The smell of stale beignets floated around my home, along with dust particles and jazz. The warped floorboards splintered my bare shuffling feet as I walked to my recliner. I saw children playing outside, and regretted that I never decided to have a family. Then as I sat down, looking at my television in the grey light, my pale wrinkled face reflected back at me. The man reflecting back at me did not look like me. My raven black hair, and tan skin had faded, along with my youth. I closed my eyes and let Ella Fitzgerald sing me to sleep.
I awakened later that night to the sound of the record repeating over and over and shuffled over to turn it off.  As I was switching out the record, I caught a glimpse of a large pale white figure in the hallway dancing.  The creature lightly tapped its foot to the beat. Trying to be a good host, I invited the translucent man over for a cup of tea. He responded by cautiously walking into the living room. I motioned to a fluffy chair that was near the tea table, and the creature politely sat down. I awkwardly waited for the water to boil and I carried the tea tray to the creature and set it on the wobbly table.  
“My Parkinsons makes my hands a little too shaky, would you mind pouring out?” I asked the man with the dark smile. Silently, he gracefully lifted the tarnished silver pot and poured the silky tea into the chipped floral cups. He was a large fellow with a bald round face and a translucent ghostly body. He seemed perplexed by my hospitality, so I tried to make him comfortable. Before stirring my tea, I reached out my arm and introduced myself.
“I’m William Black, what is your name?”
The pillowy white stranger raised his arm and politely said “It's lovely to meet you William, you can call me the Boogeyman.” His white hand was very cold and I had to stifle a shiver. Although he had an odd manner, he was very courteous.
“What brings you here at this time of night?” His pale skin became flushed as he confessed,
“I heard your music from down the street and decided to come in.”
I noticed his foot tapping to the swing beat of Louis Armstrong and asked,  “Do you like Jazz? It’s my favorite.” He responded to my question with a shy smirk.
“Jazz is more of a way of life than a music genre” We then discussed jazz for hours until as sunlight began to shine through the grimy windows in my living room.
He said standing up, “I’m afraid that I will have to go, my friend.” Having not had such a wonderful conversation with someone in a long time, I was sad to see my ominous friend go.
Desperately I asked “Would you like to come over tomorrow? I have a Cab Calloway record we can listen to.” Once again showing his toothy dark smile he agreed. We waved goodbye and Mr. Boogeyman vanished.
The afternoon after my visit with Boogeyman my nurse Miranda called asking if I was ready.
I curiously asked “For what Miranda?”
Her voice quivered as she said “Remember you’re going to move into the home today?” I did not remember her ever telling me about this. Being ninety two and impeccably sharp in my opinion, Miranda’s suggestion was outrageous. Thinking that Miranda was mistaken or confused, I gently pondered about her current state of mind “Miranda you never told me about this, how are you feeling?” Miranda quietly said “I have called you every day in the past week about this move” She then said that she would be over soon and she would help me get ready. Although everything she said sounded outrageous, I was glad she was coming over so we could clear things up.  After she hung up, I remembered having similar conversations with her about eating habits. I began to cry, out of frustration with myself, suddenly remembering that we had discussed my move to the nursing home.
Miranda came over, packed my crumbling leather suitcases in her the car and asked for me to come to the car when, I remembered that I had plans with Mr. Boogeyman.  “I can’t go today Miranda,  Mr. Boogeyman is coming over”
“Dad there isn't a Boogyman” Miranda had never been courteous, but to say that about one of my friends was not kind. I argued with her and finally with a patronizing tone in her voice she said that I could leave the Boogeyman a note. I quickly wrote the address of the nursing home on the back of a napkin. I also scribbled a quick note explaining that because we had such a nice time if it wasn’t too much trouble he could still visit me there. As I left the house I looked back to the large house that was both my childhood and adulthood. Having lived my whole live in one place it was a part of me. Leaving the smooth pillars, the wispy trees, squeaky doors and brick walls was extremely difficult. I limped to the car, relying on my cane to support me and had a silent drive to the nursing home with Miranda.
As Miranda and I walked into the nursing home, I became very uncomfortable. The nursing home smelled sterile, like a hospital. It reminded me of the time I had spent working in a hospital during the war. I never thought I was smart enough to be a doctor so I drove ambulances. Although I wasn't qualified, when the hospital was understaffed I helped distributing medication to injured soldiers. Remembering the dying men in that bloody hospital, I realised that the reason I came here was to die.  I didn't want to be a patient for the remainder of my life. I was comforted by thinking of how Mr. Boogeyman and I could discuss more pleasant things later that night.
The small room that was now my home had a small bed, dusty lacey curtains, a large television, the pale yellow tea table from my house and a cheap dresser. Miranda unpacked my clothes as I stared out the window at the well kept lawn. A friendly male nurse helped Miranda carry in my well worn record player. Then Miranda and I sat in my new home watching the news until a nurse came by saying that it was time for dinner. I then had Miranda arrange for all of my meals to be brought to my room, to prevent unpleasant conversations with the many fast talking women with drawn on eyebrows and red lipstick that we had met in the hall. Although I was mad at Miranda for making me come here, I was sad when she left to go home.
That night I heard someone walk down the hall and open a door and then a nasally scream “Oh my god” from one of the drawn on eyebrow ladies I assume. This happened several times (with different screams of course) and then my door opened. Mr. Boogeyman stood their bracing himself for what I assume he thought would be another scream.
I invited him in and he asked “Most people fear me, why are you to kind me?”
I thought for a while and joked “I trust people who dance to jazz,” He smiled and I continued, “What do you think about my new living arrangements?” He lifted his head shyly.
“I don’t like the other people here” I whispered “Neither do I” and smiled at him. I turned on the record player and saw that Mr. Boogey Man was lying on the floor. He whimpered “No one likes me, I’m all alone” Being unable to sit in his same position I sat on the bed and patted his cold shoulder,
“I will always be your friend” His tears no longer dripped off his chin and an upbeat song came on “Mr. Boogeyman would you like to dance”
I did my best to hoist up my large friend and taught him how to do the Charleston. To this day, Mr. Boogeyman comes over and we drink tea and listen to jazz. I know my family is concerned about my memory problems and confusion. The only confusion I have is why they can’t see how pleased I am to have such an interesting new friend.