Bogeyman

Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see...

TRANSMIT - initiate boggart signal - RECEIVE - initiate the Atlantic Island Park chime - FAIRY TALES GIVE THE CHILD THEIR FIRST CLEAR IDEA OF THE POSSIBLE DEFEAT OF BOGEY - illumine the Local Legends of New England - WITNESS - The Bogeyman

We have a bedtime story, sweetling. It's made of broken doll parts strung together with the nerve endings of children.

Nathaniel Winter loved his amusement park. He was known to wander through it just after it closed down, just before midnight.

No, that's too far forward. REWIND...

Nathaniel Winter had no magic. But he did have money. He had grown up a frightened child, and had vowed to gain the power to never be frightened again. With his jingling wealth, Nathaniel gained access to the denizens of the Secret World. Through something a little like persuasion and a lot like ruthlessness, he learnt how one might tap geographical sources of occult power and to feed off them as a parasite.

We see Nathaniel signing the document to purchase the Henderson farm. We see what is embedded in the soil. We see the years of methodical attention to detail, the placement, the geometry, the machines churning kinetic and preternatural energies, storing them over time -- and we see the bright paint and lights that masked the true intention. An amusement park was the perfect engine, with the added harvest of children's laughter. There were screams too, of course. Accidents. An employee in a chipmunk suit went on a rampage with a knife. The engine churned urban legend, black and thick, and Nathaniel Winter vanished in that gooey murk after it closed down.

Then came the Bogeyman. His hauntings were initially fixed. Now, he has rein to roam the creeping crooks and crannies of the park. If you confront him in these wanderings, sweetling, then we have one more morsel to share.

INITIATE Secret Epilogue…

You've earned a little more story before bedtime, sweetling. You looked into the Bogeyman's eyes. Did you see Nathaniel Winter? Did he, through years of wicked machination, take on the shape of the frightful demigod of all children? Or, is there a preexisting archetype of flesh, a floating mask, that travels all time and space, wearing its hosts more than they wear it? Yes.