Monday, December 27, 2010


So much to say. Always so much for me to tell. Those of you who hate long posts, and I know there are some of you out there, won’t be happy with this. Though any of those people who are still here must be commended for their courage and endurance

Oh, and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m still alive. And capable of typing out fully coherent sentences without random binary, or that italics thing I had going on for one post. Ain’t that just swell; I personally find both of those things much more preferable than their alternatives.

My last post does speak truth; I went back into my woods, this time at night. Because everyone knows that the best thing to do when hunted by something eldritch is to listen to the advice of terrifying hallucinations which afflict you as a result of said eldritch thing.

My memories of what exactly happened are fuzzy; I wasn’t exactly in peak mental condition at the time, and most of what I do remember is just a dark blur. It began like the visions I had experienced of the forest. Only the moon lighting the tangled darkness, illuminating the path into the woods. Following whatever compulsion was pulling me, I walked down that path.

I got lost in minutes. Ridiculous how that happened; I should have the place memorized. But soon I was walking amongst trees which I had no familiarity with, hounded by fog all around me. I don’t remember most of the visions I had while there, but from what I do recall, they were uniformly unpleasant. Lots of disembodied eyes, moving shadows, the works. The childish laughter which I had heard during Jason’s death was also there, and stupidly, I followed it. The sound led me to a clearing (I’ve gone back and tried to use a map to retrace the route I think I took, and found that, you guessed it, there should be no clearing in that area), covered in black grass. The fog descended on me, covering me completely. Within the shroud, all sound but the laughter was smothered. It was so close, as though I could just reach out and grab whatever was making the noise. Soon, I could: shadows appeared around me, small and childlike. They danced around me in the fog, laughing as they did. The sound was like claws running across my mind, every little giggle ripping through me with incomparable agony. The pain made me fall to my hands and knees, and throw up on the grass. My mind was being pressed down on, forced into blackness. I realized that, beyond any shred of doubt, I was going to die.

The complete inevitability of that fact woke up something inside me, giving volume to a voice which had been shouting at me from within for a long time. The idea coated itself in the pain, riding along with its screams, until it struck my thoughts with a yell that silenced all else.

Of course I was going to die. That had been true since the moment I had seen our finely dressed faceless man watching me. I had joked about how no one who was hunted by him seemed to survive, but I had never seriously accepted that for myself. I was different than all those before me; I would be the one to succeed where all others had failed, the one to live a long and fulfilling life after all this was over. No matter how many times I talked about my death, or encountered my future killer, the realization that I was a dead man never sunk in. But here, in the forest surrounded by shadows, it dawned on me that I had already died, over a month ago.

Cue the music.

I started laughing there. Not a childish giggle like the shadows, but a deep, full throated laugh, louder and freer than any I had allowed myself before. The sound was wild, but not desperate; it was the laughter of a man who had broken out of a cage and discovered the wonders of freedom beyond it.

Too long had I been acting like a living man, not the dead man who I am now. I clenched my right hand into a fist, feeling the muscles tighten and my nails dig into my palms. Fear is something for those that are alive; the dead need not have any fear, for they have already lost everything.
Slowly, I raised myself back up, until I was standing straight again. Pain is a sensation for the living; for a man already dead, every second of pain is a joyous relief, a reminder that oblivion has not yet taken them.
With my laughter filling the night, I punched at one of the dancing shadows. Caution is a burden the living carry; why should a dead man worry about the consequences of his actions?
The shadow disappeared as my fist moved through it, vanishing into the fog. I began striking at the other shadows, no longer caring what would happen to me, just finding any way I could to strike back at them. Of course you can’t win in a fight against shadows, but I tried, oh how I tried, swinging at them again and again, until they finally stopped their damned dance.

I loved that fight, loved the feeling of my blood boiling. It was a shame when it ended. The shadows all vanished, though their laughter remained. Before me, the fog parted, showing another path. I feel my response to this was appropriate; I raised a single finger up, and then ran in the opposite direction.

The fog blinded my path, but I pressed onwards. The claws of tree branches grabbed at me as I ran through. That isn’t a metaphor. Limbs and branches reached for me, slashing at my skin or grabbing at my legs. Dozens of cuts crossed my body; most scratches, but several deep wounds. A few times a root moved to trip me, but I always scrambled back to my feet and resumed my mad dash. The searing pain I was feeling didn’t discourage me; I embraced it, laughing with every twinge of my nerves, using it as fuel to drive me faster. I refused to stop for anything, pressing on through the obstacles which tried to block me.

At the end of the forest, the fog stopped, as though blocked by a wall. When I took those last few steps out of it, back into the clear air, a wave of nausea struck me, forcing me to regurgitate whatever contents of my stomach hadn’t already been thrown up. I looked like I was in horrible shape: my entire body was covered in blood, and I was starting to feel woozy as a result. My left shoe had been lost somewhere in the forest, and my shirt had been torn into so many pieces that it really could no longer be considered an article of clothing. More like a handful of rags which were draped over my shoulders. I unsteadily limped back to my car, and drove home. I used up the entirety of our first aid kit there (I must look like a mummy, with the amount of gauze and bandages all over my body), and prepared the supplies needed for a fantastic party. One empty bottle + gasoline + motor oil + one rag + one lighter = a helluva good time.

With my Molotov cocktail prepared, I drove back to the edge of my forest. It was still clouded in fog, but that wasn’t a problem for me.
Want to know a fun fact about Texas? It can get really dry here. In the past few months, we’ve only had a single day of rain. Since our forests aren’t as big as some other states, we don’t get massive wildfires during the dry times, but that doesn’t change the fact that a small, local forest can be completely destroyed by a single man with enough flammable substances.

When I threw the Molotov into the trees, for a moment it looked like it had been consumed by the fog. Then, there was a flash of light, and soon after, flames roared out, burning away the mist. It was a magical sight, and I couldn’t help but stand transfixed at the rising flames.

Amidst those flames, Slender Man appeared, standing just at the edge of the tree line. He was just watching me, as he so loves to do, completely unaffected by the fire. Much as I would have loved to stay and chat, my work there was finished, and it likely wouldn’t have been long before the authorities arrived to question why some trees had spontaneously combusted, so I gave a bow and left.

At this moment, I’m packing up to leave Austin. I’m guessing staying here won’t be the smartest of ideas, since unless the fire department can move quickly, that fire I started is going to be spreading to the houses nearby pretty soon, and the police tend not to act friendly towards someone who lights sleeping homes on fire. I’ll be driving back to my apartment tonight; hopefully blood loss won’t cause me to lose consciousness and crash into any businessmen who may happen to be wandering across the interstate in the middle of the night. Once I get there…. Who knows? But it’s time to end this foolishness I’ve had for so long. No more of this snobbish, “Ooh, lookit me, I can talk real big about fighting the Slender Man!” No, enough pretending I’m some grand conqueror who will kill the monster, while in reality I hide behind feeble excuses such as “wanting to see my roommate suffer”, or “I’m too scared of the faceless man to do anything about it!” Now we’re making this simple. I will fight him. I will do anything I can to fight against him. And I will probably die. I’m a little mouse, caught by a cat that is now playing with its food before it delivers the final blow. But maybe I can get a good bite on its paws before it decides to finish me off.

