Author’s Note: This story is a part of the By the Fire’s Light series.
Part One: By The Fire’s Light
Part Two: The Wanderer of Blazes

Detective Carl Rourke pushed his chair back from his desk and rubbed his eyes.  The book he had been reading fell on the desk with a small plop.  He stood up and moved to his window and was surprised to find the sun had gone down.  Turning to the clock on his desk, the little red digital numbers told him it was nine o’clock.  He laughed.  ”Shame your dead, Connor,” he said, picking up the book again.  ”You’ve got a great writing style.”  He tapped the book against his hand.  ”And I think I understand what’s going on now.”

For the past couple of weeks, Rourke had been looking for leads in the case of the death of Connor Russell.  A young woman, Cassandra Brighton, had seen a “faceless man” look out the window after Connor pushed himself out of his burning building.  She had subsequently died in a fire as well.  Connor’s psychiatrist, Dr. Ellen Kennedy, had just died in a bizarre car accident that had ruptured her gas tank and caused it to go up in flames.  And this book of Connor’s “By the Fire’s Light” held the key.  In it Connor described a tall faceless man with tentacles that went around and stalked people and killed them.  Usually in relation to fire in some way.

It seemed simple enough to Rourke.  Some psycho fan of Connor’s,  or of this Slender Man, was acting out on one very bizarre fantasy.  And just like the “real” Slender Man he was branching off onto anyone who had seen him, stalking and eventually killing them.  With this in mind, Rourke had had a special watch set up on Meredith Grolinsky, the woman who had witnessed what she called a tall, slender and tentacled man walking away from Dr. Ellen Kennedy’s burning car. If this psycho stayed true to form, he would go after her next.  When he did, Rourke would be ready and waiting.

Rourke rubbed the back of his neck and flipped the lights off on the way out of his office.  He paused and considered taking Connor’s book with him.  Shaking his head, he kept going.  He actually wanted to sleep tonight, and a faceless monster would not aid him in that quest.  ”Call me if anything happens with Grolinsky,” he called to Deloran, the desk sergeant, as he headed out.

“Will do,” Deloran said, with a small wave.

As Rourke slept that night, his sleep was undisturbed by dreams, good or bad.  A shrill screeching from his smartphone at 3 am, however, pulled him from his dreamless slumber.  ”Rourke,” he said groggily, brushing sleep crust out of his right eye.

“Detective Rourke, this is Sergeant Deloran.”

Rourke shot straight up, his sleep falling from him like his blanket.  ”Someone made a move against Grolinsky?’

A pause.  ”We’re not sure.”

Rourke growled in frustration.  ”What do you mean you’re not sure?  Either someone made a move or they did not.”

“Her furnace exploded.”

Rourke nearly dropped his phone.  ”I beg your pardon?”

“Fire department isn’t sure how yet.  Could have been a defect in the furnace.  Could have been foul play.”

Rourke put a hand to his temple.  ”Fire again.”  He slowly shook his head.  ”Connor’s stove has a gasoline leak and explosion.  Cassandra Brighton dies in a fire caused by faulty wiring.  Ellen Kennedy’s car is wrecked and the gasoline tank ruptured resulting in a fire.  And now Meredith Grolinsky dies in a furnace blast. There is no way this was an accident.”

“She’s not dead.”

“She’s alive,” Rourke said, incredulous.  He was already up and searching for the pants he had tossed on the floor on his way to bed.  ”Where is she?  Where was she taken?”

“She was taken to Mercy.  She’s in critical condition, with burns over 90% of her body.  But she’s alive.”

Rourke was jumping into his pants, hopping up and down on one foot with the phone still held to his ear with his shoulder.  ”Alright, Deloran, call the hospital and get them to keep the ambulance drivers there if you  can.  Or call the drivers back or whatever. They probably won’t let me see Grolinsky, but she might have said something they overheard.”

“Will do,” Deloran said on the other end.

Twenty-five minutes later found Rourke pulling into the emergency room parking lot at Mercy.  Deloran had texted him on the way over and directed him to speak with the nurse at the desk.  She would be able to tell him where the drivers were.

Rourke took a quick look around the emergency room waiting area as he walked inside.  Chairs that looked comfortable but might as well have been padded with granite formed a square that was broken up every ten chairs or so by a small wooden stand.  On the stands were stacks of magazines from three months ago, with the very exciting topics of bass fishing and home living.  The walls were painted a neutral beige, probably an attempt to try and calm any panicked people who were unlucky enough to be sitting here. A mother with a hyper-active little boy with a gauze bandage around his wrist sat at one end of the room. On the opposite end, nearer Rourke, a young woman with long black hair sat bent over, face in her hands.

Turning from the waiting room, Rourke made his way over to the desk.  A nurse in blue scrubs sat behind the counter.  Her name badge told him her name was Amber, and the little smiling sun on it told Rourke she would be happy to help him. She looked up as he walked up.  ”Detective Rourke, here about Meredith Grolinsky,” he said, flipping out his badge.

Amber nodded and stood up.  ”We stopped the drivers before they left.  There in the break room down the hall there, third door on the right.” She pointed down the hallway Rourke should take.

“How is Ms. Grolinsky?” he asked, whipping out a small notebook.

“She’s in critical condition.  We have a couple doctors trying to stabilize her now.”

“I heard she had burns over 90% of her body.”

Amber nodded.  ”That is correct.  It’s really going to be touch and go for the next couple hours. If she pulls through she’s got a good shot at recovery.  If not…”

Rourke nodded.  ”Any family come with her?”

Amber nodded to the young woman bent over with her face in her hands.  ”Her daughter came in about ten minutes ago.”

Rourke made a mental note to try and talk with her on the way out.  Then, giving his thanks to Amber, he walked down the hallway to the breakroom.

The door creaked as he pushed it open.  A young woman and man looked up as he walked in.  ”You the detective?” the young woman asked, leaning back in her chair.

“Yes,” Rourke said, flipping out his badge again.  ”Detective Carl Rourke.  I wanted to ask you a few questions about the woman you transported here.”  He whipped out his notebook again, pen in hand.  ”Can I get your names?”

“I’m Robert Fitzgerald, she’s Peggy Yorick,” the young man said, leaning forward.  ”What’s the
deal, you think someone tried to murder this chick?”

“The deal is, I am just trying to gather the facts about what happened,” Rourke said.  He hooked a chair with his leg and pulled it out.  Sitting down, he looked up at the twosome.  ”Was there anyone you saw at the house when you arrived that looked out of place?”

“Crowd of gawkers,” Peggy said, reaching into her coat.  She pulled out a cigarette and tapped it against her hand.  ”That’s nothing unusual though.  Especially when a house goes kaboom in the middle of the night and there’s half a dozen fire trucks and police cars outside.”  She shook her head.  ”Can we hurry this up?  We have to go back on shift in thirty minutes and I want to get a smoke in.”

“Of course,” Rourke said.  He turned to Robert. “You didn’t see anything unusual?”

“Crater where a house used to be.  Otherwise no,” he said, yawning slightly.

“Hm,” Rourke said, making a note.  He looked up again.  ”Was Ms. Grolinsky conscious at all when you brought her in?”

“Very briefly,” Robert said.  ”Screaming her head off.  Considering how we found her, I’d say that’s reasonable.”

“Kept going on about the fire until she blacked out after we had in her the back of the van,” Peggy said, the tapping of her cigarette becoming more insistent.

“Anything specific?” Rourke said, his voice becoming slightly more tense.

“She said something about seeing something by the light of the fire,” Robert said, running a hand through his hair.   “I think.”

“I saw it coming by the fire’s light,” Peggy said, almost without thinking.  Robert and Rourke glanced at her.  She shrugged.  ”That’s what she said.  ’I saw it coming by the fire’s light.’”

Rourke wrote down the phrase in his notebook.  ”It?  Not him or her?  You’re sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure,” Peggy said with a wave of her hand.  ”Is that it?”

