Ok, warning, this is just something that randomly popped into my head at around five in the morning, but, hey, isn't that when all genius writers have their inspiration? This is possibly a one-shot, or it might develop into a many-shot. We'll have to wait and see. So, without further ado, I present to you. . .


One evening, while scrolling through the pages upon pages of interweb, Pitch Black, A.K.A the Boogeyman, stumbled upon something rather odd.

Since his defeat at the hands of the Guardians, commonly known as the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Sandman, Santa Clause and Jack Frost, he'd been nearly powerless and forced to retreat to his secluded deep cavern home. That was about two to two and a half months ago. During that time, all Pitch Black had the energy to do was move his cordless mouse.

He hated not being able to go out and preform his usual duties. He missed the sweet sound of screaming and the pale-wide-eyed looks that children gave him. Pitch hated being cooped up. He really hated it, so after about a month, when he'd built up enough energy and strength, he headed to the mouth of his cave, intent on getting his fill of Nightmares which he'd been starved of during his recuperation.

Pitch stood at the mouth of his caves, smiling in his usual evil way.

"Now, my Guardians, let's see how you like being beaten!" He yelled, laughing manically.

His victory was short-lived, however, because a second later he found himself being thrown back into his cave and landing on his rear by a very strong magical barrier, no doubt put there by the Guardians to prevent him from leaving his caves for a long, long time.

He'd raged for about, three minutes, then slunk back to his cave to begin plotting their downfall. Again.

He'd even compiled a list of especially evil ways to deal with each individual Guardian. He kept it on his laptop.

To make himself feel better, he scrolled through it, reading it aloud to himself.

"North: starve him. Toothiana: pull out all her teeth and use them as a necklace. Sanderson:-" Pitch paused when he read off the Sandman's name. He'd never been able to come up with anything quite evil enough for the little man in gold. Pitch deleted Sandy's name and continued. "Bunnymund: take every single one of his eggs, fry them, and make him eat them." Ooh, he was particularly fond of that one.

He glanced down at the last name on the list and grimaced. "Jack Frost," He said scathingly. He'd come up with dozens of punishments for him. From taking him to Death Valley and leaving him there to putting him on a shuttle to the sun. But nothing seemed painful enough to recompense for all the pain the Frost Boy had caused him.

Pitch saved his evil deeds list and exited. He almost turned off his computer to try and get some rest, but then he noticed the little internet icon in the corner of the screen.

"Hm." He muttered to himself as he clicked on it. "Who knew you could get service this far below."


After checking his Gmail account, (Yes, even magical super-villains have Gmail accounts,) Pitch decided to search himself. He always got a kick out of seeing what the world thought of the Boogeyman. Occasionally he would even comment on these posts and make some of his own.

He hit Google for a search engine and typed in Boogeyman. A Wikipedia page popped up. He clicked it, wondering what his adoring fans had to say about him this week.

It was mostly blether about the mythology of the Boogeyman. How the name had originated, how there were many different types of Boogeymen all over the world, ect.

Pitch was about to exit out again and power down when he spotted something at the bottom of his page.

References, it said.

1. Cooper, Brian. "Lexical reflections inspired by Slavonic *bogǔ: English bogey from a Slavonic root?" Transactions of the Philological Society, Volume 103, Number 1, April 2005, pp. 73-97(25)

2. Auchard, John (2007-01-28). "In Indonesia". Washington Post. Retrieved 2007-10-17. "The Buginese of Sulawesi" Retrieved 2007-10-17.

3. The Tonton Macoutes: The Central Nervous System of Haiti's Reign of Terror Council on Hemispheric Affairs (COHA) "El cucuy has roots deep in border folklore"

None of that made any sense to him, but he looked farther down and saw another smaller section.

External Links, it said.

1. The online Etymology Dictionary,

2. The Word Detective,

3. Dilbert Bogey Man,

4. Boogeyman: Pitch Black.

With a look of pure incredulity on his face, Pitch clicked the link and soon found himself scrolling through something called Rise of the Guardians Wiki.