This is going to be the best party I’ve ever had, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.


Sunday, December 26, 2010

Friday, December 24, 2010

He’s still here why is He still here days and days of Him being here, why can’t He just leave me alone, I can’t stand this anymore then I should stop sitting here and go and sock him in the face, the bastard! Typing isn’t going to get anything done, I should be fighting him! But no, that’s suicide, I would be killed at least I would be doing something instead of sobbing like a pitiful child how am I supposed to fight Him, it’s impossible. Holly was right, I don’t have a plan for this, I’m just running around talking big and pretending I can handle this I can handle this! I will crush that monster’s neck beneath my foot! He wants to kill me? ME? I will show him just who the hell he’s dealing with!

Fighting Him is futile, there’s no way to win…. I’ll find a way to win! I will not give up my life so easily, like all the other weak people he has hunted before! I will fight him with every inch of myself! How can I hope to accomplish that, I can barely even sleep at night now, I’m scared to even get out of my room fear is nothing! Just another obstacle in my path to conquest, which I will tear down! No, not possible, I can’t fight against fear itself like hell I can’t!

Maybe this is punishment for what I’ve done, punishment for all my sins…. I’m sorry Jason, stop shouting at me, please stop shouting at me Jason…. Punishment? Why would I be punished? Punished for being strong? Guilt is a chain which holds people back; I have no need of such chains. No need for me to feel shame about it! I KILLED JASON! ON THE BALCONY! WITH THE SLENDER MAN! And I’ll kill anyone else I have to for this fight! No, that’s insane, I was wrong to kill him, I shouldn’t be doing this…. Of course I should! This is no moral tale where goodness and love will triumph! There is no Sonya to redeem me at the end! Any measures which need be taken shall be taken!

All I want is to go back to normal, it’s Christmas Eve, why can’t I just celebrate Christmas Eve like I used to, why do I have to spend it crawling through darkness and fog everywhere it’s filled the house filled my mind, I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die

Maybe I should just give up now Never! I should never give up! I will never give up! Just get this ordeal over with, go back into the forest and let Him take me, let this torture finally end go back into the forest and fight him! Go back into the forest and stab the fucker in the face nine times with a rusty knife! But I don’t have a rusty knife…. Then I’ll go and fucking find a rusty knife so I have something to stab him with!

It’s so cold here now.
Why can’t He leave me along I’m going to kill that faceless son of a bitch.


Thursday, December 23, 2010

I’m not going to say that I don’t remember making the last post. Or maybe I should, just to see your reactions. Something like, “OMG guyz, i dont remeber writing that some1 must have haxxored my blog!!!1”
Do you think that would go over well with the audience?

It’s not that I don’t remember writing that post; I certainly do. Only I was under the impression that writing it had been part of a dream, not an actual act that took place in the real world. Telling the difference between those two is becoming increasingly difficult. I’m living through a constant stream of disconnected images, shifting from one to another without pause or warning. Did I really watch him dismember my family in their rooms? But I saw them the next day, alive. Which was real? Am I just hallucinating them walking around the house, going about their day, or was their death the reality? Both seemed real, as real as the feeling of me typing on this computer does now.

I’m fairly certain that seeing him walking around my house, like some kind of prison guard on patrol, was real. I’m equally certain that the time where I looked into a mirror, and slowly started to peel my face off, was a dream. But so much lies in confusion…. I remember waking up, and finding myself lying in the branches of a massive tree, one so large that from my location, neither top nor bottom could be seen. I must have spent hours there, before waking up again at home. It was something impossible, but it felt realer than most else I have experienced. Like the forest…. I keep seeing it, over and over. Always at night. The moon hangs low above it, lighting a path for me. The path is all that is lit; everything else around me is dark. Sometimes I walk towards it, following the cheerful whispers which come from inside, but the scene always ends before I go inside. I haven’t tried going into those woods in reality; even in this tired and confused state, I’m not stupid enough to do something to incredibly suicidal.

Then there was another of the waking dreams…. I was on the front porch, having a stare down with Slendy. I don’t know how I ended up in that situation; most of my days pass by unremembered, only a few highlights remaining with me. Given Slender Man’s lack of eyelids (or eyes at all), my contest was doomed to failure, but dammit I was going to give it a shot. After a while, the landscape around me grew blurry, less detailed. Even Slender Man became indistinct then; just a black and white blur. Then I heard a voice, shouting from inside my head, “Come on, Raskolnikov, man up for once!”
It felt like I was physically pushed forward, towards Slender Man. He looked confused at my sudden audacity, what probably looked like me charging forward at him. The two of us shared an awkward moment, before I blacked out again. Looking back, that would have been the perfect opportunity to try something on him…. Why do I keep letting these slip by me….

And the date. My computer tells me that it is the 23rd of December. That can’t be possible. It can’t have only been three days since I went into the countryside. I have seen the sun rise and fall far more than three times. But every morning, I look at the calendar, and it hasn’t advanced beyond the 23rd….


Tuesday, December 21, 2010


”The ragamuffin, who had returned with the tea and veal, could not resist asking once more whether he ‘wanted anything else,’ and on again receiving a negative reply, beat a definitive retreat. Svidrigailov fell upon the tea in eagerness, anxious to warm himself, and drank a glass of it, but was unable to eat a single morsel, as he had completely lost his appetite. He was showing clear signs of incipient feverishness. He took off his overcoat and jacket, wrapped himself up in a blanket and lay down on the bed. He was annoyed: ‘It would have been better not to be ill on this occasion at least,’ he thought, and smiled a sardonic smile. The room was airless, the candle was burning dimly, the wind roared outside, somewhere in the corner a mouse was scrabbling, and the whole place seemed to reek of mice and of something leathery. He lay and seemed to lose himself in reverie: thought followed thought. It seemed to him that he would very much like to have been able to fix his imaginings on some one thing in particular. ‘There must be some sort of garden under the window,’ he thought. ‘It’s the trees that are making that roaring noise; how I detest the roaring of trees at night, in darkness and storm – a horrible sound!’ And he remembered how, as he had made his way earlier past Petrovsky Park he had thought about it with positive loathing that reminded him of –kov Bridge and Little Neva, and again he found himself feeling cold, as he had done earlier, standing above the water. ‘I’ve never ever cared for water, not even in landscapes….”

