I'm Your Boogeyman

October 20, 2013

A/N: I had swim team the other day, and my coach showed up dressed as Santa Claus. I had a very bad day, but it made me smile. If you're having a bad day, think about Santa Claus in Shorts and slides with the top part of a pair of boots glued to them.  

You didn't get diddly-squat from your research. All you found was a news article on your dad winning a full scholarship to Yale. In the photo, you could see him and your grandparent's smiling happily. Next to them, however, looked a very unhappy U/N, with an angry glare at his brother. You also found a suspicious death of a neighbors' puppy, and your Uncle seemed to be the prime suspect, but there wasn't enough proof. One thing you could tell for certain was that you're uncle wasn't exactly Mr. Cool Guy of the town. 

At about four in the morning, you gave up on looking. You could barely keep your eyes open, and you had to strain them in order to just read what was in front of you. There was no point in continuing to investigate like this. You stumbled into bed as if you'd had one too many margaritas and passed out almost instantly. 

_________________

You got up at about nine. You weren't as tired, but your eyes still hurt. Glancing in the mirror, you saw that they were bloodshot. Now you not only felt like you had one too many margaritas, you looked like you were feeling it the day after. There was no sun shining through your window. No, there was rain beating down on it like a heavy metal drummer. 

You went downstairs to see several things on the counter. One was a note, one was your phone (which was promised to be returned to you on your birthday), and the other was a box messily wrapped in newspaper. 

You looked at the letter first. 

Y/N,
Your uncle and I had more errands to run. We should be back around eleven. We'll take you out to lunch, and I made arrangements with F/N's mom to take you guys to see a movie. I know it's been a while since you've seen her, and we both thought that you should get together again. We'll pick her up at about seven.
-Aunt A/N 

You smiled slightly at the idea of seeing one of your only friends. It had been a while since you'd seen anybody you had a relationship with that you didn't deem suspicious or that wasn't a serial killer that had the inability to die. 

Next, you turned to the box. It was about the size of a shoe box, and had your name written on it. You recognized the handwriting to be a serial killer with the inability to die. 

Cautiously, you opened the box, expecting to see a head or somebody's arm. Fortunately, it was neither. It was a very tiny puppy. 

You had several questions. 'Oh, my God. Where did he find this dog?', 'How old is this dog?', and 'What am I supposed to tell aunt A/N?' were only some of them. 

There was a piece of paper in the bottom of the box. 

Y/N,
Here is a dog for your birthday. It took a lot of strength to get him here without killing him. I do not like dogs. Name him what you'd like. He's got all of his shots. Healthy dog. Tell your aunt and uncle you found him in a box on a walk with a note that said he was vaccinated and whatnot. Happy Birthday, you're a year closer to dying. 
-Michael

Well, that was...ominously nice. Why would Michael get you a dog? He hates those things, and yet he carried one from wherever he dwells to your house and gave it to you. 

You sat on the couch, puppy in arms, and thought. You thought about many things. Your priority, though, was figuring out why Michael gave you the dog. Was he trying to stay away from you? Was he trying to make a way to hurt you without hurting anyone you had a bond with? Was he going to kill the dog? Where did he manage to find a puppy? The nearest adoption center was thirty miles out of town. Did he really go that far to get a dog for you?