The Library

November 22, 2012 at 12:00 AM
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So the other day the library calls to have my department do some computer work for them. Usually they have their own IT staff, but sometimes our department will go over there to help setting up machines and stuff like that. When I got there they had just purchased five storage servers and a couple of data entry terminals that they wanted set up for two graduate students. The graduate students were going to be working on a project to take a bunch of old archived stuff and convert it into a digital format for safekeeping and for analysis and research purposes. It was supposed to be a really cool project and apparently the government had given them quite a large grant for the equipment.

They had already unpackaged the computers downstairs in the sub-basement by the time that I arrived and the only two people down there were the two grad students. Alicia looked a lot younger than she was and had curly strawberry blond hair and was a little too cheery for my tastes, Max was the other grad student and he seemed to have a much more gruff demeanor. They introduced themselves to me and we chatted for a little bit until the head librarian came down to greet us.

The head librarian and I had talked quite a few times before and she and her husband had a private book collection that was worth several thousand dollars so she knew the value of the historical nature of books and proper handling and care. She was explaining all of this to the overly peppy Alicia and the under peppy Max and then she turned to me.

She said, “Listen this equipment is very expensive and the government has paid top dollar to see that everything is set up perfectly. I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but please be careful with everything.” Then she showed me where the computers went and explained the set up to me. She explained how each student would take documents and use a light scanner to scan the pages of documents or pictures into the computer and then use the editing features of the software to correct any mistakes the scanner might have made.

It was a fairly straightforward set up so it wasn’t difficult to get it set up in just a few hours. During that time Alicia told me about how she was planning on becoming a librarian too, but that she really wanted to write for a living and Max droned on for hours about how history was the only important thing on the planet. They seemed like pretty cool people and when I wrapped up I left them to their work. I gave them my card and told them that if there were any problems they could call me directly and I would come take a look at it.

Everything went fine for the first couple of days, but one afternoon I got a call from Alicia. She didn’t sound nearly as peppy this time and told me that the scanner wasn’t working at all and she was having to put most of the data from the documents in manually.

“It’s just a bunch of scribbles,” She said.
I told her that I was busy right then but I would check on it when I got off work at five. Since the grad students had classes they usually didn’t start work until 2 or 3 in the afternoon anyway and worked through most of the night. That evening I went down to the sub-basement and took a look at the scanner. It seemed like everything was set up okay and I told them that I would talk to my manager about setting up a service call from the manufacturer to check out the light.

Now I wish I had just told them to shut it down until the technician could look at it, I should have known when I first saw those “scribbles” but it was late and I didn’t want to waste my whole day trying to figure it out. I did give my manager the information and she scheduled a work order for the following Thursday, but it doesn’t look like that will do any good to anyone now.

The next morning I got a call on my personal cellphone at about 6 in the morning. It was Max. He just said, “Listen goddamnit, I’m not doing this anymore until stuff starts working.” I tried to calm him down but he was completely irate. I told him to wait there and I would be over to see him as soon as I got in. When I did get to the office Alicia was eerily silent and she seemed to have fixed a scowl onto me. I wrote it off to stress of working with faulty machinery and I brushed off the problem as a manufacturer’s defect because Max had pissed me off so badly. If I had just taken the time to look again maybe we could have avoided what came next.

That same night I got a call from the head librarian about the scanner not working correctly. She seemed pretty shaken up and told me that Max had called her up and screamed at her about unfit working conditions and about the noise that the machine was making. I had noticed that when I was there, but the dull humming of the scanners and the quick sliding sound as the light bar swept across the page was normal. I told her that it would be best if we just waited on the manufacturer to fix it, but I did tell her that I would go back to see if maybe it just needed to have some firmware updates or something like that. I honestly just said it to get her off the phone.

I went out that evening at about 9 at night but when I got there things had gotten much worse. All of the lights were off except for the scanner and the noise wasn’t just the normal mechanical noise of the scanner but something so much worse. Looking back I know that it sounded worse than just broken, it sounded hurt and angry and alive. I plugged the main terminal into the ethernet and tried to go online to see if there were any software or firmware updates, but everything seemed to check out. All while I did this Alicia barely spoke at all but her scowl had turned from just a nasty look to a downright evil gaze. She slammed her keys on the keyboard to type in corrections and she cursed under her breath. Max was also more intense, when I explained that there was nothing else I could do he grabbed me by the collar and I swear for a moment when I looked into his eyes I thought he was going to kill me.