"What in the name of darkness is this?" He asked himself as he scrolled. Suddenly, he saw his name. Pitch Black. He clicked on it and it brought him to a page with a picture of a familiar scowling face. Pitch frowned, wondering who could've taken this, and why?

Pitch decided to take a look and soon found himself regretting his decision.

"'Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, is the Rise of the Guardians' re-imagining of the boogeyman, the mythic creature that haunts the closets and dark corners of childhood nightmares and the main antagonist. He is voiced by-'" Pitch stopped reading aloud and stared at the screen.

"Voiced by?" He said incredulously. "I don't know who this Jude Law person is, but I've certainly never met him." Pitch ignored what he assumed must be a typo and continued to read aloud.

"'Physical appearances: Pitch is tall, lithe, and dark in appearance.'" Pitch stopped and his mouth split into a self-satisfied smile. "Whoever wrote this actually knows what they're doing," He admitted.

He read on. "'He has golden yellow eyes (resembling an eclipse), dull pale-gray skin, and glossy black hair that is styled to come out as slick spikes from the back of his head."' Pitch stopped and patted his hair in a way that would would not expect from the Boogeyman. After all, he'd used countless hair gels to get it like this. He resumed after another minute. "'He wears a long black robe, obscuring his body like a shadow. He is about a foot taller than Jack.'" Pitch froze, wondering what the Frost Boy's name was doing on his Wikipedia page. Did the boy hate him so much that he had to invade his tiny slice of stardom?!

Pitch grumbled, then turned back to his Wiki Page.

"'Personality: Pitch is everything a child fears, and he thrives on the fear of children, taking a cruel delight in turning their pleasant dreams into nightmares. But what Pitch hates is when children overcome their fears and don't believe in him, particularly when parents tell their kids that the boogeyman is just a bad dream.'"

Pitch stopped to clench his fasts. "Oh yes," He said cracking his knuckles. "I really really hate that."

Then he turned back to the Wiki page and began again.

"'As such, he is hatefully jealous of the Guardians, who are believed in and beloved by children. Eventually, his hate and jealously would convince him to undertake a conspiring vendetta against the Guardians and destroy the children's beliefs in them, and he could usher in another Dark Age.'"

Pitch licked his lips and said, "Oh what a lovely thought."

'"Pitch however does have a sad side, as he has suffered loneliness and being shunned just for being what he is,'" Pitch froze, staring at the Wiki page in disbelief.

"What?!" He raged, re-reading the paragraph. "Sad side?! I do not have a sad side! I am Pitch Black, ruler of nightmares and fear! I am the King of cruelty and the bringer of despair and misery!" Though, somewhere in his mind, he felt that the page was telling the truth.

He decided to skip right over the powers and abilities and went right on to quotes, which confused him even more.

"'What an adorable dream. What's more powerful? It's fear.' 'I'd say "pleasant dreams"... but there aren't any left!'" Those sounded like him, but the ones about the unicorn and longing for a family were just plain rubbish. Weren't they?

Pitch went down farther and found the Trivia section. He laughed at a few of them, but mostly he sneered at them.

"'Nightmares come from the fears that live in every heart.' Completely true," He said, nodding in his approval of the writer's taste. Then he went farther down and said angrily, "Again with this voiced nonsense! I don't know what this stupid human is talking about, but I've never met this Jude Law person."

Pitch decided, right then and there to find out once and for all what this voiced business was all about. He also wanted to find out why they were calling it Rise of the Guardians Wiki, instead of Pitch Black Wiki.

He pulled up another tab, then clicked the search engine and typed in, Rise of the Guardians. A second later, he was staring in disbelief at the screen,

"They've made a movie for those cretins?!" He bellowed, causing the entire cavern to shake slightly. Pitch moved to protect his computer from falling rocks, but no rocks fell. When he'd gotten back on and pulled up the Rise of the Guardians page, he nearly blew his top.

"They've made a movie for those cretins?!" He said again, much quieter, for fear of a rock falling and smashing his beloved computer.

He clicked the link to a preview and nearly vomited.

It started with a picture of something called Dreamworks, then Jack Frost's voice sounded out of the speakers.

"I've been around for a long time. My name. . . is Jack Frost."

"I know your name, you impudent brat!" Pitch howled at the screen.

