Themes Becoming the Boogeyman Richard Chizmar

The Performance of Evil in Becoming the Boogeyman

Defining the Performance of Evil

The central thematic claim of Becoming the Boogeyman is that evil is not simply committed—it is staged, curated, and consumed. The novel argues that killers like Joshua Gallagher and his copycat deliberately fashion their crimes as performances, manipulating media and public perception to amplify their terror. The audience—true‑crime fans, journalists, and even the author himself—becomes an unwitting co‑star, transforming real violence into spectacle. This analysis traces the performance of evil across three distinct plot movements, examining how characters, symbols, and contradictions deepen the theme.

Three Acts of a Grisly Show

Act One: Gallagher and the True‑Crime Industry

The first act establishes the machinery that turns a killer into an icon. Though Joshua Gallagher sits in prison, his mythology thrives without his direct participation. The novel catalogues a vast media ecosystem built around him: the podcast The Boogeyman Lives (sponsored by Monster Energy and Trojan condoms), T‑shirts, bumper stickers, and “authentic” burlap masks sold online. A People magazine cover shows a music festival crowd wearing tank tops that read “THE BOOGEYMAN’S A STUD.” Gallagher himself ignores interview requests and research proposals—yet his silence only fuels the legend.

The narrator, Richard Chizmar, theorizes that the public fascination stems from the universal fear of the Boogeyman, a shapeless nightmare given form by pop culture. The chapter “The Boogeyman” makes clear that the performance is not wholly Gallagher’s doing; the audience demands it. Fans create their own version of the killer, romanticizing him despite his lack of charisma or charm. This contradiction—a boring man transformed into a celebrity monster—reveals the first layer of performative evil.

Act Two: The Copycat’s Theatrical Terror

The second act shifts to a copycat who literalizes the performance. After the murder of Peyton Bair, a series of staged incidents terrorizes Edgewood. A thirteen‑year‑old boy wears his brother’s Boogeyman mask and peers into windows, nearly getting shot by a terrified veteran. A masked intruder confronts Harold and Jessica Citro in their backyard, then leaps onto their roof—an impossible feat that suggests he is acting for an audience rather than attacking.

The most visceral performance comes from Kara Chizmar’s perspective. She discovers three mannequins hanging from a sycamore tree, their necks looped with rope, and the severed head of Annie Riggs attached to one. The mannequins sway in the wind, moaning as the ropes scrape branches. Kara realizes someone is playing a prank—but the prank is a lethal spectacle designed to imitate the original crimes. The copycat uses the burlap mask and mannequins as props, staging terror for a specific audience: Rich and Kara.

The town itself becomes a theater. A memorial for Annie Riggs grows into a media circus, with reporters, photographers, and TikTok influencers gathering daily. Rich finds an empty beer can on the roadside while ignoring shouted questions; he notes the “hungry vultures surrounding fresh roadkill.” The boundary between investigation and performance dissolves as every new sighting, every prank, and every news story feeds the spectacle.

Act Three: The Author as Co‑Conspirator

The third act implicates the narrator directly. In the Author’s Note, Chizmar reveals that the photographs in the book were staged using neighbors and friends as actors—and that he himself posed as Mallory Tucker’s corpse. He writes, “The staged nature of the photographs … using neighbors and friends as actors—including myself as Mallory Tucker’s corpse.” This confession collapses the distance between author and subject, showing that the performance of evil is not limited to the killers. The book itself is a performance, a fictionalized true‑crime account that borrows real people, places, and media outlets for verisimilitude.

This layer extends to Chizmar’s personal history. In “Chapter Nineteen: Reckoning,” he confesses to Kara his childhood association with Henry Metheny, a real serial killer. Metheny’s backstory, drawn from a psychology journal article, includes detailed fantasies about stalking and killing—a private performance that never escalated to public crime. The novel thereby draws a continuum from private fantasy to public spectacle, with the author’s own life serving as another stage.