His face had twisted into this evil frown and his eyes had seemed to grow wide. I don’t think either of them blinked at me at all. Needless to say I was pretty freaked out. I told Max to back off and continued blaming the manufacturer, I left them with a “don’t call me again. If you hate it down here so much then you can just quit and go home. It’s not my problem anymore.”
I don’t know what it was that really set them off, but I know that we got an alert not to come in to work the next day. When the technician from the manufacturer had a cancellation he’d come in early and the librarian let him in. When they got to the sub-basement they found that Alicia and Max had a confrontation. Max had been killed and his body mutilated. Alicia had broken every one of his fingers and used hair pins to poke his eyes out. The doctor’s said that he was probably still alive then with the cause of death being severe trauma to the brain. Alicia’s hands had been completely shattered, probably from beating in Max’s skull Alicia was still barely alive but her entire body was cut up. It may have been the blood loss but they said she just screamed gibberish at the top of her lungs until the EMTs arrived and then she managed to fight them for a long time until they were able to get her into the ambulance. She died of severe blood loss on the way to the hospital.

Federal agents came in quick and they confiscated all of the equipment, but they also confiscated all of the historical documents. I heard someone the other day say that some of the documents that they lost dated back hundreds or even over a thousand years old. They were part of some of the earliest occult work known.

I don’t know if scanning those documents made the computer equipment start to freak out or if the computer and Max and Alicia got possessed by some evil spirit or if reading that stuff was enough to make them crack. Maybe it was all just coincidence that the both happened to snap under the pressure of grad school and jobs and their personal life. Maybe it’s nothing, but I can’t help thinking about going there to fix those computers and plugging them all into the internet.

Credit To: L. Sullivan

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Nemi

November 19, 2012 at 12:00 PM
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Outside, the night air breathes, shaking the tree branches and making you so much gladder that you were inside, snuggled up on the couch. You had just changed the channel, from cartoons to the news so you could know the weather for tomorrow; instead of the weather, you were greeted by a straight-faced reporter standing under a streetlight in front of an empty house. He was giving the details on another disappearance and then going on to remark that detectives suspect this to be related to a number of similar kidnappings — the victim in question suddenly disappeared and there were no glaring suspects, no one person who had the failed alibi or the motive to have done it.
The only thing anyone knew was that most of the victims were teenagers — all supposedly “good kids”, whether or not their records said otherwise.
You narrow your eyes and sigh. This had been going on for a while now; you weren’t bothered at first and you knew that all you could do was feel some sort of sympathy for maybe a moment or two; you didn’t know any of these people and it didn’t immediately affect you. However, now that this had had spanned over at least a month, you were beginning to grow worried, mainly for Nemi.
Nemi was your best friend; some time back, you needed a place to stay and Nemi was kind enough to offer.
(She had kept offering until you had agreed.)
She told you that you didn’t need a job or anything; you were just supposed to clean up after yourself. She would do the work and bring in the money.
Now that you thought about it, Nemi’s job is a sort of mystery; she never did tell you about it (because you had never bothered to ask). All you could gather was that it required her to be out of the house by midnight. “Nemi,” you call.
A feminine grunt answers from the adjacent bathroom.
“Where do you work?”
“I work as a bartender in a club,” she says after a pause, “why do you ask?”
“Why do you need to be out at midnight?”
“My shift starts at midnight.”
You glance at the clock. It was 11 p.m. “Okay, just wondering.” You change the channel to a black-and-white movie.
Nemi steps into the room, glances at the T.V, then at you. She is combing her hair out with her fingers, her head tilted to one side.
“What?”
“Have you seen my silver hair clip?” She sounds agitated.
“Uh, no? Isn’t it in your room?”
“Oh, right.” And she turns to leave, her heels clopping with urgency.

