Leon "Mort" Mortimer
Mort has a whole mess of hair falling to his shoulders. He often lets it fall in front of his face to hide the bags under his eyes. it is a practice he has seen other … boogeymen use to cloak their weirdness. He uses an old Jacket to cover his top. A Classic rock shirt. Unlike some other boogeymen who go for full cloaked trenchcoat cover. He wears simple jeans and tennis shoes. Adopting a Backpack when he needs tools.
And when he really wishes to play to the whole boogeyman routine. A bandana across his lower face.
Crazy Train – Ozzy
Blinded by the Light – Manfred Mann’s Earth Band
Twilight Zone – Golden Earring
Life is Good
Leon was a guy who had no ambitions. He had a baby’s mama, and that was all he needed. He worked as Rail Switcher on the Graveyard shift. A skinny guy in life. Coached his kid’s softball on the weekends. Had trouble keeping in touch with friends. Not a bad guy just his way. Satisfied in his simple life
He often took caffeine pills to keep him going during long overnight shifts. One night he found his bottle of NoDoz overturned. And all the white little capsules nowhere to be seen. He manned up and went to work anyways. Children can be expensive, but nothing was too much for his kid; uniforms braces books. As long as the pay was there, he was happy to work. But as much as he fought the siren’s song, during this last shift he succumbed to sweet sleep.
The day faded from his memory and the next night he found himself on the gravel rails. his shirt rag torn ragged at his side. And a weariness. Walking back home he saw his reflection in a dirty puddle. The bags under his eyes had grown and his skin paler? thin? Not enough sleep.
Upon arriving home, he walked past his baby’s mama passed out on the couch with a wine bottle not far off. His thoughts a muddy mess “not even a word this time? She must be pissed at me, she was always the quiet one. Just like a car locks up when it’s mad.”
Down the hall he drifted? no longer really walking. Drifting sounds like the better word. Over to his little girl’s room. He opened the door stepped inside. She was crying in her sleep.
“Baby Girl what’s wrong?”
“No one’s Dead Baby girl”
A nightmare? surely. the rest of the night Mort laid by his daughter. As the sun drew high, Mort Retreated into her closest. And that is how Mort became his daughter’s bogeyman.
Mort wanted to kill him. He so wanted to kill him. The man who hurt his daughter. She thought it was love, He was an idiot Athlete. To be honest it was no one’s fault, drunk kids at a party. But that’s not how Mort saw it. She was Crying. That’s all the rational he understood.
It had been a number of years, since it happened. Since He been shanghaied into a nightmare.
Mort stalked this kid. Found this punk after school, during a late evening storm. The rain plentered plantered against the windows. The Darkness oppressive in the night. It was such a cold hard feeling. A want A need. Feeling a warm rushing push in his veins; the first time since he started walking his eternal nightmare he felt alive.
As the young man walked down the corridors Mort realized something, he knew this young man. He had couch this kid, This kid loved baseball. And that made it more real. It was calculated. It was intentional. At the top of a stairway at the local campus, Mort pushed the young man down. Crack Crunch Bang. Surprisingly the young man didn’t die, but he walks with a limp now. His promising athletic career destroyed in an instant.
As Mort thought about this man’s fate. He accepted it. He wanted to kill him, but this was enough. There wasn’t a whole lot he could do for his light in the dark, but at least this one thing he could do. Stupid evil idiotic whatever label you slap on it, He did it. He owns it. And it was at the very least something. No matter how old she gets, to him she will always be that girl in the my little pony nightgown, crying for daddy. and He will be her boogeyman in the closest.
You’d never think that Symphony of the Night was a ‘Real’ thing, it’s a video game, a stock troupe of horror, Bram Stoker’s Drac. But one night Mort heard it. A song off the rails and a drumming in his empty veins. An instinct pulled at him. In the after dark of his life he arrived back in grade school; and he was late.
Class was beginning again in these dense trees. The Drumming pulled him through the empty streets, into the fields into the treeline. A long stretch of shadow and bark accompanied him. Only being interrupted by two long metal rails. Mort took the path down those rails, deeper into the forest’s umbra. He found himself flanked on both right and left by the attendants of the trees. Squirrels Bats Wolves came as an honor guard, and he listened. The song so sweetly, The lessons the animals spoke so true. Hunt.
