dark speculative fiction, gothic fantasy, and monster romance

Projects

The Haunting of a Boogeyman

gothic fantasy, horror, monster romance serial

Anse la Croix, Gravemyr - Heiress Kemper Fontaine, daddy's girl and daughter of billionaire Marc Fontaine, has built a pristine philanthropic career teaching demons, vampires, and ferals how to pull themselves up by their bootstraps — though she’d never actually socialize with them. They simply lack the refinement. But Kemper's perfectly manicured world is cracked wide open when she is viciously attacked by a roaming wrath demon, only for the monster to do the unthinkable: save her life.

--- writing---

Start reading...

The Arcanum

interactive fiction game, fantasy, horror, romance.

Emmrath, Solmyr - Your parents have enrolled you in a prestigious academy on a remote island. You must choose your academic focus, network, and build your skills, while juggling the responsibilities of your social life and expectations of your distinguished parents. Will you become a powerful mage, a master tactician, or end up in an early grave?

--- plotting & writing---

The Hunt for Goodwill
& Intentions

Epic fantasy, horror, (monster) romance, ensemble cast.

The Damacaun, Solmyr - A ragtag group of friends meet, adventure, grow, and break together. Culminates in the Blacktide War. Comprised of three separate series to tell the entire story.
My passion project.

--- plotting & writing---

Signs of Life

interactive fiction game, science fiction, horror, romance.

The Yomi - Set in the distant future, you are born a colonist on an asteroid pummeling through the Expanse. You sought to escape your small town existence and find grand adventure. Unfortunately (or fortunately?), you were arrested, and are currently being held on the prisoner starship Yomi.

--- plotting ---

Nightfall

interactive fiction game, fantasy, adventure, romance.

Set in another fantasy world far beyond the stars from Solmyr, Nightfall tells the story of a group of adventurers traveling the land, each with their own secrets and private motivations.

--- plotting ---

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The Haunting of a Boogeyman

The Haunting of a Boogeyman is a gothic monster gaslamp romantasy set in an elite society where "ferals"—dangerous creatures disruptive to the social cohesion of Anaïs de la Croix—are forced to earn their right to exist through their ability to be hard working, productive members of society.Heiress Kemper Fontaine, daughter of Marc Fontaine of Fontaine Industries, is the flawless face of this regime. Kemper's charity teaches refinement to the very monsters she disdains, all while she hides behind high town's protective suppression wards. But her pristine, manicured world is shattered when she is viciously attacked on a dark street that should have been safe, only for a roaming feral to do the unthinkable: save her life.Tropes: beauty and the beast, forced proximity/unlikely allies, monster romance, class divide

Table of Contents

Chapter I - Red Trails (2276 words)

Trigger warnings

(updated 7.27.2026)

macabre & morbid themes, violence, physical assault, robbery, PTSD

© 2026 Gabriel Greysin. All rights reserved.
This work is intended for patrons only. Do not copy, share, or redistribute this text without explicit permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Unauthorized reproduction, redistribution, or use of this text for AI training is prohibited.

The Haunting of a Boogeyman

TW listWritten by Gabriel Greysin
Edited by Ley Taylor JohnsonDeepest, loving thanks to Wife, Egg, & Streamer xPumpkn...
Without your encouragement & help,
I would not be doing this.