"I love being on my own."

"Yes, so did the rest of the world!" Pitch sneered.

The screen showed Jack running with his staff across a lake, then it cut to him flying, then to him doing a somersault off the side of a truck, yelling, "SNOWDAY!"

Pitch groaned. Was this movie going to be all about Frost?

"No rules, no responsibility. . . It's as good as it sounds." It cut to a child's tongue being frozen to a stream or fountain water and Pitch laughed.

"Ha! Serves you right." Then he felt sick with himself. He did not find the Frost boy's antics funny, unless they messed with the season or holiday of another spirit, like the Blizzard of '68. Now that was truly inspired!

Pitch pressed the play button again.

The screen cut to a scene of Jack, standing in a dark alleyway with his staff at the ready.

"Maybe this is where I come in. . ." Pitch muttered hopefully.

"Hello, Mate."

Pitch growled. Not him then. Bunnymund, and what kind of a voice was that? Kooky English mixed with Australian?

"Been a long time. Blizzard of '68, I believe." Bunnymund came out of the shadows and Pitch groaned again.

"Could they have exaggerated him any more?" He griped, looking at the six-foot tall rabbit.

"Easter Sunday, wasn't it?"

"You're not still mad about that, are you?"

"Yes, but this is about something else." The rabbit leaned against the wall of the alley and studied his boomerangs. "Fellas," He said, and something grabbed Jack by the collar and stuffed him into a sack, throwing him through a magic portal.

"Please be to the underworld, please be to the underworld," Pitch muttered, closing his eyes. When he heard the fanfare he groaned again. "Not the underworld then."

"There he is! Jack Frost!" It was North.

"Are all these buggers in this movie?" Pitch asked, staring in disbelief at the screen. Apparently so.

"Oh, yeah, I love being thrown into a sack and tossed through a magic portal!"

"Oh, good. That was my idea." Pitch groaned. Had no one taught North the concept of sarcasm? Apparently not.

The rest of the commercial- excuse me, trailer, played out and the more they showed of Jack and the rest of the Guardians, the more he wanted to vomit. He nearly shut down the computer again, but again, he saw something that changed his mind.

"Now we face a threat bigger than ever before." That was North, and Pitch held his breath, waiting for the rendition of himself to be shown. He wasn't disappointed.

"What an adorable dream." Pitch remembered this line from the quotes section and spoke the words along with the character.

"'What's more powerful? It's fear.'" Pitch froze the screen when it showed his face and studied the drawing.

"Not too bad. . ." He said. He clicked play and then immediately clicked freeze again. "My hair is not that spiky!" He said, patting his hair again.

He groaned, readying himself for a few disappointments. After all, they'd never met the real Nightmare King.

He pressed play and a flash of scenes greeted him.

"We need your help."

"Boooring," Pitch said and skipped to the next time he was mentioned.

"You cannot kill fear, Jack."

Pitch frowned at the rendition of himself. He looked at the face, the eyes, the nose, (which was far too large,) and then he noticed something that made him scream at the screen in anger.

"They didn't give me any eyebrows!" He bellowed, clicking full screen and staring at the picture. "They didn't give me any eyebrows?" He said again, more out of astonishment than anger this time.

He stared at the picture, then reached up to feel his own eyebrows.

Yes, in my world Pitch Black has eyebrows. Deal with it!

Finally he decided that they couldn't have possibly gotten it all wrong, and he dismissed his lack of eyebrows, for the moment.

He watched the trailer fly by. He had to admit, it looked promising. When the trailer was through, Pitch searched the web for any other mention of Rise of the Guardians. He found the web site, which he promptly ignored, he found the Wiki, which he also ignored, then he found something that made him frown with confusion.

"What in the world is a Fanfiction?"

He clicked on the web site and scrolled down, reading carefully.

Apparently, a Fanfiction was a story written by someone that doesn't own the original story, but uses characters from that story, book, movie or T.V show. Mostly it seemed like kid stuff, but there were some interesting ones, if you looked hard enough.

Pitch searched until he found a section for Rise of the Guardians, in the Movie division under R, and clicked. He scrolled down and read each story summery with morbid fascination, getting redder and redder in the face.

