Miguel Marquez sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, which were drawn up to his chest. He sat at the head of his bed atop his pillow. He sat in the dark, at two fifteen in the morning, fighting back tears. Only, it wasn’t really all that dark. Not really. There were those two huge, yellow, glowing eyes in the corner of his bedroom. The two eyes, that appeared to hover about a foot and a half above the floor as if they weren’t attached to anyone or anything. The two eyes that just stared at him, unblinking, from across his bedroom in the corner.

 

Miguel knew that they were attached to something, though. A head. A head with at least a mouth. A mouth because he could hear it. He had been listening to it make a loud ‘smak-ing’ noise for over an hour. The wet smak-ing noise is what woke him up.

 

For over an hour, Miguel had sat like this. Staring. Staring in the direction of the eyes….and the wet, smak-ing sound. The whole time, Miguel could swear the eyes staring back at him never blinked. Never even looked anywhere but at Miguel. And, every now and then, that wet, smak-ing sound.

 

At first, when he heard the noise, he thought he was dreaming. He thought he was having one of those ‘half-awake, half-asleep’ dreams. Miguel even told himself that had to be it and it was his own fault. Even now, shaking and very much awake, he tried to tell himself it was all a bad dream. That he never should have eaten those three bags of ‘Pop-rocks’ he had hidden under his pillow. Never should have eaten them so late. “But they were grape pop-rocks’ he told himself. ‘And who in there right mind can resist grape pop-rocks…or anything grape flavored for that matter?’

 

What did his mother tell him about candy before bed?

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“All that sugar will have you bouncing off the walls when you should be sleeping!” was what she would say, Miguel thought.

 

A million times she said it, if she said it once. And each time, Miguel would imagine himself curled up like a little human super-ball, bouncing off of every wall in the house. Picking up speed with each ‘boinggg’. Knocking over lamps, vases, breaking picture frames and glass. Flying through the house like an indestructible human super-ball. His mother chasing after him, yelling “Mickey! Mickey! Stop…watch out….not the TV, Mickey..oh MY STARS!”

 

He would be laughing and whooping as he bounced from wall to wall to floor to ceiling to wall again. Moving faster than his frantic mother could keep up. The thought of his mother getting so upset that she forgot her English and would start yelling after him in Spanish as she chased him was even funnier to Miguel. So much funnier that Miguel laughed softly to himself as he sat on his pillow, at the head of his bed, in the dark.

 

“smak!”

“smak!”

 

Then Miguel stopped. This was no dream.

 

“smak!”

 

Those eyes that had been staring at him were real.

 

“smak!”

 

And so was that disgusting noise that came from somewhere right beneath those eyes.

 

 

“smak.”

 

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Miguel, or ‘Mickey’ as his mom called him, decided it was time to find out what all of this was about.

 

 

“’Nuffs enuff” he thought. “After all, I am gonna be ten tomorrow. I’m old enough to handle a yellow eyed, lip smaki-ing…uh…” He cleared his throat and spoke to his visitor for the first time. “What are you, anyway?”

 

For the first time in an over an hour, the huge yellow eyes blinked. Just once. But they blinked and this was something new.

 

Miguel leaned forward, ever so slightly. “Do you understand me?”

 

Nothing. Not even another blink.

 

Miguel tried again. “I said, ‘What are you?’”

 

Blink. It blinked again.

 

“Can you talk?” Miguel asked.

 

Blink. Blink.

 

Miguel stared, then sat back against his headboard and sighed. His fear was leaving him only to be replaced by annoyance….and just a little bit of boredom.

 

“This is getting old.” He whispered to himself.

 

He stared at his now blinking (as well as ‘lip smak-ing) visitor. “Fine. Stay there and blink or don’t blink. Talk or don’t talk. See if I care.” He said.

 

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Leaning his head back on the headboard, Miguel did what he always does when he gets bored. He did it without even realizing he was doing it. He stuck the little finger of his right hand directly up his right nostril and began to pick his nose.

 

“Gasp!”

 

Miguel looked back at the yellow eyes that the gasp seemed to have come from. The eyes seemed to have grown three times their previous size. They seemed also, to be glowing brighter.

 

“What? You never saw anybody pick their nose before?” he asked with his pinky shoved halfway up a seemingly elastic and totally stretchable nostril.

 

The yellow eyes blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. And there came a sigh, soft and slow.

 

“Well, “ said Miguel, “if you think that’s something, watch this.” Miguel searched with his little finger, until he found what he was looking for. The Mother-Lode. A nugget. A big, hard, crusty one, stuck to the middle of his nostril.

 

With the tip of his pinky, he began to pry it lose. It pulled on a nose hair or two, that it had adhered itself to, bringing a familiarly painful, yet at the same time, delightful feeling to his eyes as they threatened to tear up. Certain he had it, he withdrew it from his nose, stuck to the tip of his nail.

 

The thing in the corner gasped again. Immediately followed by a soft “Aaaaaaah.” But before it could finish, Miguel plunged the pinky, nugget and all, into his mouth, and in one motion, sucked it clean.

 

The thing in the corner made a gurgling sound, deep in it’s yet to be seen throat. It’s yellow eyes seemed to roll up in it’s head. What sounded like small, bare feet, stamped softly on the floor.

 

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Miguel laughed. “You liked that, huh?” Miguel shoved his freshly cleaned pinky back up his nostril. Searching. Searching. Searching. “Aha! Paydirt!” He pulled out another nugget. He inspected it briefly, as best he could with very little light, and he held it up in the air.

 

“Ah, sweet nugget. My magic nose-goblin.” He laughed at himself. He noticed the things eyes followed his pinky where ever he moved it, and Migule found this fascinating. Then, Miguel got an idea. A way to get it to come closer. Miguel extended his pinky, his whole arm, towards the glowing eyes of his visitor.

 

“Want to see?”

 

The yellow eyes doubled in size.

 

“C’mon.” Miguel coaxed. “ You can come closer.”

 

Now, Miguel’s guest was panting. Panting and softly whining. The whining reminded Miguel of a small puppy in pain. Miguel held his arm out a moment longer and then pulled it back.

 

“Fine. Don’t come closer. You had your chance.” Miguel opened his mouth and moved his finger to it. The thing in the corner gasped and seemed to hold it’s breath in anticipation.

 

Miguel sat with his pinky poised. Smiled. And shoved it in his mouth. He pulled it out quickly, clean, and nugget free.

 

The thing in the corner whimpered. Stamped it’s feet and grunted. Then it’s eyes closed. With the glowing light of it’s eyes gone, Miguel lost track of his guest. As he was about to reach for his bedside light, he felt something.

 

To Miguel, it felt like all the air in the room was being sucked out at once. His ears popped. From the corner, where his gueast was last visible, he heard a whisper. It was soft and raspy, a little rough.

 

“You ish a ruuuute boy.”

 

Then from the corner came a loud popping sound, like a balloon being sucked inside out and then exploding.

 

Then there was silence.

 

Miguel was sure that whatever was there, it had just left. Probably the same way it came. Miguel laughed softly to himself.

 

“See ya’ later.” He chuckled. “See ya’ later, Boogieman.”

 

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