Characters and Symbols on Stage

  • Joshua Gallagher is the original performer, but his performance is passive: his myth acts through media proxies. He uses online crossword puzzles to communicate with followers, turning a game into a coded message system.

  • The copycat (revealed as Sean Phillips) actively recreates Gallagher’s signature moves—the mask, the stalking, the theatrical flair. His sniffing and leaping onto a roof are deliberate acts meant to be witnessed and reported.

  • Richard Chizmar oscillates between participant and observer. He profits from the true‑crime frenzy while condemning it; he investigates the copycat while his own book becomes part of the spectacle. His confrontation with the Ramones T‑shirt kid and the guilt he feels afterward show his own performative moments.

  • Kara Chizmar is both victim and unwilling audience. Her terror at the mannequins is genuine, but she also becomes a character in the ongoing drama, her scream captured by the narrative.

  • Henry Metheny represents the private, unperformed evil. His fantasies never reach public consumption, yet they are documented in a journal—a secret performance for an audience of one.

The burlap mask is the central symbol of performative evil. It recurs in the copycat’s encounters, in the boy’s prank, and in merchandise. The mask hides identity while amplifying fear, turning the wearer into a blank slate upon which the public projects their own nightmares. The mannequins serve as stand‑ins for real victims, artificial bodies that mimic death—a perfect metaphor for the staged, artificial nature of the crimes.

Complexity and Contradiction

The performance of evil in Becoming the Boogeyman is not a simple indictment of true‑crime culture. The novel itself is a product of that culture, and Chizmar acknowledges his complicity. He writes that the character of Carly Albright is a “fictional amalgam,” and many personal details (his family, his home) are genuine—blurring the line between memoir and invention.

A key contradiction emerges: while the public claims to be horrified by the killings, they consume them eagerly. The podcast makes six‑figure salaries; the “Free the Boogeyman” merchandise sells briskly; and readers of Chasing the Boogeyman beg for more. Chizmar’s own agent texts him that the paperback is #4 on the New York Times list—no congratulations, just information. The performance is so embedded that even the author cannot step outside it.

Furthermore, the copycat’s crimes are both imitation and critique. By dressing as the Boogeyman, he mocks the original—yet he also elevates it, proving that the performance can be re‑created by anyone. The novel suggests that evil becomes a role anyone can play once the script is written.

Study Questions and Answers

1. How does the podcast The Boogeyman Lives exemplify the performance of evil?

The podcast turns Gallagher’s crimes into weekly entertainment, featuring experts and audience call‑ins. It offers a “midnight tour of the Boogeyman’s hometown hunting grounds” as a contest prize. This commercialized spectacle transforms murder into a consumable product, with the killer as the star attraction.

2. Why does the copycat use mannequins in Kara’s yard, and what does this reveal about his motives?

The mannequins are theatrical props: they hang like bodies, moan in the wind, and are dressed in wigs. The addition of Annie Riggs’s severed head turns the tableau into a grisly diorama. This reveals the copycat’s desire to stage horror for a specific audience—Rich and Kara—rather than simply commit violence.

3. In what way is Richard Chizmar himself a performer in the story?

Chizmar writes a fictionalized true‑crime book, participates in podcasts, and poses for staged photographs (including as a corpse). He both investigates the copycat and profits from the genre. His confession that the photos are staged acknowledges his role in constructing the narrative of evil.

4. How does the public’s reaction to Gallagher contradict his actual personality?

Despite Gallagher being described as neither charismatic nor handsome, fans treat him like a celebrity. The novel notes that middle‑aged women have “romantic or maternal aspirations” toward him, and merchandise builds a persona around a man who is “disarmingly charming” in reality. This contradiction shows that the audience creates the boogeyman more than the killer does.

5. What is the significance of the crossword puzzles in Chapter Nineteen?

Gallagher uses online crossword puzzles to communicate with followers, planting the word “pawn” as a clue. This turns a mundane game into a coded performance, proving that even from prison he can direct a network of admirers. The puzzles represent how evil can be orchestrated through everyday media, hidden in plain sight.