“Yes, that’s all for now,” Rourke said.

“Good,” Peggy muttered getting up.  She exited without a backward glance.

Rourke raised an eyebrow as he stuffed his notebook back in his jacket pocket.  ”She’s all choked up,” he said getting up.

Robert gave him a bemused look.  ”It’s the nature of the job.  You don’t last long if you don’t build up a few walls.  I’m sure you’ve learned that too.”

Rourke nodded his assent. Then, he left the room as well, making his way back to the emergency waiting room.

The black haired woman that was Meredith Grolinsky’s daughter was standing at the nurse’s desk.  ”They’re taking her back to a room now,” Amber was saying.  ”You’ll be able to see her for a few minutes, but only for a few.”

Rourke walked up to the desk.  ”Is she going to pull through then?”

Amber turned towards him and gave a half-hearted smile.  ”They’ve stabilized her as best they can.  It’s going to be something of a waiting game for the next twenty-four hours.”

“Who are you?” the black-haired woman asked.

“Detective Carl Rourke,” he said.

“Detective?” she said, her eyes going wide.  ”Did someone do this to my mother?”  She took a step forward.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out, Ms.?”

“Mira.  Mira Gorlinsky.”

“Mira, could you answer a few quick questions?”

“Sure,” she said, swaying slightly as she stood.

Amber caught her hand.  ”Sit down!” she said, pointing to a chair by the desk.  There was a note of confidence and command in her voice that pierced whatever fog Mira was in and she sat down.  She shuddered.  Amber was already in motion, filling a small cup with water and giving it to the young woman.  ”Slow sips,” she said, as she took her place back behind the desk again.  She flicked her gaze to Rourke.  ”Keep it short,” she said.

Rourke nodded.  ”Was there anyone you know of that would have a grudge against your mother?”

Mira shook her head slightly, not looking up from her glass.  ”My father, her husband, is dead,” she said abruptly.  She looked up at Rourke’s raised eyebrow.  ”I just thought it would be your next question.  You know, like on the crime shows.”

Rourke allowed himself a small smile.  ”It’s good to know.”  The phone on Amber’s desk rang and she picked it up. After a brief conversation she spoke to Mira.  ”If you feel steady enough, you can go back now,” she said, one hand over the receiver.

Mira stood up putting the water glass on Amber’s desk.  ”Yes, I’ll be okay now,” she said, her voice firm.

Amber nodded and hung up the phone.  ”This way, then,” she said, leading Mira to a set of closed doors a few feet behind her desk.  ”Don’t even think about it,” she said, giving Rourke a good-natured glare.

“Wasn’t going too,” Rourke said, holding up his hands.   He fished a business card out of his pocket and leaned forward, handing it to Mira.  ”If you think of anything, you can call me at the number on there day or night.”

Mira took the car and shoved it in her jean’s pocket without looking.  She gave a bob of her head, and then followed Amber into the back.

***

Rourke sat in his car for a good half an hour before he actually started it up. His fingers rapped the dash again and again as he tried to make sense of what he had learned.  It was possible this psycho had rigged Grolinsky’s furnace to explode.  But Grolinsky’s words bothered him.  She claimed to have seen something by the light of fire she had been caught in.  But if this psycho had actually stayed around for the explosion, he would be no better off than Grolinsky.  ”Delirium, I guess,” Rourke said, finally starting his car.

As he did, his smartphone began to ring.  Slipping his car back into park, he pulled it out of his pocket.  An unknown number was calling him.  Frowning, he answered the phone.  ”This is Detective Carl Rourke.”

“Oh God, Detective, please come back!” a panicked voice on the other end gasped.

“Who is this?” Rourke asked undoing his seat belt.

“It’s Mira, Mira Grolinsky.  I saw him.  God, I saw him, the man that tried to hurt my mother.”

Rourke’s car was off, keys in hand, and he was already running full tilt to the hospital.  One hand automatically went to his side, where a gun hung in its holster under his coat.  ”Mira, where are you?” he asked as he approached the hospital.

“I’m in the waiting room,” she said, her voice taking on a hysterical edge.  ”They won’t let me back in.”

Rourke bounded into the hospital.  Mira was standing near the doors and she jumped as he entered.  Tears streamed down her face and she was shaking.  Amber was already in motion from around her desk and over to where they stood.

“What happened?” Rourke asked, putting his phone back away.

“She thought she saw someone back there,” Amber said, trying to put an arm around Mira.  Mira shoved her away.

“I didn’t think I saw someone, I did see someone!” she nearly screeched.  ”A tall man in a business suit!”

Rourke’s eyes widened.  ”I need you to let me back there right now,” he said to Amber.  ”That matches the description of a man leaving the scene of a crime Ms. Grolinsky witnessed.

Amber wavered and gave him an uncertain look.  She sighed and beckoned for him to follow her.  ”We have the entire area back here on camera.  We called security when Mira raised the alarm, but they didn’t see anyone on the monitors.”

Rourke strode quickly behind Amber.  He heard Mira fall into step behind him. A strong smell of antiseptic assaulted him as the doors opened before them.  He passed a large cart full of linens, several  curtained off areas, and a few criss-crossing hallways.  They came to a stop by a bay of six separate alcoves.  Amber pointed to the third one from the left.  ”Ms. Grolinsky is in there.”

Rourke cautiously walked over and pushed the curtain softly aside.  Grolinsky was swathed in bandages and hooked up to several IVs.  The machines monitoring her vitals beeped softly.  She did not appear to respond to his appearance.  He let the curtain fall back.  ”Where did you see him?” he asked Mira.

Mira pointed to the opposite end of the room. “I saw him peek around the wall there,” she said.

“How do you know he meant your mother harm?” he asked, walking over.  It was a small bay where some extra medical equipment and IV bags were kept.  The wall jutted out slightly, forming a corner someone skinny could fit behind without being seen.

“I– I don’t know,” Mira said, sounding suddenly uncertain.  ”I just knew.” She blushed as she
said it.

Rourke looked around the room, taking in the cameras in the ceiling.  ”Can the cameras see this corner?” he asked.

“Actually, no,” Amber admitted.  ”But if someone was there, they would have had to step out onto camera to leave. Or to get in to begin with.”

“Hunh,” Rourke grunted.  He walked back over to Mira.  ”Did you get a look at this guy’s face?” he asked.

For a moment, panic crossed Mira’s face.  Then she shook her head wildly. “No, I didn’t get a good look.”  She looked away from him then, back to her mother’s room.

Mira was hiding something and Rourke could tell it.  But he felt it best not to push it for now.  ”False alarm I guess,” he said, smiling at Amber.  ”Sorry to trouble you.”

“No trouble at all,” Amber said, leading the both of them back out.  ”But I think it’s for the best if we leave your mom to rest now,” she said glancing back at Mira.

Mira didn’t look up but she nodded.  Rourke took one last appraising glance of her and then followed Amber back to the waiting room.

***

Rourke stretched as he walked into his office the next morning.  ”Okay, first things first,” he muttered putting down his briefcase.  ”I’ll get a list of Meredith’s neighbors and make some phone calls.”  He opened the laptop on his desk and tapped the power button.  It began to hum to life. As it did, Rourke slithered out from behind his desk and grabbed his coffee mug from the corner.  He looked inside it and made a little face.  Brown residue from the previous day’s coffee clung to the sides and bottom of the cup.  ”Eh, I’ll just rinse it out,” he said as he walked to the break room.

As he ran some water into his cup his phone began to ring.  Sighing, he put the mug down and pulled out his phone.  A number he now recognized as Mira’s was on the screen.  ”Hello, Detective Rourke,” he said answering the phone.  He reached over for the coffee pot as he talked.

“Detective Rourke, it’s Mira Grolinsky,” Mira said.  Her voice was tired.  But it wasn’t the tired of no sleep.  It was the tired of one who was too emotionally stunned to entirely accept what was going on around them.  It was something, unfortunately, Rourke had heard a lot of in his line of work.