“I’m going!”
“Ok!”
You listen for the familiar click of the door and its lock, then pull on your headphones and return to your laptop. You wonder why you’re watching pony videos and decide to leave Youtube for Google for a bit. It’s 11:45 p.m., but you aren’t ready for bed yet; far from it. It was as if you were a creature of the night.
 You laugh a bit at the analogy then type away, the music blaring. Fifteen minutes pass, maybe twenty. You begin to think about your routine day-to-day life; you never really had questioned that you never knew what time Nemi came home. You just knew that by the time you were up, she was already dressed and making breakfast. You also knew that the breakfast she made was the best; it always had meat in it – usually beef – and you also knew that she never ate what she cooked either. Now that you thought about it, you’ve never seen Nemi eat anything before. In the back of your mind, you briefly hope she isn’t an anorexic or anything of the sort and then go back to staring blankly at your computer screen. Your suspicions and doubts, however, linger.

You had fallen asleep in front of your computer again. The blanket wasn’t there before, though; Nemi must have draped it over you. As you gain consciousness and awareness of the waking world, colors and sounds gradually reach your senses: the fresh gold of morning sunshine streaming in through the windows, sizzling coming from the kitchen, the heavy smell of meat wafting to your nose.
You sit up slowly, bones popping, and dragg yourself to the bathroom to wash up before going to greet Nemi, who stood at the kitchen stove. “Morning, Nemi,” you yawn.
“Morning,” she answers robotically.
“So, uh, when’d you get home?” You take a seat at the kitchen table.
“Before you woke up.”
“Oh, uh. Right.” You glance away and rub at your eyes.
“Did you enjoy your sleep?”
Your stomach gurgles. “Uh-huh,” you say absent-mindedly, wiping the drool from your lip.
“Good.”
Breakfast is silent on your part; you ate and Nemi sat across from you, speaking. She tells you that last night went better than she expected, and that she wouldn’t be out for very long tonight. You don’t know how to respond to that; after all, the time Nemi comes home is still a mystery as far as you are concerned.
But then she reveals the news that she would be purchasing a new house soon. That shocks you. She explains that it would be for the best; she figured it would be a good little gift to celebrate her moving up in the world. You smile; you’re happy for her.
The rest of the day is routine; you help Nemi with housework, then the two of you part ways – you to your computer, Nemi to her books.
You learn that there was another missing person: a sixteen-year-old boy. He was reported as missing earlier that morning and there’s been a frantic search party ever since. You sigh, mumble an “oh well” and scroll down the page further to look at the included images – just in case you happen to see this kid.
Beneath the picture of the victim, there is a blurb of witness testimony: last night, they had seen two small figures together. What actually worried you about that was that the witness stated they saw these figures at a time when Nemi was out – midnight.
You let your mind wander about this. What if Nemi had been nearby? What if one of those figures was Nemi? You break out into a sweat. You decide that maybe you should just leave your laptop for a bit so you could think and consider the large possibility that one of those figures wasn’t Nemi. There are a bunch of small people in the city, after all.
You glance at your digital clock. Maybe you should go see where Nemi goes out at night, just in case. You deserve to know.