“For some reason, he suddenly recalled how earlier that day, an hour before carrying out his plan concerning Dunya, he had told
Raskolnikov he thought it would be a good thing if he were to entrust her to the care of Razumikhin. ‘I probably said that just to give myself a cheap thrill, as Raskolnikov guessed. But that Raskolnikov’s a scoundrel. He’s got a lot on his conscience. He may eventually become a proper scoundrel, when he’s put all the nonsense behind him, but for the present he’s far too fond of life! As far as that point’s concerned that crowd are bastards. Well, let the devil do with them as he pleases, it’s no business of mine….”

“He got up and sat himself on the edge of the bed with his back to the window. ‘It’s better if I don’t try to sleep at all,’ he decided. A cold damp stream of air was coming from the window, however; without raising himself from the spot, he drew the blanket over him and swathed himself in it. As for the candle, he did not light it. He was not thinking about anything, nor did he want to think; but waking dreams rose up one after the other, fragments of thought went flickering past, without beginning, end, or anything to connect them. He seemed to fall into a semi-slumber. It might have been the cold, the gloom, the dampness, the wind that was howling outside the window and making the
trees sway, all of them combined, evoking in him and intense predisposition towards the fantastic, and a desire for it – but whatever the reason was, he kept seeing flowers….. He felt positively reluctant to leave them, but he climbed the staircase and entered a large, high-ceiling reception room, and here again everywhere – by the windows, near the doors that were opened on the terrace, on the terrace itself – everywhere there were flowers. The floors had been strewn with freshly scythed fragrant grasses, the windows were open, fresh, cool, light air filtered into the room, birds chirruped outside the windows, and in the middle of the room, on some tables covered with white satin shrouds, stood a coffin. The coffin was wrapped in white gros-de-Naples and trimmed with a thick white ruche. Garlands of flowers entwined it from every side. Covered in flowers, a young girl lay in it, dressed in a white tulle dress, her arms folded together and pressed to her bosom, as though they had been sculpted from marble. But her unbanded hair, the hair of a light blonde, was wet; a wreath of roses entwined her head. The unyielding and already stiffened profile of her face seemed sculpted from marble, but the smile on her pallid lips was full of unchildlike and limitless sorrow and a great, complaining lament. Svidrigailov knew what this girl was: there were no icons or lighted candles beside this coffin. This girl was a suicide [VICTIM] - she had drowned herself. She was only fourteen years old, but this was a heart already broken, and it had destroyed itself, insulted by a humiliation that had terrified and astonished this young child’s consciousness and had flooded her angelically pure soul with shame, tearing from her a last, final shriek of despair that was not heeded but brazenly cursed on a dark night, in the murk, in the cold, in the damp thaw weather, when wind was howling…”


Monday, December 20, 2010

The Countryside

Oh god…. I just looked back at my last post. That just looks terrible. I feel ashamed that I wrote something like that. It’s like something written by a grade schooler. An imbecilic grade schooler. I would make an excuse about not being able to focus because of the odd dreams (Yes. Weird dreams. I am drowning in clichés here.) I have been experiencing, but nothing can excuse this atrocity. It would have been better for me to just ignore that coyote corpse, and gone through the weekend as though nothing of note (beyond being stalked by a humanoid abomination) had happened.

As a way of making up for forcing you to experience such a terrible travesty, here are several photographs of another forest which I went exploring through recently.

These aren’t from the forest of my home. Yesterday, I drove out into the countryside (something which Texas has in vast quantities), miles away from any large city. This distance between Slendy and I had been making me feel horribly depressed. Was it something I said? Come on, Slendy, don’t leave me alone like this! I promise I’ll change, baby!
I’ve already repeated my dislike of this more subtle attitude he’s shown towards me far more times than necessary, so I will just skip to how I chose to respond to it. Boldly striding into my home forests elicited not one reaction from my foe. So I created a new plan: I would venture into uncharted waters, journey into a stretch of woods where I did not have the protective feelings of nostalgia and familiarity around me.

For over an hour and a half, I drove southwest, until I was surrounded by ranchland. Here was the wide open wilderness; huge ranches which stretch for hundreds of acres. The property is always protected by fences of barbed wire, but I have some experience with getting through such obstacles unharmed (remember kids, trespassing is fun and cool!) I selected the ranch which I would steal away inside based on whichever appeared to have the most trees; the better to draw Slender Man out. I cut through the fence at an isolated point, and established a small camp in a hidden corner of the ranch. So long as I kept away from the main trails and the herds of livestock, the land was large enough that the chances of the owners finding me were small.

For several hours I wandered through the trees, though I kept close to my camp. Nothing happened occurred during those hours, another disappointment for me. When the sun dropped below the horizon, I returned to my camp, so I could wait out the night.

As any other person would in this situation, I made a campfire (carefully located so that it would be hard for any wandering ranch hand to see it from a distance and discover my entry), and began roasting marshmallows. Yeah, you wanna scare me with your oogie-boogie-ness, eh Slendy, but lookit this, I’ve got s’mores! Yeah, delicious s’mores! And you don’t get any! So ha!

He appeared late in the darkness, a silhouette behind the flickering flame. Apparently all it takes to draw him out is to wander into the middle of his territory, break off some of his cousins’ (?) limbs, light those limbs on fire, and then use that fire to create delicious treats. Mouth filled with chocolate, sugar, and granola, I shouted at him to come over and join the fun times which were being had by the fire.

Upon the last crumb spewing word leaving my mouth, the fire flared up high enough to singe my face. Slendy had vanished while I was temporarily blinded by the flash of light. Assuming that my plan had failed, I resumed my arduous task of lighting a cylindrical piece of sugar on fire. Except now he was just behind me, a fact which, upon realization, caused me to nearly choke to death on the delicious goodies in my mouth.

For once, I reacted to him in a manner other than paralyzing fear; though to be honest, my sudden attempt to throw a marshmallow at his face was less a defiant act of battle, and more a thoughtless, adrenaline driven “Oh shit, I didn’t think he would actually come over here” reaction. I never got to see what the effect of a marshmallow hitting Slender Man would be, for it vanished seconds before touching him. I considered charging at him with my tiny little stick, but whatever excitement had led to me throwing food at him had already been used up, and I was back to watching him helplessly. I saw his tentacles growing, reaching towards me, and then I blacked out.

It was several hours later when I woke up. The scenery around me had shifted from dark ranchland, to my well lit bedroom. Hovering next to my bed was our favorite Slender Man, his face just next to mine. Upon seeing that I was awake, he slowly turned around and walked out from the room. For several minutes, terror gripped me, but when it faded, rage replaced it. I ran out my door screaming in anger, but of course by then, Slender Man was long gone. Off to terrorize some other soul.