“Your mother died last night?” he said, gently.  He placed the coffee pot down next to his mug.

“Yes,” Mira said a quaver in her voice.  A pause.  ”No, she didn’t die, she was killed.  He did it, I know he did.”

“The man from last night?” Rourke asked.  He leaned against the counter top, careful not to jostle the coffee pot.

“Yes.  No. I mean–” She stopped.  ”I need to talk to you in person.”

“That’s fine, Mira, that’s fine. Do you want to come to the precinct?  Or do you want me to come to you?”

“Let me come down there.  I have to get out of here,” she said.

“Alright, let me give you directions.”  He gave her quick directions to precinct and then after re-assuring her again, he hung up the phone.

“Great, another dead witness,” he said, pouring the coffee into his cup.  ”This has career ending case written all over it.”

Thirty minutes later, Mira was sitting down in front of his desk.  There were no traces of tears on her face, but it looked like it had been freshly scrubbed with soap and water.  Her cheeks were still a little red because of the violence of the washing, as were her eyes, likely from the violence of her tears.  Rourke steepled his hands.  ”What did you want to tell me, Mira?”

She looked down into her hands.  ”You’re going to think I’m crazy.”  She shook her head slightly.  ”I think I’m crazy.”

Rourke glanced over at Connor’s book, “By the Fire’s Light” still sitting on his desk.  His eyes widened slightly as he remembered the words Meredith had screamed as the ambulance attendants loaded her up.  ”Why don’t I try to guess,” he said slowly, still looking at the book.  ”The man you saw, you don’t think he had a face.”

Mira’s head snapped up, brown eyes meeting Rourke’s hazel ones.  ”Yes,” she said.  She stared at him for a moment longer.  ”How did you know?”

“Well,” Rourke said, sliding the book over to Mira, “that’s going to take some explaining.”  Briefly he narrated the events of the past few weeks to her.  First the death of Connor, followed by Cassandra Brighton, then Ellen Kennedy, and now her mother Meredith Grolinsky.

Mira turned the book over in her hands.  ”And so, this ‘Slender Man’ has been spotted in some way, shape or form at all the deaths?”

Rourke nodded, then paused. “Well, most of them.  I haven’t interviewed anyone who saw him around Cassandra’s death yet.  But she did die in a fire, like the victims in Connor’s books.  Cassandra thought she saw a faceless man look out Connor’s window.  Your mother saw what she thought was a tentacled man leaving Dr. Kennedy’s car.  And now, you, you think you saw a faceless man shortly before your mother’s death.”  He put a hand to his forehead.  ”I don’t know how he got in or out without anyone seeing him, but I think you really did see your mother’s killer.  I think we have a Slender fan on the loose, and we need to catch him before he gets anyone else.”  He stood up and Mira looked up at him as he did so.

“You think I’m next,” she said simply.  ”He goes after those who witness him and his crimes.”

“I think it’s possible,” Rourke said.  ”I want to assign police protection to you for the time being.”

Mira looked down at the book again.  Her hands wandered over the title.  ”Hm,” she said.  ”Do as you please.”  She stood up and handed him the book again.  ”I have to go arrange for my mother’s funeral.”  Without another word she left the office.

Rourke took the book and put it back in a drawer.  Turning to his laptop, he accessed the police network and found an address for Mira Grolinsky.  He made a quick call and had a patrol car assigned outside of her house.  Then he began to methodically call Meredith Grolinsky’s neighbors, hoping to find clues.

The sun had set once again before Carl Rourke got up from his desk and looked out his window.  ”Another day another dead end,” he said as he shut down his laptop.  He hated this.  This killer had been two steps ahead of him from the beginning.  Killers usually messed up eventually, but he didn’t want to have a double digit body count before he caught this guy.  His smartphone trilled in his pocket.  Taking it out he saw, again, Mira’s number.  ”Well, third’s times the charm,” he said answering the phone.  ”Yes, Mira, how can I help you?” he asked.

“I bought that book today, “By the Fire’s Light”,” she said, sounding oddly calm.  ”And I’ve been doing some research and some thinking.  And I think you’re half right.  I think I did see my mother’s killer.”

“Okay?” Rourke said, confused.  ”Did you have something new to tell me?”

“I think,” Mira said, slowly, “that you have one thing wrong.  I don’t think you’re looking for a man.”

“Well, it could be a woman I guess,”Rourke said with a shrug.

Mira sighed.  ”No, Detective.”

Rourke’s eyebrows knit. And then he realized what she was talking about.  ”Mira,” Rourke said, as if he was talking to a small child.  ”The Slender Man is not real.  He is a fictional entity.”

“Was,” Mira said, still calm.  ”We have summoned him and he has come.”  He heard the scratching of something on the other end of the line, possibly a pen on paper.  ”And what can be summoned can be dismissed.”

“Mira,” Rourke said, still slightly patronizing, “it’s been a long and hard day for you.  Get some rest.”

“I will when I am done.  You take care of yourself, Detective.  Who knows, he might move after you next if this doesn’t work.”  She hung up.

Rourke quickly called the officers in the patrol car currently in front of Mira’s house.  After verifying she was at home, he left instructions for them to watch for any comings and goings to her house carefully.  Then, finally, he left the office for his home, this time with his copy of “By the Fire’s Light” in his briefcase.

Rourke turned on his bedside light as he slipped into bed that night.  He tried to focus on the book in his hands.  He just felt like there was something he was missing.  And it wasn’t that this Slender Man was real.  Unable to concentrate on the book and his tiredness finally catching up with him, Rourke let the story fall from his hands as he closed his eyes, not even bothering to turn off the light.

***

Rourke dreamed.  He was in a closely overgrown forest.  Every which way he turned, he brushed up against tree branches and overly tall ferns.  Something tall moved at the very edge of his sight sometimes, but he couldn’t tell what it was.  He caught a good glance of it to his north (or at least he guessed north from the moss on the trees) and he began to move towards it.

Something touched his shoulder.  Rourke turned around and found himself looking at young man with black hair.  ”Detective Rourke,” he said, quietly.  ”Do not follow it. It will come after you soon enough without you encouraging it.”

Rourke raised an eyebrow.  ”Who are you?”

“Connor,” the young man said.

Rourke cocked his head.  For some reason the name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place why.

Connor shook his head.  ”Don’t question, just listen,” he said, looking over his shoulder.  ”I don’t have much time and this is important.  Dr. Kennedy had the right idea.  It runs on belief.  But there is too much now for one person to deny it existence.”  He shook Rourke slightly.  ”Do you understand?”

Rourke shook his head.  ”I don’t,” he said.  He felt as if his mind had been wrapped in a blanket, warm and stifled.  ”But I should.”

“Just remember then,” Connor said.  ”One person is not enough. Nor two.”  He sighed.  ”We gave the nameless one a name,” he muttered.  ”And he will not give it back.”  He looked into Rourke’s eyes.  ”It is easier to modify a story than to negate it,” he said.  ”Tell Mira that.  It’s too close to her now, I can’t reach her.  I won’t be able to reach you after this.”

Rourke felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise.  There was something behind him.  He could feel it.  He could see it in Connor’s terrified gaze.  Connor’s hands tightened painfully around Rourke’s arms.  Rourke tried to turn and see, but Connor held him fast.

“No,” Connor whispered.  ”Don’t look, not yet.”  He leaned in close and whispered in his ear.  ”I am free, but others are not.  I can’t help them, but you and Mira can.  Please remember.”

Rourke nodded.  ”I will.”

“Good,” Connor said.  ”Now,” and his face suddenly twisted, “wake up!” he screamed, still leaned in close to Rourke’s ear.

***

Rourke jumped up in bed.  ”Holy Mother of God,” he said, head in his hands.  ”What was that?”  Without thinking he was already reaching for the notebook he took with him on investigations.  Quickly, he began to jot down the dream.  A sense of urgency permeated him, a feeling that he could not let this dream slip from him.