“I’m going!” Nemi called.
“Ok!” You answer as you pull on your jacket. You wait for the door to shut and Nemi’s fading footsteps before you set out to follow her.
You stay as far from Nemi as you could, keeping her tiny frame just in sight. The streets she travels are dark and lonely, with only the occasional flickering streetlamp to offer any light or friendliness in the night. You aren’t totally sure if there were any other forms of human life besides you and Nemi; the fluorescent lights played tricks on your eyes, casting strange, twitching shadows. There were times when you wished for the moon instead of these stupid lamps, but then you would immediately take that wish back, out of gripping fear of Nemi somehow seeing your own shadow, long and creeping, in the pale, pale moonlight.
You focus on following Nemi. You mimic Nemi’s footsteps so she can’t hear you; you make sure to avoid puddles and trashcans and discarded bottles and other objects that would compromise your mission.
She stops in the middle of a dead end street with no signs, nothing to indicate where the both of you were. There was only one street light, one that spilled ghostly white light at such an odd angle that Nemi’s lower half was completely cloaked in shadow. You took cover in the darkness of an alleyway and held your breath.
The air before Nemi began to waver, then ripple before tearing and revealing a crack of ugly white light with rays that reach forward, grabbing and groping. You shield your eyes and move further back into the shade.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting, “Nemi begins. Her voice is quiet and formal; you strain to hear her.
The light whispers.
“You will starve no more, do not worry. Yes, it has been eating — quite a bit, actually. With this, you shall live longer and no blood is wasted.”
You wonder what “it” is and whose blood she is referring to.
The light whispers once more
“It suspects nothing. I pray that you hold out for a little longer; we are moving later this day. It will not suspect a thing; I will eliminate it like I did the others.”
The light makes some sort of noise of agreement.
You don’t completely understand what they are talking about, but you begin to form an idea and you don’t like it. You slowly begin to tread backwards; if you’re quick enough, you could pack away your things and run away to somewhere Nemi wouldn’t find you.
You don’t know exactly where you would go but you have friends that lived out of state; you could contact them, ask them if they’d let you stay with them for a little while. You slowly turn around, your back to the strange scene and tears budding at your eyes. You suppose you’ll have to think about this betrayal later.
“Where exactly do you think you’re going?”
You freeze. You can feel Nemi’s stare on your back.
“I suppose I’m through with you now; I’d rather have just taken you in your sleep.”
You break out into a run. You don’t know where you’re going or where your feet will take you, but you know you have to get as far away from there as you possibly could. You strained to hear any footsteps behind you; every little hiss, shuffle, creak, and drip sends your heart pounding against your ribcage.
You take random streets, unsure of where to go and hoping you would find some sort of safe house by chance. You fear stopping; you fear slowing down even a bit because your legs might give out from under you and you would be too drained of energy to get back up.
You don’t look back, either. You never look behind you.
You are unsure of how much time has actually passed, but you manage to make it home. The sun never rose; the sky simply lightened up to a deep, melancholy blue.
You make a beeline for your room after getting inside; you need to pack. You need to pack and get out now; you don’t care where you end up, as long as it’s far from here. You’re ready to catch rides and pick-pocket for travel money if you need to.
You stop. Between the chaos of packing and dealing with your own screaming, messed up thoughts, you heard a noise. You heard the click of a door and something shift. You turn around slowly to stare at your bedroom door.
The shifting grows louder and louder.
You forgot to lock it. You forgot to lock your door.
The shifting was right outside now, you were sure of it.
You almost believed you’d be able to lock it in time; that you could sprint to your door, lock it, and jump out the window. But you aren’t that fast nor that nimble, and your legs were still trembling and twitching, unaccustomed to running so far, so quickly.
The doorknob trembles, then turns. You dive for the closet and pull the door toward you until there was just a sliver for you to see through.
You see Nemi open the bedroom door and peer inside. She appears as innocent as ever, even worried as she looked around your room with knitted eyebrows. You feel your mind ease a little, but her blue-tinted skin keeps you on edge
Then, you see Nemi enter the room completely and you feel your heart drop into your gut – from her belly down, there weren’t human legs, but the long shimmering tail of a serpent.
Nemi is a snake-woman. Nemi is a snake woman that talked to dimensional rifts full of light. And you have been living with her this whole time, never knowing until just now. Your moment of revelation would have sent you falling to the ground if it wasn’t for the fact that you were already sitting.
She slithers further into your room, checking under the bed and behind the furniture.
You think back to the conversation, remember how she had said that she “eliminated them” and the heavy emphasis she placed on feeding “it” – “it” most likely meaning “you”. You ponder the incidents of the missing teenagers – could she have been referring to them? You furrow your brow and continue to think about this – anything to distract you from the snake woman slithering closer and closer to the closet.
If “them” refers to the missing people, then that means that Nemi had abducted and killed them all. But what did she do with the bodies? Did she give them to that light? Probably not – feeding that light sounded particularly special. After all, if she just fed it on a daily basis, you were sure that she would have given you to it a long time ago.
Nemi stops in front of the closet and peeks inside.
You piece things together and theorize that she may have been feeding you those people and you never knew. Bile rises up in your throat and you go pale at the very thought – you’ve been eating people this whole time.
She opens the door, revealing your trembling and vomit-covered self.
You back further away into the closet and she approaches, leaning forward, bearing her clean, white fangs.
She steals your soul away.

