey Man,” whined the Bogey Man.
“This is a totally different Bogey Man from you,” replied Annabelle. “He just happens to be just like you.”
The problem with this Bogey Man was: he wasn’t very scary. He would try to frighten Anne by creaking the wardrobe door, but the squeaking just annoyed her. He tried to scare her by making shadows look like monsters, but they just looked like furniture in the dark. He tried to terrify her by groaning and moaning, but he just sounded like he had tummy ache.
But the Grand Council demanded that little girls scream for their parents. It was the Bogey law. Anne was too brave and clever to be scared by the Bogey Man, because the Bogey Man was too cowardly and stupid to scare her.
“I’m not …” started the Bogey Man, but stopped when he saw Anne’s angry glare.
The only way that the Bogey Man could get Anne to scream was to trick her with his stories. He told her stories of ghosts and ghoulies. He told her tales of blood and guts. He told her legends of murder and mayhem. But instead of frightening Anne, she enjoyed them. They weren’t scary in the least.
“You must have been scared a few times. Just a little bit?” asked the Bogey Man.
Annabelle shook her head. “No, not once. Not even a tincey wincey bit. But this story isn’t about me, it’s about Anne. Be quiet!”
Anne liked hearing the Bogey Man tell his stories. They were different from the usual fairy tales Mum and Dad read to her, as though she were a baby. And the Bogey Man was funny, trying to be all scary and horrible but being so very, very bad at it. The only way he could get her to scream was to trick and cheat and lie, and even then, she only screamed in a fun sort of way.
And so it was, night after night, the Bogey Man would tell Anne a bedtime story, and Anne would scream at the end, just so the Bogey Man didn’t feel bad.
One evening, when the Bogey Man was sitting by Anne, telling her a completely ridiculous story (about the headless teacher that spent all eternity giving ghostly detention to children), Anne decided it was time to thank the Bogey Man.
So she sat up in her bed and threw her arms around the Bogey Man’s neck, like this.
Annabelle threw her arms around the Bogey Man and hugged him. The Bogey Man was horrified.
“Ew. Let go,” cried the Bogey Man. “Eeeww, that’s horrible. Wait a minute. I can smell soap! Oh no, you’ve had a bath, haven’t you? Yuck! That’s disgusting. Stop it, stop it. You’re getting me all clean and nice-smelling.”
The Bogey Man tried to push her away, but Annabelle kept tight hold of him.
And then Anne leant close to the Bogey Man’s ear, so close he could feel her breath, and she whispered, “I love you, Mr Bogey Man.”
The Bogey Man shivered, as though a big centipede had run up and down his back. “That’s a horrible thing to say to someone. Love? Ew, I hate that. Don’t say it, don’t say it!”
And then, do you know what she did? To thank the Bogey Man, Anne pursed her lips like this …
“No,no,no,no,no,” shouted the Bogey Man. “Don’t say it, please don’t say it.”
Then she turned her head like this ….
The Bogey Man started crying. “Stop it, stop it, stop it, please.”
And she gave him a big … wet … sloppy … slurpy kiss, just like this.
And Annabelle gave the Bogey Man a big, wet, sloppy, slurpy kiss on his cheek. The Bogey Man gave out a scream, so loud, so high, so horrible that only bats and children could hear it. He tore Annabelle’s arms away from his neck and danced around the room, trying to rub the kiss and hug off his face.
“You cheated!” he shouted. “That wasn’t scary, that was … that was … that was nice! Being nice to a Bogey Man is a terrible thing to do. Cheating to make me scream doesn’t count.”
But, of course, they both knew that it did count.
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