Rourke shook his head as he transcribed.  ”Lord, Rourke, you are losing it.  Have a dream about Connor Russell, and don’t even realize its him in the dream.  Some detective.”  He glanced over at his clock.  Two in the morning.  Even though he thought he was a fool, the feeling of urgency did not leave Rourke.  In fact, if anything, it was growing stronger.  ”It’s too close to her now,” Connor had said.  Slender Man was obviously what his dream Connor was referring to.

Rourke considered going back to bed, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.  Not unless he was sure Mira was okay.  He pulled his smartphone off his nightstand and dialed Mira’s number.  It rang five times and then went to voice mail.  He hung up and stared at the floor for a moment.  If it was only two in the morning the same patrol car would probably be in front of her house.  He dialed through to the officers inside again.  They quickly assured him no one had gone into or left the house.

Hanging up the phone and putting it back on the stand, Rourke grunted.  ”That’s that.”  He moved to turn of the bedside light he had left on when he went to sleep. His hand hung there as he stared at the light. The dream may have been just a dream, but Rourke had learned to trust his gut over the years.  And his gut was telling him he had to get over to Mira Grolinsky’s house right now.  He took in a deep breath, held it, and let it out.  ”Fine,” he growled, getting up.

Mira lived in a small community about thirty minutes from his house.  There were about fifteen house arranged around a good sized lake in the middle.  A light breeze brought the smell of the water to Rourke as he climbed out of his car.  He nodded to the officers in the patrol car as he walked over to it.

“Something wrong, Detective?” the young woman said inside. Rourke recognized her as Samantha Layton, a five year vet of the force.

“No, I don’t think so,” Rourke said.  ”Ms. Grolinsky just called, said she had something she wanted to show me,” he said, lying through his teeth.  He’d be damned if he told these officers that a bad dream had prompted him to come here.  ”Keep an eye out, though, okay?”

“Will do,” Samantha said with a nod.  She prodded the young man next to her.  ”Hear that, Craig?” she said, as he started slightly.

Rourke turned from the car and walked up to the house.  A motion sensor light on the garage went off as he walked up the driveway.  His long black shadow stretched away behind him as he rang the bell on the house.  He followed this up with several solid knocks.  Silence met his ears as he waited.  He put his head down and listened.  No, it wasn’t quite silence.   Just there on the edge of his hearing he thought he heard… crackling.
Whipping away from the door, he moved to the living room window.  He peered through the partially open blinds and saw a soft orange glow inside.  He drew in his breath.

Rourke turned back to the patrol car that Samantha was already climbing out of.  ”Call the fire department!” he yelled.  ”And stay back!”  Rourke pulled a Maglite flashlight out of his coat pocket.  With a straight focused blow, he hit the corner of the living room window with the butt of the light.  It fragmented and fell into little pebbles, designed to break in a way that wouldn’t leave shards that could cut people.  He smashed the window again, leaving a hole big enough for him to climb through.

“Mira!” Rourke shouted, flipping on the light as he dragged himself through the window.  A small trail of smoke was filtering into the large living room, past the two black leather couches and easy chair.  He ran, following the trail and the orange glow towards the back of the house.

Rounding a corner, he spotted a glass sliding door that was now reflecting a wall of flames that danced in an almost impossible straight line in front of it.   A table with a golden tablecloth shined brilliantly in the light.  And there, in a corner behind the table, flames surrounding him, stood a tall man in a business suit, towering over the cowering Mira in a corner.

“Halt or I will shoot!” Rourke said, pulling out his gun and dropping the flashlight.

Mira looked out around the man, eyes wide and unbelieving.  ”Detective?” she said, fear and hope mingling in her voice.

The man turned to face Rourke, which was a funny choice of words since he had no face Rourke could see.  Rourke leveled his gun on his extremely skinny center mass.  ”Do not move!” he roared.

The man cocked his head and took a gliding step forward.  And as he did, to Rourke’s astonishment, the flames danced and followed him, gliding perfectly. Training overcoming amazement, Rourke made sure Mira was not standing behind the man and then opened fire. He fired three shot point blank into the man’s chest.

He didn’t even stagger.  He glided closer to Rourke.  Rourke’s eyes widened.  ”Bullet proof vest,” he gasped stepping back.  ”But even with a bullet proof vest, he’d still feel the impact,” a small corner of his mind whispered back.  Ignoring that part of his mind for now, Rourke leveled his gun at the man’s head.  He fired. He watched as the bullet hit dead center where its face should be.  It, because even Rourke had to admit, when a man was hit in the face with a bullet, the bullet didn’t stop and then slowly sink into the face without leaving a trace.  A black tendril whipped from behind the thing’s back and Rourke realized he was about to die.

“No!” Mira screamed, dragging herself from the corner.  She coughed as she ran past the thing, and grabbed Rourke’s arm.  ”Don’t believe in him!”

The thing’s tendrils began to whip angrily as she spoke and it moved forward aggressively.  Rourke looked around him.  The flames had circled them, blocking the entrance back to the front door and to the sliding door that led down to the lake below.  ”The lake,” Rourke said, an idea forming in his head.  He grabbed Mira.  ”Come on!” he said, whipping the table cloth off the table.  He wrapped it around them and ran as the thing struck forward, its tendrils landing where he and Mira had been standing a mere second ago.

Rourke propelled himself and Mira through the flame wall in front of the sliding door.  He felt the flames biting into the tablecloth, felt the heat searing into him.  With a bounce he hit the glass door.  In desperation, he ripped off the tablecloth, Mira helping him, as he grabbed the door.  With a shove, it fell open, and he and Mira were running breakneck down the hill leading to the lake.

“It’s easier to modify a story than to negate it!” he said breathlessly to Mira, as they ran.  ”What is the natural enemy of fire?”

Mira’s eyes widened in recognition.  ”Water!” she said, as they closed in on the lake.  She started to turn to look back.

“No!” Rourke said, waving an arm to keep her attention.  ”Don’t look back!”  And then they were plunging into the water.  It seeped into Rourke’s shoes and socks, making his feet feel like someone had placed weights in them.  Rourke and Mira struggled forward, each helping the other, until they could  no longer feel the lake bed beneath them and they were dog paddling in the water.

“We have to believe,” Mira said through chattering teeth looking back at the house.

“We won’t be enough,” Rourke said, looking back with her.  The thing, the Slender Man, stood at the edge of the shore, the flames following him in a dancing swirling line down from the house.  It stood, black suit melding into and out of the smoke.  But it did not come forward.  Sirens filled the air as a fire truck approached the house.  The Slender Man tilted its head as if listening.  And then, slowly, it seemed to melt into the very shadows made by the flame’s light.

Rourke felt Mira grasp his hand.  ”Well, it was enough for now,” she gasped, trying to stay afloat with one hand.

“For now,” Rourke agreed, beginning to swim for shore.

Credit To - Star Kindler

Dr. Ellen Kennedy was just locking up her office for the evening when her phone began to ring. She paused at the door. It had been a long and grueling day and a ringing phone this late did not bode well. She sighed. While it didn’t bode well, it meant that it was probably important. Swinging her door back open, she walked over to the still ringing phone.

“You’ve reached the office of Dr. Ellen Kennedy. This is she speaking,” she said, holding the phone in one hand and her briefcase in the other.

“Hello, Dr. Kennedy, glad I’ve caught you,” a male voice on the other end. “My name is Detective Carl Rourke.”

Ellen put her briefcase down on the floor and circled back around to her chair. She had better make herself comfortable. If there was a detective on the phone she was probably going to be here for a while. “Yes, Detective, how can I help you?” She had been through this a few times before. Officers wanting her to disclose patient information followed by her refusing to give it. She had even been summoned to court once over it. Already she was preparing her speech mentally in her head as the Detective continued.

“I am calling in regards to one Connor Russell. He was found dead outside his apartment building tonight.”