"Are all these about Jack Frost?!" He raged, scrolling through them again. Apparently so. He clicked the next page and finally, to his satisfaction, he found one that featured him in it.

"Listen to your Heart. . ." He said, reading the title aloud. Sounded creepy.

"The Guardians thought he was over. They thought he would never find his center, whatever that meant. But when Nalanie comes into his life and has an amount of nightmares due to his interest in her, were they wrong? Sorry for the lame summary, but I swear the story is better...hopefully. Pitch x OC- Wait a minute!" Pitch said, swiftly clicking on the title and beginning to read.

The beginning wasn't so bad, but the farther he read, the higher his eyebrows rose until finally, he realized what this. . .Fantesydreamer244 was doing! She/he was pairing him with a human girl!

He read on, stopping at certain intervals to marvel at the detail this writer had put into her/his story, but mostly he stopped to fake-gag. The idea of him, the Nightmare King, falling for a human! But, Pitch just couldn't bring himself to exit before reading the next chapter. Maybe he was getting addicted to this stuff. Nevertheless, he steeled himself and read on.

He hadn't read very far when strange thoughts began to crop up in his mind, when he read a particular sentence or passage. The scenes that he was reading were, to him, slightly repulsive, but they were extremely well-written.

Pitch stopped once more, irritated. "Well written?" He scoffed. Then, something inside him made him pause and his eyes slowly drifted to the center of the page. These children, the ones who were writing the fanfictions, (if they were children,) were at least acknowledging his existence. True, they were mostly idolizing Jack Frost, but he found that, on some level, he didn't mind it.

Pitch stared at the page and thought to himself, this child, the one who wrote this, she's just trying to use her imagination. She wants the characters of the movie to be different than how they were written. But mostly me. She took it into her own hands to make me a story, albeit a very dramatic love story, but a story nonetheless. Pitch looked towards the cave entrance. And maybe the love part isn't so bad. It's just a way for her to feel like she's made a difference by helping someone that that stupid movie shows is alone and lonely and bitter.

Pitch sighed and, for the first time in his life, admitted something that he'd gone to painstakingly hard lengths to hide from himself and every one of his enemies.

"I wish I was a Guardian."

There. It was out. He'd finally said it, and he'd meant every syllable.

Pitch sighed for an unknown reason and turned back to his laptop, beginning to read again.

He still skipped over the love scenes, but he did a quick glance-over as he did so each time. He felt that he owed it to the author to read as much of it as he could.

Eventually, Pitch began to get slightly nervous when he glanced over the love scenes. They were incredibly detailed, and worse, they were getting funny!

I understand that the writer wants me to have a good time, but does she have to write it so lividly? He thought as he read through another scene with him and the girl. This one featured her chasing him around the lair with a hair brush.

Pith instinctively reached up and patted his hair. No one messes with the hair, he thought, and then groaned. Great! Now I'm starting to sound like the character! He sighed, dropped his hand and his gaze back to the story.

Eventually, no matter how hard he fought it, the scenes got too much for him to handle and he exited out in a panic. Then he could've kicked himself.

"This is ridiculous. Will I, the Nightmare King, be beaten by a mere story?!"

Yes I will, He thought, staring at his desktop picture. It was his most favorite picture of the Boogeyman.

Pitch gritted his teeth and opened a window to again, but before he could click on Listen to your Heart, something else caught his eye.

Thinking that it would be better to wait and finish Listen to your Heart when he was feeling more up to it, He clicked on the title. It did feature the Frost boy, but it had him in it too.

"Tortured." He liked the sound of that. "When the Guardians get captured by Pitch Black, Jack must pass five tests to set himself and the Guardians free. It sounds simple enough. But when Pitch gives him the tests, will he be able to pass them? Or will he fail? Rated T just in case. T?" Pitch said, wondering what T had to do with it. The story looked wonderful, so he quickly clicked on it and read through the first chapter. It was magnificent.