Chapter I

Red Trails

Four-inch stilettos are ill-suited to walking home in the dark while tipsy, but a little discomfort is a small sacrifice to avoid bare feet on the street. She has no desire to shred her soles into steak tartare on a cracked beer bottle. The slinky straps bite into the back of her heels as she pinches her clutch tight against her side.Pain beckons to all sorts of daemons from the crevices of the streets, but weak manifestations can’t reach her here. Dwelling on such thoughts, however, is always a risk. The last thing Kemper needs right now is to be waylaid in the earliest hours of a new day on an empty central avenue by a nefarious boogeyman drawn to the taste of her misery and self-pity.To be fair, it’s pretty unlikely here in high town. Anaïs de la Croix is a safe place to walk at night. There is no reason for her to take off her heels; it’s not like she would ever need to run in them. The citizens of high town are a blissful crowd safeguarded by the extraordinary power of the suppression wards, cultivated and treasured by humans and gargoyles alike. Still, there’s always the chance that something might get past, especially the particularly robust accumulations.Just thinking about it sends a quiver through her stomach. Nothing is going to happen. She’s safe. Hands sweaty—probably because she’s been walking for half a kilometer in heels—she can’t help but take a quick survey around her. The vision of the still street swims with the movement and she giggles nervously. As she looks directly ahead, her whole body flinches, hushed to silence by the dark silhouette in the darkness between the glowing orange streetlamps.There is a man watching her. Waiting for her.The hair at the nape of her neck rises. She freezes. The closest streetlight flickers, as if it might go out.It can’t be real. But she can’t be stupid enough to deny what she sees, even if she is drunk. The air becomes dense as her heart begins a gallop. She knows another way to her high-rise, so she turns and nearly slams into the two men behind her. A screech tears from her lungs as they grab her bare arms. If Enzo were here—But Enzo isn’t here, as she is so acutely aware the moment her clutch is ripped from her grasp. “Hey! Who do you think you are? Do you realize wh—”“Shut up!” he slaps her so hard her body rag dolls towards her right and it rattles her bones.Laughter bounces around the slimming space between the mountainous high rises, and nausea roils in her gut as she is jerked in a hundred different ways. Grime-caked hands tear the fabric of the dress Nimeer designed and made by hand for her, and the boiling bursts over when she sees the glint of steel.A savage scream explodes from her as she forcefully snatches her right arm from their grasp. Before they can get a hold of it again she grabs the blade of the knife slicing through the Seivite silk and yanks it from her attacker’s hand, sending it clattering uselessly onto the street.“Fuck! Hold her!” a snarl grates against her ear and her arm is snatched back and squeezed so grievously a hoarse scream wrenches unbidden from her throat. That’s it—she’s going to tear his throat out with her teeth. She struggles against the binding hands of her attackers, then jerks forward and snaps her teeth in the space her frontward attacker quickly abandons.“Oooh! She’s feisty!” Laughter again. Her face burns hot—not just from the earth shattering pain of the punch he lands in her gut, doubling her over with a gag. Vomit splatters on shoes and brick.A visceral, sinking doom drops into her gut to replace the lost martinis and shrimp cocktail. There is nothing she can do. Ice knots in her core. There are more of them than her, they are bigger than her, they are stronger than her. They are going to end little Kemper Fontaine, always reaching, never attaining, before she can be anything but a pretty, sad stain on her daddy’s biography. But if she could—The dark silhouette of her attacker screams right in her face, and her entire body and gut trembles uncontrollably. She cannot die here. She will not die here.A sick crackling signals that they have broken her somehow, though she’s too numb to feel it. Warmth splashes over her and she throws her weight backward onto her two captors to kick wildly. But her feet only flail in the air as her beautiful heels go flying and her chest clenches tight. Assholes!They throw her down onto her face and into a world of splintering, head-shattering pain. The rough, cool concrete is here to catch and bite her cheeks in her time of need.A heavy presence thickens the air, bearing down on her, and a chill runs down her spine. Piercing shrieks sound like a siren behind her and she knows only that she has moments to try to escape. Dizzy, her body howling in its torment, she claws up onto her elbows and knees. Every single one of her survival instincts scream at her to run. She lurches and eats dirt again. Fucking crawl. Get out.Her arms are bloody. The violent thrashing of her heart pounds through her mind and she catches her balance, stumbling onto her bare, bleeding feet. So much for not shredding them. She begins to run, shoving all of her strength into her legs, and it is only when she comes to the end of the street that she realizes how quiet it is.She looks behind her and there is nothing. No one pursuing her. The streetlight’s flame closest to her flickers, revealing some vague shapes outlining the ground in crimson.Her attackers.What killed them?Did they draw something here with their disgusting greed? Did she draw something here with her fear?She turns and sprints. This path to her building is longer, but the road to the north is the main strip and blinding in the aftermath of its midnight energy.It takes the rest of the walk for her heart to stop blaring out all else. By the time she’s at her door tears are running unbidden down her cheeks. She tries to turn the handle and it won’t give.“Fuck!” Her keys were in her clutch. She stands on her toes and stumbles and stands again, hands trembling and uncoordinated as she fumbles for the keys above the door’s threshold.She fumbles them into the lock and turns, keys jingling in a mocking monotony completely out of place after what just happened. Her body wails at her. Maybe she should have gone to the hospital, but she wasn’t leaking.The cold tile of her entryway stings on the soles of her feet. She leaves bloody footprints in her wake, but Nimeer will take care of it in the morning. She should find medical attention of some sort, but all she can do is drop onto her sheets.

