Laying in the bed, I read a little bit into this big dictionary of phobias. The doctors told me to read up on the many different phobias that are known to the world. You'd be surprised at the weird stuff they come up with.

"Peladophobia, the fear of bald people." I laugh slightly at this. I know it's rude to laugh at such things but it' hard to believe anyone could fear the baldness of people.

"Triskadekaphobia," I try to pronouce unsuccessfully, "The fear of the number 13." That's understandable if you're superstisious. Then, the word I've dreaded since I came here shows up.

"Bogyphobia, the fear of the Boogeyman."

My name is Aubrey and I'm 16-years-old. Many immature teens would believe a long black haired, pale skinned, dark clothed boy like me would wind up in the place I am now. That is, I am in the comfy little room of a mental hospital. How I ever ended up here is due to a lot of bad luck. I will tell you my story like I've done many times. But, I am in no way insane because this has happened to me.

Ever since I was small, I could sense this presence with me. It would always follow me around where ever I went and never left me. But, for some reason, I was never afraid. I thought of the presence as my guardian or secret friend. When I tried to tell my parents and friends about it, they'd tell me it was just my imagination.

When I got older, around 12 maybe, the presence revealed itself to me in my room. It was this creature that most would think was from some scary movie. It was really tall, had long, messy, black hair, greenish skin, cold black eyes, sharp teeth, long sharp nails, and wore a long trench coat.

Of course, I was kind of scared of the figure that appeared to me. Then again, it was dark and a storm was starting up, so anyone would be spooked. I wasn't frightened for long because I realized it was the thing that followed me around for years. After talking to it for a bit, I learned he was the Boogeyman. Oh, yes, the Boogeyman does exist and he was my "imaginary friend" for years.

Up until now, I've still been able to come in contact with the Boogeyman. You can say we're friends but I think it's a bit complicated to explain. I feel really close to him is what I'm trying to say. I'm not sure if he sees it that way, though.

Well, one day, I went to this party with one of my friends. It was one of those wild parties that delt with drugs, alcohol, and intense make out scenes that shouldn't be seen.

Somehow, I lost my friend in the crowd. I looked everywhere for him but I couldn't find him. I even looked in the places most would overlook. He wasn't anywhere to be found.

Even though I was afraid of walking in on someone in the rooms upstairs, I searched them. I came upon one room where a bunch of teens were crowded around a circle and looking excited. I thought it was some pass-the-bowl-of-pills game, but was wrong.

I was pulled into the room and was told to write a random number on this piece of paper. I asked why I had to do this and was told everyone was playing 7 Minutes in Heaven. I've never played this game before but heard stories about it. All you do is pick a number, get in the closet with a random person, and make out until the 7 minutes are up. It didn't seem right at all.

I didn't want to play but they practically begged me to join. They kept saying that no one else would play with them and they just needed one more person. Out of pure annoyance, I joined in and wrote down the number 13. I was prepared to tell whatever person I was paired up with that I wasn't going to do anything.

As the game started, we saw some strange things. Some people were really into the make out session. A few were already peeling their clothes off. Several showed that they were pretty turned on by the experience. Others ended up leaving the room after they'd finished.

Then, my number was called.

"Who's number 13?" Almost everyone looked at me. It was obvious because I loved the number 13. Hell, I celebrated every Friday the 13th that came around! This could've been influenced from hanging out with the Boogeyman a lot.

"I'm here," I said with a slight annoyance in my tone. The girl that ended up picking me was this emo poser at my school that thought cutting yourself on the wrists meant you were emo. Yeah, you know the types.

I got up and walked into the closet with the girl. It was dark, had no light whatsoever except from the bottom of the door. The host made sure to empty it because there were no coats, clothes, shoes, or anything else in the closet. It was dark and empty.

I tried to tell her I didn't want to play the game, but she persisted. In fact, she tried forcing herself on me. She was a desparate one, which made me asume was a whore, too.

After some struggling, she stopped moving. I'm not sure what happened to her but I noticed something wet was being dripped onto me. I didn't know what it was but I had an idea.

"You killed her, didn't you?" I asked quietly. A rough, clawed hand landed on mine. I could sense him in the closet the moment the girl and I entered it. What I didn't understand was why he killed her. I soon found out, though.

He put his hand on my face and carassed it. I was taken aback by this. He's never done this to me before. What he's also never done before was kiss me on the lips. This was truely shocking. I'm aware that he knows I'm gay but I didn't think he'd kiss me. I didn't think he'd have such feelings about me.

Even though this was strange and confusing, I kissed him back. My arms wrapped around his neck while his went around my pulled each other in so close there was bearly any space between us. He could feel my heart beating and I could feel his chest going up and down like mine.

But, this new found enjoyment was short lived. As soon as the door opened, the Boogeyman disappeared. This was kind of a bad thing because I was the only one in the closet with the dead body.

The host called the police and I was taken away to the station. I was really scared and knew that they'd never believe my story. But, a thought occured to me at that moment. They won't believe my story because it's crazy. So, if I tell them, I'll probably get by with insanity and they'll ship me off to an asylum.

I told them my whole story but added a few things. Just things like hearing or seeing the Boogeyman, being told to kill someone for months, and killing the girl to make the him silent.

Out of some luck, the police believed my story and had me sent to the very place I'm at right now. I just arrived a few days ago and had a talk with Dr. Ryan. It so happens that she does this group talk with some teens that have phobias. She pretty much believes I'm afraid of the Boogeyman, which is what she thinks led me to kill the girl.

She let me borrow one of her books that had a list of all the phobias known to the world. I guess she wanted me to research a little bit of it just to see if I knew any of the teens' phobias. She allowed me to join in that next week. I'm sure they'll all laugh at me because she thinks I'm afraid of the Boogeyman.

And as I was reading a little more into the book, the lights in my room went out. As that happened, I felt the presence of the Boogeyman again. I put the book away and asked, "So, do you care to explain why you did this?"