Since then, I haven’t been able to find my sleep meds. Obviously Slendy is planning to sell them on the streets so he can afford some novelty ties. It’s only so long before wearing black or red would become boring.
Without the medicine to force my eyes to close at night, I suspect I’m going to be having quite the fun time these coming nights….

At the moment, I have another tab on my browser open, to local news stories. One is featuring a story about the ranch which I spent part of my night in. It used to have 43 longhorn steer roaming it. Now it has zero. All 43 were found, organs ripped out, in a ring around my campsite.


Saturday, December 18, 2010

Blood on the Driveway

Again with the dead animals. What’s the purpose behind it? Is it supposed to be a threat, saying “This could be you”? Or is it a psychological tactic, meant to crack my mind? Though the effectiveness of such tactics are hampered by my familiarity with his methods. I wake up in the morning, find a dead coyote in the driveway, its blood and organs spread across the concrete, and my response is to shrug and think, “Oh, that Slendy’s at it again.”

My parents are suffering worse than I. They called the police, who poked around the place and asked many of their questions. When it was my turn to answer, “Do you have any idea who may have done this?”, I responded truthfully (lying is bad, dontcherknow.) I don’t think they were very appreciative of my response. Saying “A tall faceless magical man in a business suit did it,” has a way of annoying most in the law enforcement business. I get the strange feeling that they may not have believed me.

There still hasn’t been a clear sighting of Slender Man since coming here. The other day, I thought I could feel his presence behind me as I sat at my computer. The sudden dropping of temperature, the hairs rising on the back of my neck, the sense that something incredibly wrong was just behind me…. I didn’t just suspect that he was behind me, I knew he was there. Just inches behind my back, silently watching….
Responding as any other rational man would, I grabbed my laptop with both hands, spun around in my chair and tried to hit him in the head with it. My grand plan to slay the Slender Man once and for all by hitting him with an object failed when the laptop passed through empty air. There was no sign of him, and all feeling of his presence had vanished.

The dead animals, always appearing just out of sight…. It’s as though he’s just toying with me. I’m not prey; I’m a plaything, to be batted back and forth until he grows bored and bites my head off.
Here I repeat something I said earlier in this blog, during similar circumstances: I don’t like being played with.


Thursday, December 16, 2010

Into the Woods

“Don’t go into the woods.” That’s what all the stories say. The woods are dark, the woods are dangerous, the woods are evil. Stay away from that maze where the wolves hide; remain in the safe cradle of civilization. That’s always the lesson the protagonist is told at the start of the story.
What horribly boring stories those would be, if the protagonist always listened.

Slender Man lives amongst trees. Slender Man is stronger amongst trees. Slender Man is a tree. New stories, but repeating the old lesson. Stay away from the woods.

Yet like the protagonists of the old tales, I ignored that advice. My feet pressed down on the rotting leaves and my hands moved aside thorn covered branches as I journeyed through this forbidden place. It may sound stupid, suicidal, to anyone reading. But these woods were my woods. I had grown up around these trees; I had seen them change, seen them die, and the new be born. The forest surrounding my childhood had never been a place of terror, but rather a place of adventure. When I make the statement that no one else knows these woods like I do, it is not a brag, but a truth. Every trail through them, even the ones found on no map, have been explored by me. I have each inch of the place carved into my memory, a carving made by hundreds of expeditions. This place was like a second home to me; I have just as much right to the land as Slender Man, if not more. If I had to choose a place to confront him, this would be it.

I did not see Slender Man during my walk through that place. Or perhaps I did. Was that shape in the distance an arm, or just another branch which had grown while I was away at school? Was that white gleam his face, or just the light of the sun reflecting off limestone? Never did I get a clear sighting, only hidden shadows and distant noises. I could still feel the familiarity and warmth which I had associated with this forest, but there was another feeling beneath it, a feeling cold, distant, and alien. It pulled on the back of my mind, always just a tiny feeling, but always there, echoing across every step I took.

I’ve put some pictures of my trip at the bottom of this post. Go ahead and look if you wish, though none contain the gentleman you’re looking for.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010


Been some busy days.
I’m in Austin now, inside the home where I spent my childhood. The familiarity brings comfort to my mind, something which I am in dire need of now.

It was Monday night when…. Things…. Happened. Or more accurately, Tuesday morning. 3:33 AM, to be precise. (Of course it had to be repeating numbers. Anything else would just be silly.) I awoke suddenly at that exact hour. Nothing had caused me to wake up; there had been no sound in my room, nor any suspicious movements. In a moment, I instantly was fully conscious, in spite of all the sleep meds I was on. As though someone had just flipped the on switch in my head, skipping past all the grogginess that should come with waking that early.

There were noises coming from behind my door, so I dressed myself (if one is to face death, you should at least look acceptable when you do so) and opened it. Jason was in the hall, terror filling his eyes. Once those fear filled eyes saw me, he grabbed me by the shoulders, and started whispering, “He’s HERE, he’s HERE, he’s right outside, WATCHING us!” Jason’s hands trembled and his speech was stuttered; I’m amazed he was able to get nine whole coherent words out in the state he was in. Here I felt a strong urge to make some witty reply to his statement, but the chill I felt informed me that it was not the proper time for such joviality.

Apart from the quiet whispering from Jason’s mouth, nothing inside the apartment was unusual. Not even a cryptic note slipped underneath the door. The visible normalcy did not dispel the slow dread creeping upon me. Perhaps I was just being infected by Jason’s feelings, but there was fear in the air, which I struggled to fight against.

A compulsion came over me then, pulling me towards the balcony. Unbidden, my feet walked towards the glass door. The part of my mind filled with knowledge on these situations screamed that the smartest course of action would not be to walk onto the balcony, but to run in the opposite direction, towards the front door, into my car, and then drive until I had crossed five state borders. My legs vetoed this suggestion, and continued walking. Jason was just behind me, also being pulled along by an invisible rope.

Outside the air was freezing. Colder than any Texas weather should have been, even during a winter night. My breath crystallized as it left my mouth, creating a cloud which floated by my head. The air around us crackled as the moisture within froze solid. I tried to still my body, but could not stop it shivering in response to the hellish freeze. At least the only one who could witness this moment of weakness was Jason, a man whose attention was entranced by things other than his roommate’s chilliness.

The balcony gave us a wunderbar view of the courtyard three stories down. Fog had rolled in from all directions, covering the ground in a grey sheet. In the midst of the fog, standing there so starkly visible, as though no fog at all were obscuring his figure, was Slender Man. He was looking at us, with a stare more terrible than any eyes could create. Tentacles surrounded him…. Though I’m not sure if tentacles is the correct word. They looked almost like branches, but they moved with a fluidity of motion not seen in trees. I’ve read people counting the number of tentacles he had during an encounter, but now I’m uncertain how they could have managed such a task. The tentacles were everywhere, coming from each part of his body, and then branching into dozens more. With their constant motion, it was hard to distinguish what was part of Slender Man, and what was just another shadow in the fog. This…. Thing…. No longer resembled a human in any way. Just a mass of twisted branches, with its white face gleaming through the black like a beacon.