“What the hell happened?”Enzo’s voice is run roughshod with alarm. To be fair, Kemper would likewise be aghast at the sight he had walked into. It takes everything in Kemper to shift and make the attempt to lift herself. She hisses as she registers the blinding morning light. Enzo dashes to her side, his large hands a comforting tenderness as he supports her rise, pulls her under his wing. Literally. “You’re injured. What happened? Kemper?”His big eyes pierce through her grogginess, but she doesn’t have any answers for him. Not because she lacks the memory, but because it will not rise to her tongue. She can’t. She coils her strength into her muscles and tries to swallow down the knot in her throat. It does little to dislodge the inconvenience.“I’m okay,” she lies.Enzo lets out one single mirthless bark of a laugh as he examines her. “You’re covered in blood.”Kemper looks down at herself. The sweet baby pink silk evening gown is violently stained deep crimson. She winces and her gaze returns to him tentatively. His eyes are round and jaw squared. “You need to go to the hospital.”“No! No.” She ignores the scream of her muscles and the stinging scrapes and scratches all over her as she puts her right hand down to push up. Earth- shattering agony spikes through her palm and up her arm like lightning and she falls back into Enzo’s arm with a strangled yelp.“Kem—”“We can’t afford that sort of publicity,” she snaps. That silences him.Instead, he looks to Nimeer, motioning for them to step inside. Wide eyed and rigid, they come forward as he begins instruction.“Fetch doctor Ataxirün and return without delay. Inform Mr. Fonta-”“No!” Kemper groans. The last thing she needs is for her father to hear about this before she herself knows what happened last night.Enzo sucks in a breath and doesn’t let it out as he meets her eye. “Then what?”Ease settles into her. Enzo had always put her first, his loyalty proven again and again to be unquestionable and absolute. Kemper reminds herself that he can be counted on to serve her interests first—no one else’s. Including the corporation and her father.Kemper breathes in deeply and sighs out the turmoil in her thoughts. Her muscles go limp in his arms. He motions for Nimeer to proceed with his single instruction and they are gone in an instant.Enzo’s attention focuses on Kemper as he cradles her, his professional mask crumbling into a lined brow and a frown. Everything will be fine. She can handle this.“I was robbed,” she states plainly. His mouth sets into a grim line. He nods and she stares directly ahead. She can see him in her periphery, but she can’t focus on him right now. She’s sure something in her might break if she does.She can’t even acknowledge the beautiful morning view of Anaïs, something she committed to every morning she woke in this bed. Not today.“I escaped. I’m not really sure how,” she admits. Gods, she regrets what happened to this dress. Nimeer had worked for so long and put so much of themself into it. Yet they seemed not at all concerned about the fabric.One painful moment hands held her down, the next she was crawling on her belly, writhing away like a worm in the dirt. And all the blood. Her face burns and her throat closes up. She squeezes her eyes shut, but she can’t shield herself from the flickering memories searing her mind. Her lungs and heart are starting to flutter and she tries to steady them again with another slow, deep breath.“I don’t think all of the blood is mine.”Enzo’s stone-gray gaze turns to her bloodied gown again and he nods with a grim acceptance. “Show me your hand,” he indicates where she had failed to hold herself upright. She already knew he would find a slash from the blade she had foolishly grabbed and thrown. But it was better that than whatever her attacker had intended it for.Kemper allows Enzo to examine her wounds. Countless bruises and dozens of scrapes and scratches cover her body, her hand bearing the worst of it. She’s right—some of the blood most certainly is not hers, and when Nimeer returns with the doctor, she hears Enzo turn his attention to the beginnings of his investigation.The doctor’s magic is not enough to close the deep wound on her hand, but he stitches it closed and heals the rest as best he can. He cleans the wound where she hit her head and advises her to get plenty of rest, which makes her laugh.Once she can reasonably walk again, Kemper locks herself in her bathroom. She’s caked in blood, dirt. Her cheeks are stained by kohl-black tears. Gross. She bathes, preens, and dresses, moving through the routine with mechanical precision.It’s hard for her to pull on her clothes by herself and as embarrassed as she feels, she is thankful for Nimeer’s aid. The tight coils of her hair are frizzled and mistreated by the way she passed out in her bed, and Nimeer treats them and brings them back to bouncing life.She emerges from her bedroom suite looking perfect—besides the bandage she hid under clasped hands. She sits and doesn’t touch the beautifully colored breakfast before her. She hears her maid, Hannuk, Nimeer, the doctor, Enzo, and others buzzing around her, but she isn’t taking any of it in. In fact, she’s not sure she’s taking anything in.Or thinking anything at all. For once in her life, her mind is empty. She still has dozens of projects in the works, hundreds of concerns and worries, but none of it matters now.“Are you cold, my lady?”Nimeer’s question jerks her out of her silence. She’s got goose pimples and she is cold, but she had not realized it at all.“Oh. Uh. Yes.” She looks to Nimeer, and they place her house coat around her shoulders. “Thank you.”“Of course, my lady,” they smile reassuringly, and Kemper can barely hold herself together at the idea that even Nimeer pities her. But she forces a kind smile in return, and Nimeer bows before they step back and return to their duties, leaving Kemper to her emptiness.