Pitch even decided to review the story, using a guest username. His review went like this:

Dear starskulls, your love of violence truly is delicious. However you lack finesse when you think up these tests. Give Jack something a little more difficult than regular pain. What is pain to an immortal? I suggest making him fly straight at the sun, or telling him he has to stay in Death Valley for three days. Something like that. Besides, if he still lives through one of the tests, then obviously you are doing something wrong.

Pitch posted his review with glee and went back a page, looking for Listen to your Heart. He found it in under a minute and in two minutes, he was back to the place where he'd left off.

Within five minutes, he was back to rocking on the edge of his seat and muttering to himself. It was very hard to read when all those, details kept popping up.

Eventually, after he calmed down again and convinced himself that he wasn't scarred for eternal life, Pitch turned back to his computer and found that he was shaking, but not in rage. No, defiantly not rage.

Things were running through his mind. Mostly, Oh darkness, please darkness no! Darkness was Pitch's version of saying, "Oh god," and things like that, for obvious reasons. Pitch shot the screen where he'd left off a quick glance, then he took a deep breath and spoke to himself.

"That was. . . interesting." He said, glancing at the computer again. "I think I'll just wait to read the rest." He decided, shakily moving his mouse to click on something else. "Anything else!" He said in a hoarse, whispering breath.

Pitch feverishly clicked and scrolled through the many many fanfics about him and the rest of the characters form the movie. Some of them were repulsive. He could tell from their summaries. It took him quite a long time to find something more appealing to his own taste.

"Absolutely nothing lovie-dovie," He said, coining a phrase he'd found on one of the reviews for Listen to your Heart.

He searched and searched until he finally found something good. Or, at least, he thought it sounded good. something else to read that wasn't all lovie-dovie and mushy.

Finally, he found one.

It was titled Cursed Luck, and it looked slightly odd, but, hey, if it was about him odd was just fine. He decided to skip the summery and clicked the title. The page loaded and he began to read.


It was official: luck was out to get me.

In my fifteen years of being, I could give you many examples, like the time the railing at the zoo gave away and I landed in the lion's den, or the time I somehow managed to reactivate a WWII bomb at the museum, or even the time a stray dog bit my leg and shattered the bone in four different places.

As you can see, I am not the luckiest person in the world. And the jam I'm in proves it.

It all started when the two kids I babysit, Jamie and Sophie, who are also close friends of mine, said I should go outside more instead of "wasting away" in my room. Looking back on it, I don't know why I took this to heart, but I did, and it leads me my current dilemma.

I took a walk in the woods, being mindful to watch where I stepped and where I put my hands; I wouldn't be surprised if the first tree I touched was covered in poison ivy. After a few minutes of walking, I came across a clearing in the woods, which wouldn't have been that unusual, if it wasn't for the old, broken, wooden bedframe smack-dab in the middle.

Now, being the curious teen that I am, I went to investigate this strange sight. Looking in every direction for any sign of freak bear attacks or something, I ventured to the bedframe.

From what I could see, the wooden structure was very old, with splinters jutting out of the sides, but that's not what caught my attention. What I noticed was the dark, ominous hole directly underneath the broken boards that would usually hold the mattress. My curiosity got the best of me as I leaned over to get a better look.

Worst. Mistake. Ever.


Ten minutes later he was frowning with lurid fascination. The writer was obviously a maniacal genius, but they also seemed to know him better than the others.


I run over to the person on the floor and flip him over. The first thing that I notice is his strange light grey skin. Then there's his dark grey robe-dress thingy, not to mention his black hair, which looks like a strong gust of winter wind blew it back and froze it in place… or maybe Jack Frost threw a snowball at him.

Either way, what I want to know is: how did he land so gracefully, and not in a mess of tangled limbs, like I did? It's not fair, I tell you!

Although, this man can't be too lucky. I mean, he is in this cave with me.

Unthreading my arms from my jacket and backpack, I fold my jacket to make a pillow for the stranger. I shiver a bit, my bare arms exposed to the cold.

Carefully lifting the man's head – so that I don't bother any injuries he might have – I slide the makeshift pillow under him and slowly lie his head back down on it. I have a bad feeling about this guy, like he could give me nightmares for the rest of my life… but I'll just have to deal with that. I don't want to be stuck here alone – I don't really want to be stuck here at all – and if he dies, if he leaves me here BY MYSELF, I think I'm going to go insane.