He made no hostile moves towards us, just stood in the courtyard, watching us, like he was waiting. I wanted to run from that spot, start running and never look back, but I could not turn my eyes away from the white glow of his face. Jason stood next to me, hands gripping the rusted railing around the balcony, shaking in terror. His face was pale, almost as pale as Slender Man’s, and the only sound now breaking from his lips were whimpers. Carefully, I put a hand on his back. And then I pushed him off the balcony.

The old rails broke easily, and Jason fell down to the waiting tentacles below. The look he directed at me as he descended wasn’t what I had expected; I had thought it would have been anger, but instead, it was disbelief. Like he thought this couldn’t be happening, that it wasn’t happening. The black branches rose up to meet Jason, catching and embracing him. Gently they lowered him until he was level with Slender Man’s face. With graceful precision, more tentacles reached towards Jason, and cut through his chest.

That was when the screams began. Pain and fear, together with one voice, came from Jason, as Slender Man reached inside his body, like a doctor dissecting a lab animal. Dozens more tentacles came, each performing their own delicate task. From the fog, another sound arose; laughter. It was the sound of children laughing…. But…. Not quite right…. It sounded not like I was hearing the laughter of children, but the echo of laughter. The noise mingled with Jason’s screams, creating a harmony. The result was almost musical, a horrible song which played across the night.

I know that you will all damn me for what I did. I can feel your hate and condemnation already. To that I say, Jason was dead already. In his condition, he would have not survived long, and if he did, his sanity would be in terrible shape. The best he could hope for would be to have ended up running around in a mask doing Slender Man’s will. Pushing him off only caused him to meet his inevitable fate a few days earlier.

But that is an excuse, not the reason. Why did I push him off that balcony, knowing he would be taken by Slender Man? Because I had to know. So many people have written about Slender Man killing people, or making them disappear, but I had to see it with my own eyes. I had to understand how he does it. It was an unanswered question, and that is something which I cannot stand.

My hope that I would see the entire process of Slender Man killing Jason was quickly cut away. The fog rose to surround the two, smothering the noise of Jason’s screams. Soon all I could hear was the laughter, rising from the grey cloud. The fog rose with the laughter, drifting closer towards me. I attempted to rush back inside, but the door had locked behind me, trapping me on the balcony. The fog surrounded me, filling my vision with cold blankness. It was the last thing I saw that night.

I woke up on my bed, with my clock telling me it was 5 in the afternoon. My clothes, laptop, and all other belongings I had been planning to take to my parents’ were all carefully packed up and ready to be transported. The apartment had been cleaned spotless; everything carefully organized and put in its place. There had been two finals which I had been scheduled to take earlier that day. I called both professors, and they told me that I had been to their class, and taken the final. Next I got onto Facebook and spoke with some of my acquaintances; they all told me they had seen me, and even interacted with me on campus during the day.

That’s nearly 14 hours of my life which I have no recollection of. 14 hours when practically anything could have happened to me, and I would have no way of knowing.

But that isn’t the thing which disturbed me the most. When I was looking around my apartment after waking up, I glanced into Jason’s room. Everything had been moved out. His television, lamp, clothes, even the old cup of ramen. All that remained was his bed, which had been tidily made with fresh sheets. I quickly left the room and closed the door behind me.

So now I’m here in Austin. I haven’t seen Slender Man since that night. I’m grateful for that. But now, whenever I look out of any window of this house, and see the mass of trees everywhere…. A shiver runs down me.

I’m thinking of going into those woods, and seeing what happens.


Sunday, December 12, 2010


The titles lies. There hasn’t been any.

Jason is, to put it simply, falling to pieces at a much faster rate than I had anticipated. He rarely comes out of his room now, and has completely covered his window with whatever furniture, papers, lamps, etc. he could find. In the past, he often had friends over; now he has told me to inform anyone seeking him at the door that he’s out. That he’s now always closed away means that I no longer get my 24/7 personal Marble Hornets, which is a disappointment.

The sleep medicine has worked in keeping me asleep, which has the wonderful benefit of helping me not collapse during finals. However, in the past few mornings, I have found objects in my room had been moved during the night. My chair, some books…. Usually it wasn’t much, but waking up to find the contents of my bookshelf scattered across the floor has a way of weighing on the mind. The worst was when I woke up and realized that I was lying on the floor, two feet away from my bed. The sheets were undisturbed, so I could not have fallen out. The rest of that day was spent imagining tendrils wrapping around me as I slept, and lifting me from my place of rest….
It wasn’t a good day.

There haven’t been any close encounters of the Slender Kind for some time which I have been awake enough to be aware of. His absence is almost as unnerving as his presence; at least when I can see him, I know what he’s doing. I would have a few seconds warning before I died. Now I am always looking into shadows, expecting him to leap out and feast on my brains.

In a few days, this semester will have ended, and I’ll be out of this city for the holidays. I’m not sure if I should see that as a blessing. Changing locales supposedly can throw Slendy off your trail for a short while, and I’ll be free of Jason’s constant whining, but there is one thing about home which makes me wary.
Trees. Trees everywhere.

The image of Texas which most outsiders seem to hold in their mind is off a desert, marked only by a skull, cactus, tumbleweed, and the occasional cowboy silhouetted by the sunset. The reality is far different; there are deserts in Texas, but none where I live, or where my parents live. We’re inhabitants of Central Texas and the hill country, which is short on deserts, but has a remarkable supply of hills and forests. Living in an apartment close to a city has kept me from needing to deal with Slender Man and his forests, but my parents live in a suburb infested with trees. You need walk only a short distance from their house, and you are surrounded by foliage so thick, that all signs of human habitation have vanished. Given Slendy’s love of woodland hiking, spending too much time in such an environment seems counter to my goal of keeping my soul from being consumed for as long a period as possible.

Now I appear to be rambling. This entire post could have been shortened to bullet points, really. I think that’s what I’ll do.

-Jason’s even worse than before.
-Slender Man’s screwing with me while I sleep.
-Soon I’ll be traveling to the land o’ the trees. At least the tree inside the house should be fake.

And one last thing. As noted in my previous comments, Zero had given me the wonderful idea to politely ask Slender Man to leave me alone. So I tried shouting at him if he could just go and stalk someone else the next time I saw him chillin’ by a playground. I don’t think it worked; the next night he was back, tapping on Jason’s windows, while Jason screamed in terror for help.
Godawful racket almost kept me up all night.


Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Sleep Deprived People Say the Darndest Things

Well. It certainly is amazing, the things you post when it’s 2 in the morning and you have had only around 1-3 hours of sleep per night for the past few nights. I am of the opinion that we should keep that post where it stands, unedited, in all its poorly spelled glory. It can serve as a reminder to me on the dangers of not getting good REM sleep whenever I feel the urge to maybe stay up a few hours later than I should.

Now to confirm some of the statements made. I have indeed been failing at getting a fully rejuvenating night of sleep for some time now. While during the waking hours I may have confidence, at night I find my vulnerability intolerable. The knowledge that as soon as I shut my eyes, he could appear within my room, and I would be unable to respond, is enough to keep me awake. To counter this, I have started taking sleep medication. Normally I would be loathe to even consider such a course of action, but lack of sleep is beginning to adversely affect me to an intolerable degree. Hopefully this will only be a temporary measure, until the time when I can make myself sleep soundly without need of external aids.

Looking back at the post, I also spoke of Jason. I expect you are all capable of gathering his situation from what I wrote; he’s scared to death, and is writing all manner of overused phrases and symbols in his notebook. His breakdown is much faster than I thought it would be; perhaps because he has not once tried searching for information or help. Jason was never much of a computer person. I’m not sure if he even owns one; whenever I went in his room (usually so that I could be slaughtered by him multiple times at some shooter game) I never saw any form of computer system. The closest thing he ever does to surfing the web is playing on Xbox Live; whenever school necessitates he use a computer, he uses one from the school library. Because of this, he does not have the wide access to information on the Tall Man that I do, so while I fear the very specific things I know Slendy can do to me, he must deal with the much larger fear of not knowing.
Yet his fear isn’t quite as amusing as I’d thought. Sure, it’s funny as hell, but the same joke grows stale after repeated telling. It is also acting as a barrier to my wish to physically assault Slender Man. I see him there, watching us from outside my apartment, and I want to grab my so very sharp kitchen knife and see what happens when I ram it through his chest, but I can’t, because Jason’s right there as well. This need to keep up a masquerade is becoming a burden, and I might just drop it soon.

Then there’s the matter of the cat which I raised early on. This city has quite the population of stray cats, mostly centered around the university. My complex has half a dozen living in it. The behavior of the cats ranges from practically feral to all but domesticate. The one which I spoke of was one of the more domesticated ones. He thoroughly enjoyed the company of people, and would demand attention from all who walked near him. That cat was my favorite neighbor in this complex, and I believe I may have spent more time with him than with all the other human residents here combined. So discovering its disemboweled body by my front door one morning was quite the blow. I mean, come on. It’s just a cat. I know Slendy’s supposed to go after animals, and stick them in those black garbage bags (where the hell does he get a garbage bag from? Wal-Mart?), but that was still a low blow. Mr. Slender Man, despite your spiffy attire, you are certainly not a gentleman. I was going to challenge you to a duel, but since you apparently have no honor, I will lower myself to your level and go about this through cruder methods. Something like stabbing you in the back while you’re busy chasing someone else.
That’ll teach you to kill cats.

Can’t sleep. Haven’t been able to. Not since taunt was taken down.
Fucking Slendy. Put a lot of work into that and he just takes it down. Or maybe had someone else take it down I don’t care. god fucking dammit.
Sounds stupid to say now but that thing, it was like a placebo. Or whatever. Course i didt think it actually worked; Slender Man being kept away by some marker lines I put on notebook paper? don’t be silly. But it let me sleep soundly and thats all i fucking want right now
Fuck this, I haven’t had good nights sleep in almost a week now.

And the cat. Why the hell did you have to go and do that to the cat, Slendy? I liked that cat it let me pet it sometimes when I was coming back from class but no I can’t pet it anymore no one gets to pet it anymore WHY’D YOU DO THAT TO THE FUCKING CAT, SLENDY? EH? WHY?

Heehee, caps lock cruise control.

Oh god damn, I’m typing my laughter. That cant be a good sign.

Fucking notebook. He got it monhs ago, said it was for some screenwriting project or something he was going to make his big hit and release it at some indie film festival and make it big or somthing. Never touched it again, till now. Of course my roommate ends up being one of those “scribble cryptic shit in a notebook” type of victims. And he does it like hes trying to rip through the paper, I mean I can hear him writing from the next room. All night long, nothing but scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch
scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch
scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch
 scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch scritch scratch

give if a rest already man. Your paper can only take so many “SEES ME” before the overdose on cliches makes it burst into flames.

And another thing another thing, all this sitting around here is pissing me of. Slendy shows up with his no face, and I just have to sit around cause if I don’t Jason will realize I can see Slendy too and then I dpn’t get the fun of watching him trying not to freak out and that’s all that’s keeping me going right now.Only reason I can make self get up in the morning is because i know I get to see poor Jason in his freak outs. It’s like fuckign television here man, all the entertainment you need rightin your own home.
But god it’s getting boring now. Jason’s a useless victim, he doesn’t do anything. He hasn’t even tried looking online to find out what the thing stalking him is, he just breaks down. So bloody boring. I wanted to see some action and adventure here. If nothing happens soon, I’ll need to start making things happen.

Maybe I can start some shit right now. Slendy loves chilling outside windows maybe he’s outside mine right now. I’m going to throw open the blinds, and therell he’ll be and ill run outsideand and kick hin in the balls. How’da like that Slendy?
Just wait I’m going to open the windows right now.

Fuck you Slendy, why aren’t you outside my window when I want you to be outside my window. Are you too busy chasing someone else? Too busy for me? Come on Slendy, I thought we had something special here. Why would you go and cheat on me with other victims? That’s not cool at all man. well at least kill them quickly so you can come back in time for dinner i’m making your favorite, grilled baby with a sauce made of human souls.

Fuuuuuck, I just want to go to sleep, but every time I try I just imagine you stnading right next to my bed. you could get into my house easily, couldn’t you, just poof, appear right in my room while I’m trying to get some nice shut eye, and spend the whole night renacting that scene from Twilight. Except even creepier, and with a college guy instead of an underage girl.
I wonder if Slendy sparkles maybe Ill ask him next time he decides ta just stop by and ya know chill out with us, having a cool get together, just Slendy and the guys all over at my place, having an awsom party brah.

I just want something so i stop jumpng awake at every stupd noise I hear when I’m tryihng to get some sleep. Don’t’ care if it even works at keeping him the fuck away or not, I just want something to convince my head to let me get some bloody sleep I think I’ll make a run over to the Walgreens, see if I can get some sleep medicine.
Fucking hate taking medicine makes me feel like my bodies just being too weak to cope with the problem on its own but I seriously don’t care anmore. Gonna grab something to get me sleep, and I can moan about wimping out when I wake u pin the morning.


