Saw Rise of the Guardians, and OH MY GOD. Fell in love with Jack Frost. I found the fandom on Tumblr. . .and then discovered that there are books. From these books, I realized. . .Pitch has a backstory that's very tragic. He just became a hero in my eyes. This is how I wish it would go.


It had all started after I had gotten my memories back. Yea, cliched, I know. But it did. I remembered the memory of my sister and I out on the ice. I remembered saving her, but dying in her stead. I can't even imagine what she might have gone through, just watching me drop. I can't help but morbidly wonder if they ever found my body? It was the 1700's, after all, and I wouldn't expect my family to dredge up my corpse. We just didn't have the means. We lived comfortably, yes, but not wealthy. What we did have we had saved up for. We ate enough, never wasted, and we never were cold. My mother often knitted hats and scarves for us with what wool we could buy off of the farmers.

I vividly remember the terrified expression on my sister's face as the ice cracked underneath my feet. And then I was cold. I couldn't breathe. The last thing I remember was Emma's face staring after me in horror as I floated down. My body was numbed almost instantly. There was no saving me.

I'm not exactly sure when it happened, but it must have been the way that I had died that made me lose my memories. Thank the Moon that Tooth keeps all the memories for the children of the world. But there are some things that I just don't want to remember.

My mother would tell Emma and I bedtime stories, ever since I was little and my sister wasn't even thought of yet. The stories would range from boring to fantastical, and it was always the ones that had magic in them that I was interested in. Strangely enough, there were stories about North, and Tooth, and even Bunny. It was strange to hear about the Sandman, who gave us good dreams, and Santa Claus who brought us presents if we were good during the year, and the Tooth Fairy who brought us gifts in exchange for the next milestone in our childhood. And the Easter Bunny? Well, he was called a hare in the few stories I was told. I fondly remember one where Bunny had to hide all of the Easter Eggs to prevent the Fearlings from destroying them. He even went to great lengths to hide them in the most obscure of places where the Fearlings couldn't find them. But, by morning, he would have hidden so many eggs that he couldn't remember where all of them were. So he recruited the children to find the eggs for him, and to place them in a basket so they wouldn't get up and walk away. Emma loved that one. But there was one story that my mother insisted upon telling us, despite our dislike for it. She told us a story about the Boogyman. Yes, back when I was a boy, Pitch had his stories. There was no way that he would ever be forgotten, when his stories were handed down with everyone else's. But my mother spoke to us of an eerie tale. It was almost as if she had seen it happen, she went into that much detail, she used that much emotion.

Her story started out with a lonely man, who was forbidden to see his daughter. He had to stand guard over the prison, so nothing could escape. He was the only man for the job, the only one able to keep the prisoners at bay, but he missed his daughter dearly.

My mother described the creatures that the man had to guard as creatures of pure evil. They would haunt a child if given the chance, and hang heavily in the air. They were pure fear. The things that go bump in the night. Those were them. They would have enshrouded the planet in darkness, if they were given free reign.

This man prevented them from doing so. In a way, he was the first Guardian, before Man in the Moon was born.

"The man was strong, it was true," she would then go on, giving us both a hug as if to alleviate our fears of the creatures, "but he couldn't be strong forever." The creatures had found his weakness. For every time those things would wear him down, he would look at a picture of the daughter he was never allowed to see. And it calmed him. It centered him. It made him be at peace. For he knew he would never be able to see her again so long as his presence was needed there. But he could hope. And that hope was his downfall.

One day, his daughter appeared behind the same bars that held back the creatures. He knew it couldn't be real, because his daughter wasn't that age anymore. She wasn't seven. It had been ten long years, and she was now a young woman. He got letters from her, but no pictures. She's starting a family. But this girl in front of him, this seven year old girl was calling out for him. For her daddy. And he couldn't help it. He was weak.

He let the monsters out.

He knew what he was doing, however. He wanted to free himself, too. So the man took the creatures into his own body, letting them use him as a vessel to keep them all in one place. He was free to go. The Fearlings weren't.

"Those creatures of darkness are kept at bay by the man's forgotten memories. He forgot about his daughter when he took them in, but he knew it was a sacrifice that had to be made to keep her safe. To keep all of the children safe," my mother would then say. Whenever she told this story, she couldn't help but cry every time. It was as if the story hit closer to home with her than it did with us.

The Boogeyman had been born.

The story ended there.

Emma would cry by the time our mother got halfway through the story. Not because of the Fearlings, but because she knew what was coming. She hated this story.

"Why couldn't the job have gone to someone else?!" she had screamed at my mother one night. Now that I have my memories back, I know I'll never forget her words.

"Who else would have had the strength to stand up to those creatures? His daughter's picture gave him strength to not be tempted by those things. But by the end, he just wanted to be done. He would guard them, yes, but he would not become a prisoner himself," my mother would reply. I usually had nothing to say. I think it was because, like Emma, I didn't like the story because of it's ending. I had always thought that it should have been someone else. He should have stayed with his daughter. I mentioned that, once.

"If he had, you would not be here," our mother had said. "This world would have been consumed by darkness well before your grandmother was born. It's because of the Boogeyman that you are safe at night. A little fear is healthy for a child. It keeps them from doing something dangerous. Nightmares are necessary. If there is no bad, you will never know how good a dream is. The Boogeyman keeps the more terrifying and harmful of darkness away from the children of the world. He makes sure they stay safe during their nightmares, and lets them appreciate the dreams that the Sandman gives them." This had been the first time I had heard about Sandy, but the revelation about Pitch was what still shakes me to the core. "He still remembers his daughter, the Boogeyman does. It might not be at the forefront of his mind, but it tempers his actions to never directly harm a child. He will watch over them, and keep the darkness from taking over the planet. In a sense, he's more of a hero than anyone else."

Emma had asked why. My mother had replied that it was his sacrifice that kept the world safe. Because that prison wasn't infallible, and it was only a matter of time.

But for the good of the world, he sacrificed who he was. He had saved us all.


So, that's it for the first chapter. I already have the second chapter typed up, and the third in the process. Lemme know what you guys think! ^.^