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No Hope

November 19, 2012 at 12:00 AM
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No one knows where they came from. Or if anyone did they have no way of letting people know now. The ‘war’ was over in a matter of weeks.

Skin Walkers we called them. They looked for every intent and purpose like people, but if you got a chance to look long enough you could see… something… writhing under their skin. Something inhuman and something terrible. You could feel it once you knew it was there, that wrongness, like a stink.

The second worst thing about the Skin Walkers was that they could turn you with just a touch. Once they laid a hand on you it was over. You were no longer you. You were gone. In your place was something that looked like you, sounded like you, acted like you in exactly everyway. And that was the worst thing about the Skin Walkers. They weren’t fast, strong or anything that you would think would help them take over so quickly. Instead it was the fact they could make perfect copies of who they took. Indistinguishable from the real thing. Their skin wouldn’t writhe unless they let it, and apparently any blood tests would turn up identical.

Anyone who went off alone could never be trusted again, because you just couldn’t know if it was really them who came back. They could talk to you like your lost friend or your lover or your parent and you could never tell the difference. That is, until you felt their hand on your shoulder. And then it was too late. Yes, that was the worst thing. To have someone you love, someone you trust, turn out to be one of those things all along. You had no way of knowing when the switch had happened – only that you had trusted a monster all that time.

As I said the ‘war’, if you could call it that, ended quickly. I can’t give you any real detail on it because we never got a chance to find out. My best friend Ryan and I had managed to get on the run with a pair of guys, Jeff and Bobby. We’d run into each other in the early days of the panic. With the Walkers closing in and nowhere left to run we fell back to Jeff’s apartment. We tried boarding the entire place at first but quickly realised we’d never be able to keep it up. Too many entry points. Instead we grabbed everything we could and holed up in his bedroom. Luckily he and his mother had gone on a shopping run when they found out about the panic. She had been grabbed as she was about to get in the car. With nothing else to do he had locked the doors. Ignoring the begging and the pleading of the thing that wasn’t his mother he had taken off. On the way he had picked up Bobby. That was when they ran across us. Scared shitless and without a clue. Stupid bastards took us in. It was lucky for us but it was a risk they shouldn’t have taken. I don’t think I would have. Either way, with the impromptu shopping food and water wasn’t an issue.

The problem we faced was very simple, how long can you go on without hope? The ‘war’ had ended quickly, of that much we were sure. The last things we had seen on the TV before the power died hadn’t been very promising at all. Being trapped in a room with 3 other guys and knowing that humanity has died off. How long can a man go without hope? Knowing that you’re all that’s left. You are trapped in a room. You have no power. You are pissing and shitting in buckets that you empty out the window. There’s only one mattress to speak of so most of the time you are sleeping on the floor. And then there’s the knocking.

It started out as an attempt of forced entry. They tried knocking the door down. But we piled enough against it that that soon proved fruitless. They tried climbing through the window, but we boarded it off as well, and they lost several Walkers trying. Instead they would knock. They would knock and they would talk. At first it would be simple things, requests to open the door. Lies about peace and misunderstandings. Threats and terrible promises. Then they used our loved ones. Crying, begging, and pleading for us to open the door. Promises that it was better this way. No more pain, no more hiding. A new life and better one. Old secrets, forgotten memories, anything they could use against us, we heard it all through that fucking door. How long can a man go without hope?

I’m ashamed to say I was the first to go. I lasted six weeks. It was the despair that got me. The rubbish living conditions and the monotony I could cope with. It was the knowledge that there was nothing left. That the rest of humanity was gone, replaced by those horrors. No matter what we did we were nothing but a small candle, trying to keep itself alive while a vast and uncaring ocean rose around us. We couldn’t hold them off forever and we knew it. We didn’t have the provisions, but before that we knew that the barricade wouldn’t hold. One day they would get through, then they would claim us. Six weeks. That’s how far I could go without hope.