Waiting for this guy to wake up is like watching a pot of water that should be boiling – nothing happens. I've cartwheeled, sang Numa Numa, poked the wacko-wearing-dress-man… for goodness sake, I even took a Sharpie to his face and gave him a French moustache, but he still won't wake up.

I'm starting to really dislike this guy. What does it take to wake him up, an air horn? Wait… that might just work!

Rooting through my back pack for the desired object, I find magic markers; silver, gold, and black duct tape; meds for my ADD; enough food and water to last for a month; an iPod; and some blankets – but no air horn. Figures. Why would I have an air horn?! I was right. I really am losing it.

Great – now what?

I glare at Mr. Sleeps-a-Lot and proceed to nudge him with my foot. "Hey! If you're alive, wake up already!"


Pitch stared at the screen dubiously. "A mustache? The writer of this story is obviously a lunatic." Pitch paused and a thin smile began to creep across his face. "I like her."

He read more and more, muttering to himself every few scrolls, "This is strange. Just plain strange."


From what I've gathered, this guy got beat up by Sandman, Jack Frost, and the Easter bunny. I do believe in those legends, even if I'm supposed to be too old – but seriously, this guy got beat up by the Easter bunny? If so, that's kind of sad.

I laugh, loudly, which prompts Mr. Sleeps-a-Lot to finally notice me. His eyes narrow with anger, and suddenly he is walking – wait, that's not it – is he… gliding? How is he GLIDING? A shadow falls over me as I realize I've been distracted again. I look up, and Mr. Sleeps-a-Lot – let's revise his name to Mr. About-to-Beat-My-Brains-Out – is towering over me.

"Who," he whispers, "are you?"

I shiver, but I force myself to glare at him. Scary voice or not, it's kind of hard to take him seriously with the moustache that I drew on his face. I smile my I'm-crazy-so-fear-me smile. "The name's Haley Davidson. And you?"

His frowns, clearly furious, which only makes the mustache look that much more ridiculous. "I am Pitch," he announces dramatically, his voice booming around the cave. "Pitch Black. The Nightmare King and Boogeyman."

I stare at him, trying to grasp what I just heard. "So you're the… Boogerman?"


So help me – he really is going to beat my brains out. "Boogeyman," I blurt. "Yeah – got it – sorry!"

He nods. It makes the mustache twitch.

I can't help it. I'm feeling brave again. "And you got beaten up by the Easter bunny," I say. "The fluffy rabbit that hides eggs for kids."

He scowls at me, giving me his glare-o-doom. "Leave, child – before I make your worst nightmares come to life."


The more he read, the more irritated he became. The Boogerman comment was a very large thorn in his side; one he'd been trying to dig out for centuries and here it was, on the internet no less! Pitch's mind raced with thoughts of the things he could do to this irritating human, if he found her real name.

"Spiders. . ." He muttered. "All children hate spiders. Or rats! Yes. . . a lovely rat eye in a bowl of soup." That sounded wonderful indeed. After a few minutes of contemplating revenge on Sparks for this repulsive dramatization of himself, Pitch stood up, slightly worried that if he got any angrier he would smash his beloved computer. Pitch, who was not one used to calmness, resisted the urge to destroy everything in sight by taking a few more minutes of slow breathing, then he turned back to the computer and began to read again.

When he'd finished the chapter, he leaned back, staring at the screen. "This might just be the oddest thing ever written about me," He said, staring down his node at the next sign beside the chapter selection.

Should I read on? He thought to himself. It's bound to get stranger after this. Hopefully violent, but stranger none-the-less.

Then he made a split-second decision and clicked the next button. The page loaded, and he began to read again.


Although the disappearing hole, my backpack's profound lack of air horns, and the murderous Easter Bunny theory could still use further explanation, I know one thing for sure: this Pitch guy is lying. There is no way he could be the Boogeyman. Maybe he's Boogeyman Junior or a Boogeyman Minion, but most definitely not the Boogeyman; there simply isn't anything scary about the man-dress. And besides, the real Boogeyman wouldn't have allowed me to draw a mustache on his face.