And just like that Ellen’s speech scattered to the wind. Connor was one of her patients. He had gone through a long and harrowing ten years of therapy after the horrific murder of his best friend and had finally pulled himself back together. Just this afternoon he had been in her office, signing his newly published book for her. “Dead?” she said as she tried to re-marshal her thoughts. “What happened?”

“From what we can tell so far, a fire broke out on his floor. He was trapped in his apartment and could not make it to the fire escape. Witnesses say he jumped from his window.”

Ellen put a hand on her desk. Something moved under it. Looking down she saw it was a book, “By the Fire’s Light”. Connor’s book. She put her hand on her head and took a slow and steadying breath. “You want my opinion on the state of his mental health.” It wasn’t a question.

She could almost see the Detective nodding as he answered. “Yes.”

Ellen sat up straight in her chair, pulling on her mask of professionalism. Her emotions could wait. “I would say in no way shape or form was Connor Russell suicidal. He had just had a book published and it was selling well. He was getting ready to pursue a PhD in English Literature with an emphasis in folklore. He showed no signs of mental instability that would lead me to conclude that he would wish to take his own life.”

“I see,” the Detective said. He sighed. “In that case, is there anyone who might bear a grudge against Connor?”

Ellen stared in front of her, dumbfounded. “Are you suggesting that the fire was arson? Or that Connor did not jump of his free will?”

“I am not suggesting anything,” the Detective said, no emotion in his voice. “Just trying to gather all the facts.”

“There is Jared Holloway. He murdered Connor’s best friend, Kurt, ten years ago. However, Jared is still in jail to my knowledge and plead guilty to the crime before the trial. Didn’t even try for a plea bargain.” Ellen paused thinking back to this afternoon. “I do know that Connor went to visit Jared today to talk with him and try to figure out why he killed his friend.”

“Interesting,” the Detective said on the other end of the line and she could hear scribbling.

“Detective, did Connor truly jump? Or why would you even want to know about possible enemies?”

The Detective sighed again. “Okay, this is entirely off the record. Connor pushed himself backwards out the window. Witnesses say it looked like he was yelling at someone before he fell.” He paused. “One witness says they thought they saw someone look out the window after Connor pushed himself out.”

Ellen felt her mouth drop. “Then why would you think it’s a plain suicide at all?”

The Detective gave a small laugh. “Because I’m not sure how much I can trust the witness’s testimony. She said the person who looked out the window had no face.”

***
Ellen sat at her desk long after she had hung up the phone. She had dutifully taken down the Detective’s number and had promised to call back if she thought of anything useful. She stared down at Connor’s book, fingers drumming on top of it. It was absurd. When Connor had first been brought to her office ten years ago he had ranted and raved about how a faceless man had killed his friend. Called him the Slender Man.

Ellen picked up the book and thumbed through it. It wasn’t true of course. Jared Holloway had murdered Connor’s friend, Kent. Quite violently too. The nature of the crime still gave her the shudders a decade later. Lacerations up and down Kurt’s body with a final deep blow in his chest. From the pictures she had seen he had been drenched in his own blood, making it unlikely he would have survived even without the final blow in his chest cavity. The nature of the crime had caused Connor’s mind to try and protect itself. Unwilling to believe a fellow man could be so callous he had invented this Slender Man to take the blame instead.

Well, invented wasn’t quite the right word. More like appropriated. From what Connor had told her over the years, especially when he had begun writing his book, she knew Slender Man had originated on the Something Awful forums originally created by one Victor Surge. Not much was know about Mr. Surge as he was reticent with personal information. Regardless, others had gotten their hands on him and he had grown into a full blown internet urban legend. With Connor’s books hitting the stands, it looked like he’d be just a plain old urban legend soon. If anything, Connor’s death would spur sales.

So it was truly absurd to think a fictional monster had come to life and killed Connor. She could not, would not, and did not believe it. She put the book down. Well, she had to admit, the book was selling well. Perhaps the witness owned a copy of the book and with the fire, and the fact that it was Connor, the writer of the story, plunging from the window, had convinced him or herself that they had seen this Slender Man. That had to be it.

She sighed, getting up again. She really needed to be getting home. She picked up the book and stuffed it in her briefcase. If she could talk to this witness herself it would help put her mind at ease. But she knew there was no way Detective Rourke would tell her what the witness’s name was, on or off the record.

As she drove down the road to her house she turned on the radio to her car. “Radio on,” she said as she drove. It turned itself to the preset satellite classical station that she had never bothered to change from the default. “Tune to Local Channel 3″ she said, eyes on the road. This was the local news radio station. The announcers droned on for a few minutes about sports, the weather, traffic, and a new tax increase to help the schools. Finally, one of them turned to the subject she had been waiting for.

“And in tragic news tonight,” the female announcer said, “up and coming local novelist Connor Russell died in a fire at his apartment complex. He apparently fell from his window trying to escape the blaze. Channel 3′s Angelica Logano is now reporting from the scene.”

There was silence for a few moments as the signal flipped to Angelica. While Ellen waited patiently for Angelica to begin, a loud blast of static burst from the speakers. “Ah, what the hell!” Ellen said. “Mute volume!” she shouted over the blare. The radio quieted obediently. What on earth had caused that? She looked up to see she was driving under a canopy of trees that lined the street leading into her neighborhood. She shook her head. She knew tall buildings and trees could mess with the line of sight that satellite radio needed, but she had always just lost the signal before. She sighed. It probably meant her radio was dying. When she turned the volume back up, the report was over and the announcers were back to talking about the local sports teams.

After pulling into her driveway, Ellen sighed and turned off the car. Well, it wasn’t a problem missing the report really. She was sure she’d be able to find something about Connor in a simple Google News search.

Twenty minutes and several articles later brought her no more information than she already knew though. She sighed setting aside her tablet on her bedside table. Even though she was off tomorrow, she still needed to get some sleep. But as she lay tossing and turning in the darkness, she knew sleep would not be coming anytime soon. Leaning over, she turned on the small lamp on her bedside table. She reached into the briefcase she had set next to her bed and pulled out “By the Fire’s Light”. Rummaging in the bag one more time for a pen and notepaper in case she needed to jot anything down, she settled back into her bed. Making herself comfortable, she began to read Connor’s book.

***
Prologue
He hates all he sees. Truly he is not properly a he. He does not think of himself as such. He has no name. He needs no name. He knows what he is. The others have left or gone too sleep. He was not powerful enough to follow those who left and he refuses to give in to sleep. This was his world and he will not surrender it.

But he is not powerful enough to take a form like others who were left behind. He is merely a fog of hatred. Those who encounter him feel an uneasiness, as if they know they are in the presence of something that should not be there. But he can do nothing more.

He wandered aimlessly for aeons or minutes he could not say. Time did not exist when this world was his and he does not readily understand it. All he knows is that one night in a forest somewhere lightning strikes in front of him. It is the middle of a hot and radiant summer, and all the wood is dry, waiting for the right match to strike. The lightning sparks a small fire, which quickly catches and grows. He watches, amazed, as the fire consumes all in its path, leaving nothing but blackened ash in its wake. If he could feel love, he would love the flickering of the flames he is now following across the forest.

As they weave and dance through the night, the flames cross the path of a young boy. He has been separated from his family and he is frightened. Instead of following the flight of the animals, the young boy has run in a circle, and how finds himself trapped by the fire. The nameless one draws close, eager to see what the fire will do to this intruder who has taken his world. The young boy senses him, senses his hatred. He thinks the nameless one is the fire or a being who controls it. And as this fear grips and consumes the young boy, the nameless one feels himself grow solid. He wonders at this as he feels feet touch the ground. He feels arms as long and flickering as the flames growing from what is now a back. He stands tall and black, as shadowy as the flame’s flickering light. His head flows and melts in the heat and he sees himself through the young boy’s eyes and realizes that he has none of his own.