I did it in the middle of the night, taking care not to wake the others. I didn’t leave a message, there was nothing to say. I removed a beam from the window, edged my way out by inches, and I jumped. I made sure it was headfirst, I didn’t want any chance that I could survive, lying on the street in agony waiting for them to come for me. Six weeks, that was enough.

They carried on without me. I suppose there was nothing else to do. Bobby was the next to go. He lasted another week. He left a note. I don’t know what he would have said.

I don’t know what got them to do it. I don’t know how they pulled it off. But the other two, Ryan and Jeff, made a break for it. They must have realised they couldn’t go on living like that, trapped and waiting to die. Instead they chose to go out and die trying. They padded themselves up in makeshift armour, putting as much between them and the Walkers as possible. They actually made it to the car before Jeff was taken down. My friend was already in the car. They were completely surrounded. He could try and get the poor bastard and they could both die there or he could run and leave him to have his makeshift armour torn open.

He took the first option, what would you have done?

I reckon he regretted that in the days to come, knowing him. Some things a man shouldn’t have to go through alone. He’s in the arctic somewhere now as far as I know, hiding out in the wilderness. The last man. No hope, just carrying on day after day. I don’t know how he does it. It doesn’t matter in the end, he’ll be found eventually. I know him, I know how he thinks. If anyone can track him down, it’s me.

I never looked down. That was the problem. I knew that if I saw the ground I would never let myself do it, and I would climb back through that window and go another fucking day with the shit food and the bucket and the knocking and the voices and the empty hollow fucking despair. So I didn’t look down, not until I was in the air. I wish I had, because I never hit the ground. There were too many. Waiting, watching, grinning.

It’s better this way. No more pain, no more hiding, no more fear and no more despair. It’s better this way. No need for hope, no need for warmth, no more worry and no more waiting. It’s better this way. I hate what I have become. The stink, the indescribable wrongness, it surrounds me know. Choking, smothering, writing under my skin. I hate it. I hate it all. But it’s better this way.

XXXXX

AN: This was mostly written at about 4 in the morning after a pretty rough nightmare I had. I tried to capture what upset me the most from the whole thing but as I’m sure you all know something always gets lost along the way. Either way, I hope it was still good enough to upset other people. Is that wrong of me?

Credit To: Scott

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Beyond Truth

November 15, 2012 at 12:00 PM
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I watched the blood as it trickled across the slick wooden floor, as it began to hide under the furniture, as it began to spread and draw closer to me, inch by inch…

I was always a curious man… Was it wrong to peek? I thought not. Maybe I had been wrong… What good has come of this corpse that lay here before me? Yet, I have no regrets… I’ve regretted everything. I no longer wish to let myself become lost in such emotions. The deed has been done.

Still…

No, I must have been right. It was not wrong to peek… It was wrong to open the door as I have now. The door of knowledge has always been there, waiting for me… Who knew it could cause this? Still, I will carry on… This sudden insight is confusing. I will learn to master my knowledge…

The blood that has been shed by my hands is no longer relevant. Nothing in this physical realm is relevant. I must understand what is yet to be understood by any other being. I will be patient and carry on…

I let the blood reach me… I watched it while it dried and ceased its journey across this unfamiliar place. The blood’s journey was irrelevant, unlike what I must soon experience. I left him there, to make my own journeys across these many unfamiliar places…

Am I mad?

Possibly. Although… I could never quite say what madness was.

Credit To: Mitchell

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Slenderwoman

November 14, 2012 at 12:00 PM
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Darkness, though not complete darkness, surrounds you. A full moon shines through the treetops and slightly illuminates the fog  surrounding you. The flashlight you were holding has flickered out. You look around frantically, fear swarming your insides.  Surely someone would have noticed you missing from the campsite. All the bravery that had convinced you to try and see what you had caught a glimpse of earlier has vanished and you are all alone. Your imagination starts to wander as your heart rate rises. You hear a twig snap somewhere near you, and all the stories that had been told  around the campfire rush to your mind all at once. Especially the one your brother had told… What was the name of that creature? … He has no face. Another twig snaps in the distance. No eyes, no mouth, no nose. You madly search your surroundings, but it is impossible to see anything in this fog. He supposedly lives in these woods, but that is only a story, right?