Saturday, December 4, 2010

Power Outage

It is with much sadness that I make this post. The instant it is published to my blog, I will have changed from 5 posts and 5 followers to 6 posts and 5 followers. Unless I gain another follower, balance will be forever lost.

On Thursday night, the power in my apartment went out. Immediately deducing that this was supernatural work (because jumping to conclusions is fun), I ran outside to find and confront Slender Man, whilst my roommate tried in vain to call maintenance on his dying cell phone.

Much scurrying through the darkness ensued, as I sprinted all across the complex seeking my well dressed foe. Results of my hunt were nonexistent; not even the feeling of being watched or a chill running down my spine. A terribly disappointing search.

Twenty minutes later I returned to my apartment, heart hanging low. My roommate was absent from the place, which was an oddity. I had never traveled far enough from our door that I would not have been able to see him leave. I chalked that up to “Freaky Paranormal Shit”, and shrugged it off.

Here I should probably explain in more detail the relationship between my roommate and I before anyone becomes too confused at my apathy towards his inexplicable disappearance from the room. His name is Jason, for those of you who care. We did not know each other before becoming roommates, and the arrangement is one of pragmatism instead of camaraderie. The interactions between Jason and I are almost nonexistent; I wake up in the early hours of the morning and spend the majority of my time on university grounds or writing, whereas Jason spends most of his days at the various drink filled social gatherings which characterize a university city. When he does return to our home, he has a tendency towards closing himself in his room so that he may spend many hours playing on his Xbox. I find the arrangement very satisfactory, as Jason’s presence in my life is so small that I can almost pretend I am living on my own, while still enjoying the benefits of not having to pay full rent. His ability to magically reduce the strain on my bank account still does not endear him, especially not enough for me to actually feel concern over his well being.

Not that any concern would have been needed; he walked back into the apartment an hour later. The man seemed terribly out of it; eyes were glazed over, and steps were unbalanced. With the gift of hindsight, I now know that I should have questioned this behavior, At that point in time, my mind was more focused on other matters.

The Operator Symbol message I had taped onto my wall was gone.

Someone had broken into my apartment and taken it down.

Making a single sentence its own line for dramatic effect is a cheap and overused technique (I’m looking at you, entire blogosphere.)

An extremely thorough search of my room revealed that the papers had not merely fallen behind furniture, or gained some means of locomotion and hidden themselves in a dark corner. As of today, I still do not know who, or what, took down the papers, and how they were capable of entering my apartment without leaving any signs of forced entry.

But then let us skip ahead a day, to the most wonderful day of Friday. While I was still rather miffed about having all my work discarded by an unseen force (drawing 123 operator symbols takes longer than you would think), the lack of appearances by my desired faceless punching bag forced me to put aside my anger. In a rare moment, Jason and I were actually in the same room at the same time. I was in the kitchen preparing my lunch, while he was in the kitchen preparing his breakfast. Upon looking up from the microwave, Jason said something most interesting.
“What’s that guy in a suit doing on our balcony?”
Yes, Slender Man was just outside the sliding glass door which leads to my balcony. Had I seen him first, my reaction would have certainly been to grab a blunt object and charge at him. But on this occasion, curiosity struck me. My roommate being capable of seeing Slender Man was a possibility that I had not considered. In the name of SCIENCE (because anything is permissible if it is for science), I responded to his question by saying, “What guy in a suit?”

And lo, when he looked again, Slender Man had vanished. Jason’s expression was one which I will forever wish I had photographed; a mixture of shock, disbelief, and some tiny hints of fear. He said nothing more about the incident, returning to his food preparation, though I could see him glancing back towards the balcony occasionally.

It is now the second day since Jason’s infection. I am keeping a much closer eye on him than I have before; I do not want to miss one moment of this drama playing out here. I think I will enjoy watching him squirm in fear. It can be used to provide me entertainment while I think of a way which I may harm Slender Man.


Tuesday, November 30, 2010


Given that our favorite sufferer of anorexia has decided to move to a more intimate stage in our relationship, I felt that it has become necessary to apply more defensive measures to protect the sanctity of my privacy.

I do hope he gets the message.


Monday, November 29, 2010

The Totality of Fear

What is this? Our Arkady Svidrigailov is starting his post with a link to a classical composition? What is he, some manner of pretentious, elitist, intellectual snob?

To which I answer, yes, I am indeed all of the above. I do not merely accept the title of an elitist; I wave it high above my head as a battle standard. It is a fact of the world that some people are simply better than others; they are more intelligent, more athletic, or have greater strength of will. There is no reason to be ashamed of such superiority, and allow oneself to wallow with the peasantry in the name of ridiculous “equality”. Am I arrogant in this claim? Certainly I am. Is my feeling of superiority over the majority of mankind unmerited? Most likely. Do I care? Of course not.

And look at that; I’ve already gone horribly off topic. Wunderbar. I highly doubt all two page views I get a day are for the purpose of reading me lecture about my outdated beliefs. No, you’re here for the tall one, not me. My existence in this tale is just part of the unfortunate necessity for a narrator to be present. No doubt you would all have been happier to just watch a montage of Slender Man mutilating a series of attractive college aged humans in unique and interesting ways. I expect such a montage would sell extremely well at every theater across the country.

Now that the familial gatherings associated with these recent holidays have concluded, yesterday I returned to my university apartment so I could resume the arduous quest of acquiring a piece of paper which will inform the world of how educated I am. Since the time of my previous post, I had not made any further encounters with the Man who is most Slender; thus the days had returned to the boredom that is associated with normalcy. His absence terribly insulted me; I had been saving him some of the leftover cranberry sauce and stuffing. After all, he certainly needs to put some meat on his bones.

It was because of this that I returned to the old bricked building which I call home not expecting anything of interest to occur, apart from perhaps a rushed attempt later that night to write a paper explaining the supposed immorality of cloning (a note to all the millions of you who are no doubt reading this: if you have at any point in your life identified yourself as a moral nihilist, taking a course on morality and ethics may not prove to be your most intelligent decision). Upon opening the old and squeaky door which provides the entrance to my apartment, instead of being greeted by the familiar sight of my roommate hunched over an old discarded pizza box, committing xenocide via his Xbox, my eyes found themselves to be level with a tie.

This was the first time I had ever been this close to the Slender Man. I had rehearsed this moment in my mind dozens of times per day; once the opportunity presented itself, I would strike at him with all my strength, attacking this monster with vim and vigor. In every imagining of the encounter, I saw myself as the victor, standing above the creature’s broken body. Of course I would win where all others had failed; after all, I am the great, the magnificent, the only Arkady Svidrigailov.