But it does not matter for this makes him fearful to the young boy. He strikes with one of his flowing arms, casting the young boy into the fire. The young boy screams and pleads. He begs for mercy. The nameless one has none. The flames crackle up and down the young boy, taking first his outer covering and then melting flesh from bone. The young boy has long since stopped struggling, but the nameless one watches until all that is left is white bone. He feels himself growing looser again then and losing form. It doesn’t matter though. He knows what he wants to do now. He turns following the fire’s light before him.

***
Ellen felt herself growing tired and she did not fight the sleep that now came over her. She felt the book fall from her hands and onto her chest as she surrendered herself to the darkness. Her reading material, perhaps, influenced her dreams. Every which way she turned, she found herself surrounded by hot and high flames. In between the flames something dark and lanky darted always just outside of her vision.

Finally, just as she caught sight of the thing moving in the flames, she woke up. She opened her eyes and stared at her white ceiling for a moment, re-orienting herself with her surroundings. “Strange dream,” she muttered stretching and opening her hands. From her right hand fell a pen. She frowned.

“Odd,” she said, leaning over to pick it up. “I don’t remember actually taking any notes last night.” Connor’s book slid off the bed and onto the floor next to the pen. As it fell open, a stray mark of blue ink on the pages caught Ellen’s eye. She sighed. Had she accidentally marked the book in her sleep? Picking the book up, she placed it in her lap and looked at the pages.

What she saw was odder than finding the pen in her hand had been. There was a mark on the page, but it wasn’t a random stray mark. One of the words on the page was circled. “What,” she breathed, reading the word. “Why would I circle the word what?” She flipped through the book. As she did, every once in a while she would catch another page with another word circled. She felt a chill go down her spine. She definitely did not remember doing this last night.

Grabbing her notepad from her bedside desk, she started to methodically go through the book from start to finish. Every time she came to a circled word she would jot it down on the notepad. When she was finished, she held the notepad in front of her and read what she had written. “I am what you have made me. I like what I am,” she said. The word “like” had been circled several times, unlike the other words, so heavily indented the ink had almost seeped through the page.

She stared at the notepad for a moment and then tossed it away from her. It hit the wall on the other side of the room, but before it had dropped to the floor, Ellen was already up and in motion. She dug Connor’s file out of her briefcase. Flipping through it, she found the address to his apartment. Grabbing her tablet off her bedside table, she input Connor’s address into Google Maps. As it downloaded directions to his apartment, she hurriedly threw off her nightgown and dressed herself. Five minutes later found her out the door and on the road.

As she drove she briefly considered stopping for at least coffee to give herself a chance to calm down. A prickling fear she couldn’t dispel stopped her though. She needed to see Connor’s apartment for herself. Beyond that she wasn’t sure what she was doing.

Pulling into Connor’s complex, Ellen found a parking space a couple lots away from Connor’s apartment building. She didn’t want it to be too obvious what she was doing. She didn’t need management shooing her off the premises. Getting out of the car, she walked as casually as she could toward Connor’s apartment building.

It was obvious, even without directions, which one was his. The black and charred remains sat in between two other untouched apartment buildings. It almost looked like the other two buildings had ganged up on this one and given it a sound beating, large gaping holes looking like a fist had punch through them. Ellen glanced up to the fourth floor. Connor’s apartment had been somewhere up there. As she drew closer she saw a young woman standing in front of the building also looking up at the fourth floor. She wore ripped blue jeans and a pull over sweater who’s sleeves were too large for her. She looked up as Ellen drew close. “Came to see the wreckage?” she asked, a twisted smile on her lips.

“Yeah,” Ellen said quietly, grass crunching under her feet as drew even with the young woman. “Someone I knew died in the fire.”

“That Connor guy,” the young woman said.

“Yes. How did you know?” Ellen asked turning to her.

“He’s the only one who died in the fire,” she said, looking down. She brushed a stray hair out of her eyes. “Saw it happen,” she said quietly. She looked up at Ellen and offered a hand. “Name’s Cassandra.”

“Ellen,” Ellen said, shaking her hand. Ellen glanced at Cassandra out of the corner of her eye. “It’s such a shame about his death. What with Connor’s book just being published.”

“He had a book?” Cassandra asked, surprised. “Didn’t know we had an author in our building.”

Ellen just stared at her for a moment. Cassandra was telling the truth she could tell. The prickling fear ran up and down her spine again. Ellen took a calm centering breath. She didn’t know Cassandra was necessarily the witness Detective Rourke had told her about. Still… “I heard,” Ellen said slowly, “I heard that Connor wasn’t alone in his room when he died.”

Cassandra looked straight at Ellen for a moment, an expression torn between panic and relief flitting across her face. It was disconcerting. “Well, you heard right,” Cassandra said at last. “I saw someone look out the window after Connor fell.” She turned away and looked up at the fourth floor again. “I saw it again last night too,” she said her voice growing soft. “I dreamed I was still trapped in the fire. And I saw the thing in the flames. I don’t know how, but I could tell it was happy I was there.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m kinda glad I’m staying with friends right now. Don’t wanna be by myself.”

“You called it a thing,” Ellen said, taking an involuntary step closer to Cassandra, trying to control her shaking hands.

Cassandra gave a short, almost hysterical laugh. “Yeah, well, I didn’t see a face on the thing when it popped its head out the window. Cops think I’m loony.” She shrugged her eyes now defiant, turning back to Ellen.

Ellen shook her head slowly. “I don’t think you’re crazy,” she said quietly.

Cassandra gazed at her for a moment and then turned back to the apartment building. “Yeah, well that makes one of us,” she muttered.

Ellen went home soon afterwards. She left the radio off on her drive home, her own buzzing thoughts providing her with plenty of entertainment. As she shut and locked the door behind her, she shook her head. She was taking all this far too seriously. She dreamt about this Slender Man after reading a story about him and thinking about him for a good few hours before going to bed. That was not unusual. As for Cassandra, well, it wasn’t like it was easy to see people surrounded by flames and smoke. She probably just saw a person or person shaped object and suggestion had done the rest. That she should have a nightmare about a traumatic experience was not surprising either.

She paced into the kitchen and grabbed a wine glass out of her cabinet. She poured herself a cup of red wine and sat down at her kitchen table. She watched her willow tree throw its branches in the wind in the backyard. As for the words circled in Connor’s book… She watched the branches dance and play for a few more moment before turning away with a shudder. She was sure there was an explanation for why she would circle those words, she was just too tired to think of it now. She finished her wine and decided she needed to treat herself to a nice long soak.

That night as she went to bed, Ellen briefly toyed with reading more of Connor’s book. She peeled off her tan pantyhose and lay them on the side of her bed. She shook her head. No, given the dream she had had last night, her imagination didn’t need anymore fuel for tonight. She turned out her lights and quickly fell into an uneasy sleep.

She dreamed of nothing for a while. Then, slowly, she found flames growing around her again. Something tall and slender weaved in and out amongst the flames. She backed away, trying to find a way out, but everywhere she turned, more fire met her gaze. Finally, the black thing emerged from the flames. She knew what it was. Just too tall to be a man, wearing a business suit with long trailing arms and a smooth blank space where its face should be. She began to shake. “You’re not real,” she whispered.

The thing merely moved towards her, slowly as if enjoying itself.

Ellen felt her back stiffen, even in her sleep. She was a psychiatrist for God’s sake. She knew how the mind could play tricks on you when you were stressed. And she knew what was real and what wasn’t. She faced the Slender Man squarely. He stopped “gazing” down at her and Ellen could almost swear his body language was hesitant. “You are not real,” she said fiercely. “This is just a dream. You are a figment of my overwrought and stressed imagination. And I will thank you very much to leave my dream!”

The Slender Man leapt towards her, tentacles bursting from its back and reaching for her. But even as it flung itself towards her, it seemed to lose cohesion. A puff of wind blew through Ellen and nothing more. The flames snuffed out under the wind’s influence and Ellen found herself surrounded by blackness.

