“Chasing the Boogeyman” was one of those reads where I kept pausing just to sit with how WELL it was working for me.
Going right into it, I didn’t know how I’d feel about the author’s introduction — those can be hit or miss for me — but I actually really appreciated the insight into Richard Chizmar’s background and what pushed him to write this story. There are a couple of lines in there that have stuck with me, especially the idea that some things in life (and death) aren’t meant to be understood. That sentiment becomes the backbone of the entire book.
The early town history dump immediately made me think of Stephen King (who’d have thunk?) — from the suspicious fire at The Black Hole (a ramshackle jazz club that absolutely feels like a cousin to The Black Spot from “IT”), to the way childhood, evil, and location are all tied together. And while King tends to weave his history slowly through the narrative, Chizmar lays it out upfront. Normally that would bother me, but here it actually works, especially paired with his explanation that towns have two faces: the public one, and the secret one. Once that clicked, I loved the setup.
The blend of true crime elements with the narrative is incredibly effective. The factual details, police interrogations, and real-feeling documentation ground everything in a way that constantly made me forget I was reading fiction. The crime scene photos and author-provided images added so much atmosphere; it’s unsettling in the best way, like you’re flipping through a folder of evidence instead of pages in a book.
I also really loved the sharp tonal shifts between sections: one moment you’re deep in a police investigation, the next you’re drifting through Chizmar’s lush, almost poetic description of a Fourth of July parade. That contrast makes the violence and dread feel even more intrusive, like horror bleeding into moments that should be safe.
What really got me, though, was the nostalgia. Chizmar captures childhood memories so vividly — the naïve loyalty between friends, the belief that those friendships are forever, that soft, safe warmth that only exists when you don’t know just how dark and cold the world can get. It made the horror hit harder, because I could FEEL what was being threatened.
There’s a particular line about the killer’s white mask “floating” closer in the darkness that genuinely made me shudder. That single word made the Boogeyman feel less human and more supernatural, otherworldly. Inevitable. Unstoppable.
And the reveal? My jaw actually dropped. No spoilers, but I truly did not see it coming. Which I suppose was the point; that in keeping it from his limited perspective, Chizmar presented a narrative that was real, emotional, and truly frightening.
Overall, this felt like true crime amplified: nonfiction textures blended with sensationalized fiction, photos, interviews, and deeply personal reflection. Chizmar didn’t just tell me a story, he dropped me into the town and left me there, forced to watch everything unfold as one of the townspeople.
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