But when I stood only inches away from him, not in my imagination but within the realm of reality, I learned that all my rehearsals had contained a terrible flaw. In each and every one, I had seen myself as some grand, story tale conqueror, who laughs at the beast that stands in his way. I did not plan for the fear.

Yes, I was afraid. I am not embarrassed to admit it. Anyone who claims to not feel fear on their first close encounter with this creature is either lying or has a willpower greater than a human should be able to hold. The second I saw that ivory head of his lowering down to my level, until I was looking straight at the places where eyes should have been, I knew with absolute certainty that there was nothing I could do against him. All my bravado was useless against this thing. I stood there, absolutely paralyzed. Legs were locked in place, arms dangled uselessly at my sides, and even breathing was difficult. Rationality never played any part in the terror. Even as I told myself that He would not kill me then, for He likes to play with his prey first, my body refused to hear these cries of logic.

For hundreds of millennia we stood in that doorframe. I got my first real good look at Slender Man. Trust me, all the hundreds of pictures which you have seen of him absolutely fail to him do any justice. They do not communicate the absolute sense of wrongness which permeates the air around him. Even if I had not once heard a story of him slaughtering people, had never watched Marble Hornets, had never read a single blog relating to him, I would have still found myself struck with fear greater than anything any mundane thing could create.

He left me there, in that paralyzed state. Without warning, he moved his head away from my face, standing fully upright, and then slowly walked past me. When I at last regained the ability to turn around, he had vanished. My heart didn’t stop beating until I walked into my room and hid under my bed’s covers for at least an hour.

Never before have I experienced such a devastating blow to my confidence. Just a few days before, I had been talking about attacking this thing like it would be the easiest task in the world. And now, when the perfect opportunity presented itself, I cowered like an animal. Like a regular person.

Several hours of self loathing and trembling hands later, I was able to look back with a more objective eye on what had occurred. While I had stood paralyzed there, I had been wishing to be anywhere apart from in front of Slender Man. But when I tried to recapture that sense of complete terror…. I think it was the best I’ve felt in a long while. Compared to the monotony of the time without Slender Man, or the annoyance of the days where he would just stand back and observe…. All of that is just a mind numbing morass compared to the adrenaline fueled elation of my close encounter. It has been a long time since I felt so alive; I was aware of everything around me. The slow whisper of the wind, the blood pumping through my ears, the taste of my sweat dripping down to my lips, the curve of Slender Man’s face…. I experienced all of those with more clarity than anything else in my life. As though my mind, aware that death could be looming towards me at any moment, was trying to pack as much life as possible into the last few moments it had. There is nothing, nothing at all, quite like that amazing sense of fear.

I think I might try to see if I can experience it again.


Saturday, November 27, 2010


I always miss out on the fun.

The world spirals downwards towards hell, and I am treated as a sideshow. I read the blogs of others, and see the struggle, the fight, the glory, and what is the lot I receive? Slender Man does nothing but chill in the background. This annoys me. Rage is bubbling up inside of my soul, looking for some outlet that it can be released on. I am being treated as a simple victim; just another soul for Slender Man to break down and kill.
I wish I could shout my defiance towards him, and make some bold claim about my great feats fighting against him. But these great feats are nonexistent; all I have ever done was talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. I have talked about this monstrosity until I began to run out of words which I could use to speak of him.

Did he think that because of my words, I would be easy prey? That I was another weak chested fool who would immediately cave upon facing the reality of the things which I was spreading tales about? That I could be intimidated by just the threat of him?

I will be sure to rectify those mistakes he has made with all the speed I can muster.

The previous day, he appeared before me again. He stood across the street, next to a fountain covered by the shade of many trees. Of course my companions did not see his manifestation, and would express confusion at my actions, but their confusion can go and bugger itself. For this was the first time that Mr. Man had appeared close enough that I could attempt to make a throw at him, and view the results of my planned experiment. Since there tend to be very few “frickin’ huge rock(s)” in a downtown store’s parking lot, improvisation was needed. The trunk of my car was thrown open and its contents tossed aside so I could reach the tire iron located at the bottom. Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-

Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-

Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-

Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-

Then I grabbed the tire iron, aimed it for the fucker’s face, reached back, and threw-

Déjà vu can be such an unpleasant feeling, can’t it?

The sixth time I grabbed the tire iron was when my mind finally pointed out the existence of the loop. Slender Man may have no face, but I could feel the smugness emanating off of him. With more force than I should have used, I returned the contents of my trunk and slammed it shut. When I looked back by the fountain, he was gone.

I don’t like being played with like this.


Wednesday, November 24, 2010

A Lack of Introductions

An introduction is necessary after the initial hook, I imagine. That is how these things generally go. It’s in this place where I’m supposed to provide a full and detailed introduction of both myself and whatever setting we will be exploring through this text.

But here I seem to be in the business of making terrible first impressions on my audience, so I think I will sidestep those tasks for the time. My most sincere apologies to all who may be reading, but I intend to begin this tale in media res. Certainly an unprofessional start, but the events of life rarely follow that of a proper narrative’s three act structure.

The requirement of providing my name and description of self is the first which I shall be deftly dodging. Some of you know me though you do not know it, and others do not know me and will continue to not know me for the foreseeable future. I prefer things to be that way. As for the name I have taken, anyone with a taste for 19th century Russian literature will no doubt immediately be able to achieve the correct conclusion that it is an alias.

But what is the purpose of this blog? It is just one more of an increasingly large canon, another story of clawing for survival against the unstoppable force of a faceless monster. A tale of paranoia and fear, where masked madmen hunt their prey on the behest of their omnipresent master, eyeless symbols adorn the walls of victims who found out too late the cost of their knowledge, and black tentacles writhe through the foggy forests, beckoning one to walk into their fiery embrace.

There are those amongst you who understand perfectly well what I am speaking of. Those that do not would find it in their best interests to close their browser window at this moment, and go do something pleasant, like enjoying a nice cup of hot chocolate as you sit by the window and listening to the birds sing. The peace and content that you feel can make up for the lack of it that we in the former category are experiencing.

Today marks the eighth day since our tall adversary’s first appearance to me. His actions thus far have remained limited to the usual modus operandi of appearing in the background of any scenery I happen to be viewing, and standing very still in a foreboding manner. We still appear to be at the stage in the game where he hasn’t begun overtly aggressive actions against my person, which makes the situation perfect for a test I hope to run. It’s like a little science experiment, you could say.

I want to see what happens when I chuck a frickin’ huge rock at Slender Man’s head.


Sunday, November 21, 2010

“You see, we always think of eternity as an idea that can’t be comprehended, as something enormous, gigantic! But why does it have to be so very large? I mean, instead of thinking of it that way, try supposing that all there will be is one little room, something akin to a country bath-house, with soot on the walls and spiders in every corner, and there’s your eternity for you. You know, I sometimes see it that way.”