Ellen woke with a start. Breathing heavily her hand reached for her bedside light. It flipped on and Ellen covered her eyes with one hand. Sitting up, she wiped sweat from her forehead. Her nightgown clung to her back and she shivered as her skin made contact with the night air. She put her hand down on the black pantyhose she had left on the side of her bed before going to sleep. Her body shuddered as she breathed in and out slowly. Well, it looked like she had figured out how to deal with her Slender problem. She laughed quietly to herself looking down at the black pantyhose in her left hand. The black… Her eyes widened as the black moved underneath her hand.

With a screech she jumped out of her bed. Looking into the corner of her room stood a man so tall his head brushed the ceiling. His “face” looked down at her smooth and blank. And the tendrils on his back began to whip around angrily, crashing into the walls next to him. He took a step forward.

Ellen felt her back stiffen again. “This may not be a dream,” she said, her voice shaking slightly, but steel underneath it. “But I still know you are not real. I do not give you my belief. And I will thank you kindly to leave my house!”

He hesitated for one moment and then lunged at her. Ellen realized with horror that he seemed to be solid enough this time though. With a strangled scream she leapt out of the way. Wrenching her bedroom door open she darted out of the room, running through her dark house. She heard him crashing behind her, but she wasn’t foolish enough to look back. Grabbing her car keys off the counter, she dashed out the front door, not bothering to close.

She hit the unlock button on the keys and the car chirped. Wrenching the passenger seat open, she threw herself inside, shutting and locking the doors behind her. Panting and struggling she crawled into the driver’s seat, jamming the key into the ignition. She turned and heard her car roar to life, headlight’s automatically coming on and illuminating her house. As she tried to throw it in reverse, something and black plunged straight down in front of her into the hood of the car. With a horrible metallic ripping sound, it passed through the hood making the whole car shake. Several other tendrils followed, straight into the engine. The car shuddered and died.

Ellen pressed herself back in her seat as the tendrils withdrew from the car. She reached for her the driver’s door. She had to run. But even as she did, she felt something hard impact the passenger’s side of the car. The whole car rocked and she lost her balance. Her head banged against the window and she cried out in pain. The car shuddered again and this time turned over, first onto its side and then onto the roof.

Ellen fell against the roof of her car in the darkness, disoriented and frightened. She tried to move for a door, any door, as she felt something pierce her car again. The sound of liquid running down the side of her car and the smell of gasoline caught her attention. She froze and looked out the passenger side of the car. She could see a trailed of gasoline running down the back window. And in the small amount of light given from the street lamp by her house, she saw a long black tendril flick on the ground by the liquid. It grew suddenly stiff and striked the ground. “Tinder and flint,” she whispered as a small flame erupted from its tip. The fire began to grow eagerly and she watched it trail up her car. She curled into a ball and cried to herself as the flames circled her car, cutting off all her exits.

***

Detective Carl Rourke was not having a good night. First he finds out his witness in the Connor Russell case, Cassandra Brighton, has died in a freak fire caused by faulty wiring at her friend’s house. And now here is, standing outside the house Dr. Ellen Kennedy, her car flipped and smoldering, her body, or what was left of it, just now being removed from the wreck.

“And nobody saw any other cars?” he asked the two beat cops who had arrived on the scene first.

They both shook their heads. One of them, Patrick he thinks, flips open his small notebook. “One of the neighbors thinks she saw a tall slender man walking away from the car as it burned. She looked outside after she heard what sounded like a car crash.”

Rourke grunted. “But nobody saw the actual crash,” he muttered. He shook his head. “Two people related to the Connor Russell case both perishing in fires on the same night? Don’t buy it.” He sighed. “At least the witness didn’t claim the guy has no face.”

Patrick coughed politely and Rourke turned to stare at him. “She didn’t did she?”

“Ah, no,” Patrick said trying to hide his amusement. “She did mention something about tentacles though.”

Rourke cursed under his breath and made his way to Ellen’s house. Maybe he could find some real tangible clues inside so he could find the real tangible man behind these killings. Slowly he walked through the house, careful not to touch or move anything. CSI would kill him. And those bozos would be able to clean up the evidence afterwards.

Eventually he found himself in Ellen’s bedroom. He raised his eyebrows. Slash marks on the walls, strewn books and papers. It looked like there had been a struggle. He crouched down to look at one of the books on the floor. “By the Fire’s Light,” he read. As he did, something black on the wall next to him caught his eye. He stood up abruptly, but there was nothing there but his own shadow. Grunting, he pulled out his smartphone. He quickly made note of the titles of the books on the floor so he could look them up later. And then, with a final sweep around the bedroom, he left to check the rest of the house.

Author’s Note: This is a sequel to “By the Fire’s Light” which may also be found on Creepypasta!

Credit To – Star Kindler

“What the fuck did I just read?”

- Pretty much everyone.

FanBoy97: Journal entry 1.)

Oh, how no one understands the dark brooding angst stirring in my loins! I couldn’t concentrate in school again today, thoughts of Him distracted me from my composition writing class. How could I possibly worry about the fundamentals of English grammar stuff stupid when there’s a tall sexy devil stalking the spooky nights? I wish He would stalk me.  I know “some” people would say that I am a silly pants; that He would devour my soul or drive me to madness… but they don’t understand Him like do. I know He would not do this to me. And how could He? I’m His “biggest” fan. Oh well, I suppose I’ll just have to prove them all wrong.

FanBoy97: Journal entry 2.)

Woe is me. Must I be alone for all eternity? Doomed to wander the cruel world in my misunderstoodedness? I spent the entire afternoon in the cemetery after school today, drawing the sacred symbol on each and every tombstone, the circle of darkness with the ‘x’ of also darkness, awaiting for Him to run into my arms. I even wore my outfit, my extra special Sailor Moon miniskirt and thigh high socks. I must have ridden my tricycle around those gave stones a thousand times before I ran out of Hi-C. How could He not be enticed by me? Am I not enticing? Of course I am, it must have been those fart faces who showed up and interrupted my unholy ritual. The called me names, really mean names that cut into my soul like razors. I tried not to cry, but I could not stop myself. “If you don’t stop… shouldn’t make fun of the black forces that dwell within me!” I yelled at them before they started throwing bananas at me. Bananas that cut deeper than any black razor of black blackness. I road my tricycle home as fast as I could. On the way I checked my vampire Pikachu watch, IT WAS ALMOST 6 O’CLOCK!!! My mom must have been worried sick! But then I got home and she gave me some spaghetti. Yummy!

FanBoy97: Journal entry 3.)

I just took a bubble bath, and now I need to check my emails for the rightful acceptance of my creepypasta submission. Let’s look… NOTHING! Anger and other dirty talk! How could it not be posted yet? I submitted it yesterday afternoon, how long do I have to wait for the world to see my spectacular greatness? I know, that jerky jerk face administrator is jealous of my uncanny ability to write epic tales of melancholy spookiness. Of course that’s what it is, nobody could pass up my masterpiece unless they were intimidated. It was called, “The grand adventures of the totally badass and in no way at all homoerotic sparkly vampires.” It was so awesome. I guess I’m just going to have to send that jerk a bunch of emails outlining why he’s such a jerk. Then he’ll see, they’ll all see. But it’s almost eight, and I need to snuggle into bed next to my Jeff the Killer body pillow and let my darky dark mind of darkness take me to the ultradarkness of dreamland.

FanBoy97: Journal entry 4.)

I woke up from that dream again, I just had to write it down this time. It was the one where I’m lying there still in my bed completely naked when the wind blows my bedroom window open, and then that beautiful slender body of His floats in, hovering above me, tempting me with the prospects of sweet sweaty passion.
“Come to me, sweet prince,” I say to Him as He lowers Himself gracefully, His black suit stretched tight across His lovely form.
“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you?” I ask him. He never says a word.
“Oh, the strong and silent type aren’t you?” I whisper into where His ear balls should be. “That’s okay,” I continue in the most seductive voice I can manage. “You don’t have to say a thing.” I pulled on His necktie, pulling His faceless face against mine. Then we start making out, AND IT WAS SEXXXXXY! Then after like, an hour, I whisper back into his ear balls, “How about you take off that suit and show me what those tentacles can really do…”
When I woke up my sheets were all sticky.