Pitch stopped reading after about thirty seconds and stared at the page with a dubious look of indignation on his face.

"Man-dress?!" He bellowed, sending a string of spit flying across and landing on his beloved laptop. He carefully wiped it away and sneered at the screen. "This. . . Spark of the forgotten person will certainly be hearing from me, when I get out of this stinking cavern!"

Pitch glowered at the computer, then pulled it closer and began to read again.


Abruptly, I realize that all of the other horses have stopped circling Boogerman. They're watching me with flaming eyes, their bodies tensed, pawing the ground with their hooves. The horse that I'm dragging is starting to seriously fidget, which probably means that either it has to go to the bathroom or it wants to kill me. "Whoa, shadow-horsie," I mutter. "Think happy thoughts. Um… shadow-rainbows. Or a pretty shadow-unicorn. Or… something." Frantically digging through my backpack, I find what I need.

I turn back to Boogerman, grinning what I'm sure is a majorly evil grin. "This is how you teach a shadow-horse to behave," I say, and then I begin.

By the time I was finished with the unlucky shadow-horse, all of the other horses understood to mind their manners. I probably would, too, if my fellow shadow-horse got duct-taped to the wall, its mane braided with pink ribbons, its side reading "FREDRICK" in orange magic-marker. Yes, Fredrick. It just feels fitting, somehow. Despite the fact that I had to use him as an example, I think I kind of… like him. If he were something tamer, like a stray puppy, I would probably take him home with me.


Three minutes later, he was back to eyebrow-raising again. "She duct-taped one of my shadow-horses to a wall and braided it's mane with pink ribbons?" He asked, slightly impressed. His character seemed to be thinking along the same lines because he said, 'not bad.'

Pitch allowed himself a small smile, then as he read on, the smile slowly turned into a grimace and he glowered angrily at the screen. "She named it Fredrick? And what is this about old potato-hands? My skin is grey. Potatoes are brown. She must be color-blind or something."

Slowly but steadily he kept reading. He got enraged at the part about cliche super-villains, and he almost laughed when she asked to call him 'old man'.

"If I'd have been at full power, you would be dust for even thinking about calling me that!" He sneered.

Pitch read on and when he got to the part about fighting with the Nightmares, he winced. "She had one of them bite me?" He said, rubbing his read end at the thought of it. Pitch grimaced, but read on. He stopped a moment later when there was another mention of his stylish mustache.

"Oh for the love of-" He said, glowering. "I do not have a mustache! And neither do I look french!" He read the last few sentences with a sneer on his face.


"I might not know what you're going through, but I'll be here for you if you need me. Nobody should have to go it alone."

He just watches me. It reminds me of the kids I babysit, and I mean the little ones. He looks like a child.

"We share the pain," I say. "You don't have to go it alone, Boog– Pitch."

His gold eyes are intense, but the fire is gone from them. Without a word, he extends his arm. Our fingers interlock, and I lift him to his feet.

He smiles. More than anything else, he suddenly looks… human. "Thank you… Haley."


"Pathetic. As If I, the Nightmare King, would break down and cry, in front of a human, no less. This Sparks person is getting the foulest nightmare I can whip up!" He vowed, clicking the next button.

The minute the page loaded, he began to read. He made it about three paragraphs before he gasped and winced.

"This person certainly takes their writing seriously," Pitch said, reading the paragraph again.

The paragraph itself wasn't so good, but the content was what made him wince. Apparently this child thought it necessary to kick him, where, in her own words, 'no man should be kicked – yep, that place.' He winced again and decided to wait and read the rest later.

Pitch shut down his computer, bookmarking the story and went to his own private room, where he fell asleep and had his own nightmare of that entire story really happening!

Well? Not bad for my first one-shot. It doesn't have to be, by the way. If I get enough reviews by the end of next month, I'll make it a two-shot.

And by enough reviews, I mean more than twenty.

Peace out, laugh, cry, review, frolic with Fredrick, the sparkly Nightmare, whatever.

Incidentally, I have full permission from all the writers of these stories, so no, I'm not copying anything.

Regards, Mystichawk.