The Drumming became louder and deeper. With each step down those graveled lines, Mort sank deeper into the Forest’s deep deep depths. Sight around him becoming more and more concentrated into his own pool of scenes, but with an awareness calling out. The foliage whipping past his legs and arms. The Infernal Tell-Tale Heart Drumming his cold muscles. Until he came upon the Tunnel’s portcullis. From Deep within the mouth of this manmade cave whispered a voice lost to the centuries “Come inside Boy”
The drumming in his body crashed to a halt. Soot and Smoke bellowed in this shadow’s wake. Fear ruled here. Within Mort’s mind’s eye, he saw himself running, running over the bridge. With a vicious coal black train, boiler hot, railing at his heels, and he falls. The message was clear “Run and you will fall”
From there Mort was errand boy, playing conductor on the Crazy Train
Sire was/is an old school Railway Tycoon from the 1800s. Fought gambled wheeled and dealed, all the way up to the final years of railway success. During the 1970/80s.
""A series of bankruptcies and consolidations left the rail system in the hands of a few large operations by the 1980s. Almost all long-distance passenger traffic was shifted to Amtrak in 1971, a government owned operation. Commuter rail service is provided near a few major cities such as New York, Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and the District of Columbia. Computerization and improved equipment steadily reduced employment … "" Pulled from Wikipedia History of Rail transport in the United States
He still has a hatred for the opponents and system that out did him. His power base, his influence, Melted right in front of him. His birth name is lost to the corridors of time. People know him by his adopted name. DeWitt Clinton. In the local area he’s desiced to try again. using what he knows best. The Rail line. And For that He’d need someone with local knowledge and know how about the lines. Enter Mort.
Spite Anger Resentment and Envy. A once prized Empire laid low. Dewitt would rebuild it, brick-by-Bloody brick. This last Employee at this abandoned switch station, he would take as his own. All this Hate and Anger, nursed over the decades, visited on this one luckless hack with no ambition. For you see it’s a misconception those sparkly fcks have. You don’t embrace people you like or give a fck about. You embrace the ones you hate you despise. Especially when you’re a horror show
Dewitt’s weirdness comes from a smoky coal and soot trail he leaves behind.
Night to Night
Mort has not entirely adapted to his new unlife very well. To make ends meet, he’s taken to salvaging defunct rail lines for iron. He enjoys the forest for its solitude. Away from the weirdness people feel around and towards him, He feels less abnormal. Trading his social awkwardness for mere loneliness, he had grown accustomed to. The untamed land has a sweet melody
And of course there’s always the watching patient role of guardian angel, unseen and unheard he braves the civilization to make sure the family can be taken care of.
A “Trust Fund” has been sent up for his family as part of a worker’s comp supplement. The only one who puts money into that Fund is Mort. When he needs it, he slips back into The house. For you see it’s no longer “his” house. Moving as a stranger in his once home, he comes to his baby’s mama. He comes as a husband’s ghost and sips from her mortal coil. little by little. And each morning the wife swears the ghost came. and she feels weaker for the trouble
Once feed, he finds a place to be quiet and listen to his daughter sleep. When she awakes in the middle of the night. He often whispers “Go to sleep Babygirl” in such a quiet mouse voice barely audible. Sometimes as baby girl turns over he swears she hears him. ‘She can sleep enough for the both of us.’
One last thing to note. Mort knows there are other boogeymen. like himself. He hides from them, they are strong, and he is not ready to confront the world at large. They have Sunday Worships, Saturday masses, Monday Meetings, Tuesday Rallies, Wednesday Lectures. He remains unaligned, but open to helping out, when there is a ‘paycheck’ involved. And of Course Mr. Dewitt’s special requests. If anything Mort has become more mercenary in his outlook and needs.
An Awkward Reality is coming to Mort. One Day his little girl will be going to college. He’d prefer she go to a good one, or none at all to keep her close. Venturing into Toronto is going to be necessary to secure a safe place for himself and her. Not to mention Dewitt is starting to make moves of his own that will put Mort into the City. It’s going to be a Loooonngg Night.
“This is a Shit Plan. This is a Shit Plan, because it’s obviously a Shit Plan”