Your thoughts escape you when you see the outline of a figure, but this is no man. This person is quite obviously a female. She is wearing a black dress that seems to hug her, yet flow around her all at once. You see her eyes glistening in the moonlight. Gorgeous shining eyes. You are unable to look away. Why had you been so scared? Comfort fills you as you walk towards her. There is something off about her, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. There is calmness filling your body like a drug. When you are within feet of her, you notice what it was that was peculiar about her. Those beautiful eyes are a dark, midnight, soulless black, yet you still are captivated by them, unable to look away. Fear starts to burn again in the pit of your stomach, but it is instantly put out, like a fire doused by water. You try fighting this calmness, but your will power escapes you as you drown in this amenity. Why would you ever want to leave this gaze?

What you do not notice is her mouth.. or lack thereof, rather. You are so far gone that you do not even realize that she is completely bald. Her entire body except for her inky black eyes is a smooth, alabaster white. You have stopped walking, yet you still seem to be moving towards her, or floating better yet. Towards her, towards her eyes, until all at once everything is black, just as black as those eyes that had lured you. Then there is  nothingness. In an instant, you cease to exist.

“Who is this woman of the night?”, one might query.
She is everything, yet she is nothing. She has no soul, yet she owns millions. She is comfort, yet she is fear. She was created by a creature of death, so that he could have something to love. So again, she is death, yet life, and hate, yet love.

She is Slenderwoman.

Credit To: Lyn

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Moonlight

November 11, 2012 at 12:00 PM
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Finally, after a day of boring canoeing and fishing I get to go to sleep. I can’t believe I got dragged along on this camping trip. I take one last look at the sky before I go into the tent, I can see through the trees that there’s a full moon, but it looks like the clouds are about to block it. Not like I care, I just want to go to sleep, so I crawl into the tent, get into my sleeping bag, and throw my head onto my pillow. Jake, my so called friend who is responsible for bringing me out into the middle of this lame forest, climbs into the tent, after me. We chat for a bit and then say goodnight, but I lay awake. I can’t help but notice just how quiet it is, I don’t even hear any bugs, I’m still thinking about it as I fall asleep.

I wake up, but it’s still dark, in fact it’s darker than when I fell asleep, then I remember that the clouds were going to block the moon. I can’t figure out why I woke up, but then I hear it, a rustling. I look over towards Jake; he’s still sleeping soundly, not moving. The noise isn’t coming from him, but then I realize it’s coming from below the tent. I couldn’t feel it because I was on my air mattress, but the entire bottom of the tent was writhing. I wonder if an animal had pushed itself down there, I reach out to touch it and when I do I feel something thin, long, and moving, and there are a lot of them. I yell and yank my hand back, had we sent up our tent on a snake’s nest or something?

My yell wakes up Jake, he begins to ask what’s wrong then he sees the issue. He lets out a yelp as well; he then calls out for his parents, who were in a separate tent a short distance away, but no response. We’re both staring at the tent floor when we hear it, the sound of tree branches moving, but the tent isn’t being flapped around, there’s no wind, so what is it that’s moving the trees? Suddenly the bottom of the tent stops moving, so do the tree branches. We both sit in complete silence, too scared to say anything.

Then, right by me, directly outside of the tent, I hear a giggle. It shatters the silence, so do our screams. Once we calm down we hear more giggling, lots of it, more than one person could ever do on their own. At that moment the clouds clear, allowing the moons light to shine again. What it shows is the silhouette of a short, two foot at most, figure hunched over by the tent. We can see more of them dropping from the trees, all of them giggling manically. Then, all at once, the giggling stops, the one closest to the tent holds something up, it’s about the size of a soccer ball. Then, with a horrible sinking feeling, I know what it is, the head of one of Jake’s parents. I try to stifle a sob of pure terror, as the hunched figure, in complete silence, slowly walks around the tent, reaches the door flap, and begins to open the zipper.

Credit To: Kyle

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