FanBoy97: Journal entry 5.)

OMG!!<333333!!!! I don’t even know to explain it, but after that hot sticky dream I just couldn’t go back to sleep. So I kinda just stayed awake and sent fifty complaints to that jerk faced administrator , when I got this sense you know? A most… arousing sense at that. I got this feeling that I needed to look out of my window, and when I did, I that it was… it was Him! Slenderman was watching me from across the street. I knew it was Him at once, He’s impossible to mistake. The tall, thin body in the most fabulous of suits. He was just standing there motionless, expressionless, beckoning to me… Oh shits! I better get back to the window, He’s still out there and I need to press my bare nipples against the glass to keep Him interested. I’ll come back later to write how it went. Oh God, I feel as giddy as a school girl at the gynecologist’s!

The Next Day…

Officer Stinson is standing at the scene of the crime, his partner, Officer Drake approaches him with a cup of coffee in each hand.
“So what in the hell and the hootenanny happened here?” Asks Drake as he glances over the carnage. Up high in a tree sectioned off by yellow hazard tape is the body of a young boy, his torso impaled on one of the many jagged braches. On the ground below him, there are several plastic bags filled with what is assumed to be some of the boy’s organs. They include; eyes, kidneys, liver, pancreas, gallbladder and several fingers. Officer Stinson hands his partner a piece of paper covered in blood.
“We found this nailed to the tree.” Says Stinson to Drake. “I think you know what it means.” Drake reads the note, each letter spelled out in crimson.
“No means no,” Drake reads aloud. “Great googally moogally! Not another one of these sickos! Must be the third one this year, and it does explain why the kid up there is wearing a dress.”
Officer Stinson looks back up into the tree. The boy is in fact still wearing his Sailor Moon outfit.
“Yeah,” Says Stinson, “We’re dealing with one twisted pervert here alright. We checked this kids journal earlier this morning. It looked like he was getting ready to try and date rape Slenderman.”
Drake shakes his head in disgust. “Sweet zombie Jesus. Kids these days, messin’ around on the interwebs, thinking that it couldn’t happen to them, then all of a sudden ‘ol Slendy gets sick and tired of being sexually harassed. Can anyone really blame him for resorting to this?”
Stinson looks down at his feet with a somber look on his face. “No, no I don’t think anyone really can. But we gotta look at it this way; at least for now, we can take comfort in knowing that this nightmare is finally over.”

Just then, the boy in the tree coughs out a spattering of blood.
“WHY? WHY DON’T YOU LOVE MEEEE?!?” He chokes out. Without hesitation, Officers Drake and Stinson pull their side arms from their holsters, emptying the clips into the whining fan boy. When the dust settles, Stinson looks back to Drake.
“Okay, now it’s over.”

Credit To – Stephan D. Harris

The dark, wet alley was slightly illuminated by Sarah’s cell phone light, as she shined it every few seconds to see where she was headed. Her eyes scanned the darkness, and she shook crazily. What had happened to her last night was a mystery. She thought back, back to the bar. She had just came in with some friends, just a fun night out. Nothing could have happened, or so she thought. Now she was trembling, walking from building to building at three in the morning. Again she thought back, but everything was a blur. She passed an old ratty motel, and a pub.
Sarah made her way to the outskirts of her neighborhood, around a heavily wooded area. She walked, she clenching her eyes shut tight for moments at a time. She was huddled into her coat for warmth as the cold rain covered her for what seemed like an eternity. Just as her eyelids took cover of her eyes, something shined out of the corner of her vision. She instantaneously flashed her eyes open once again, and her pupils became wide. She looked around. Nothing stood out in the blackness and rain. She spun around and continued her way back, hoping she would make it home. As she studied her surroundings, she remembered a shortcut that she took as a kid when playing “Hide and seek” with her childhood playmates.

It involved climbing through the woods. The cold woman hesitated, but came to the decision that anything that would get her to her warm home quicker is the better way. Sarah headed towards the forest. As she made her way in, the first tree she laid eyes on had been marked. What was on marked on the tree mystified her, what looked like a circle with an X inside. She knew nothing of its origin or meaning, so she just assumed this was some kind of gang symbol, or something of the sort. Making her way into the forest, she recalled the fun times she had as a kid. She thought to herself out loud.

“I miss those times. Back when the world wasn’t a ba-”

Her voice trailed off. Sarah heard the loud crack of a tree branch off in the distance behind her. Terrified, she began running through the woods, and she soon became lost. She continued on anyway, hoping for a way out. Her lack of caution quickly resulted in her leg being caught on a near lying root, and she fell to the ground. Attempting to get up caused her even more pain. She had twisted her ankle.

“Somebody please.. help me!” she called out.

The crunching of leaves became present again. She attempted to stand up and run once again, but her injury kept her in one place. She clenched her eyes shut out of fear, and as she opened them again, a tall, white man dressed in a suit stood before her. She had become visually impaired at the sight of this man. She began screaming in terror, but was soon silenced by the slender, pale man that stood before her in the dark.

Four o’ clock. What once was a young boy, now was a cold blooded psychopath. Jeff the killer had just finished what he called his “Daily rounds”. The slaughtering of innocent people, this was almost all that flooded Jeff’s mind. He dragged his feet up the wet cement as he entered what he had called his home for years. Jeff stepped foot into a world of tragic memories, clutching two whiskey bottles in hand. Jeff had become a drunken killing machine. His brain was filled with the scent of murder. One thought that did cross his psychotic mind had been there since day one. As the rain hit the weary house, Jeff began to recall the night in which he slaughtered his entire family. He chuckled at the thought. If it wasn’t for his insanity, he may have thought about regret. Remorse for taking the lives of the people he once loved. But that wasn’t possible at this point. Jeff was out for one thing and one thing only. Death.

Five o’ six in the morning. He took another swig at his alcohol.

“What in the fuck am I sitting here for..” Jeff buzzed.

As he got up to make his way into the night, he swerved a bit, and took another chug at his whiskey. The alcohol hit his warm, bloody lips, and he felt an odd sensation. A sudden urge had hit him. He stood in the room, gazing out at the forest beyond the house. Jeff checked his pockets- cigarettes, a lighter, and of course his knife. Jeff knew that something wasn’t right. The feeling he got was a mix of the urge to kill again, and something far different than what he had ever felt before.

He stormed out of his home, into the cold,wet night. Jeff was now in a dark street, his only light source being a lamp illuminating the road. The rain, still pouring, hit Jeff’s back. He started to move in the direction of the forest. He struggled a bit, his alcohol consumption that night had been extremely high. The killer approached the desolate forest. Before he entered, he took a quick glare to his left. Jeff was not far from a cemetery. He trembled towards it. A thought blew into his mind, almost like the wind on a breezy afternoon. The last piece of his family was only feet away, and it beckoned him.

He moved his feet away from the forest, and towards the graveyard. Slowly Jeff walked, yet he tripped a few times spanning the short distance. He approached a grave. Jeff graced it with the rotten odor of death, his jacket being covered in the blood and remains of his victims. Jeff simply gazed at the cold slab of granite. His vision was too distorted to make out any sort of words, because of this, he just stood and stared. Jeff’s insides began to feel uneasy, and his throat became dry. The same feeling from just minutes before.

Jeff stumbled back to the forest. While trembling towards the woodland, his eyes wandered to a tree a few feet farther out than the others. What looked like a small, greyish piece of paper could be seen hanging by a nail His eyes blurry, he was unable to read it. He took no attempt either, and crept into the darkness slowly. Almost as if he recognized this place, as if it were his true home.

Squeezing his two whiskey bottles, he studied the forest in a drunken haze. Jeff admired the darkness, it reminded him of a black hallway, one where the murderer could easily slash the necks of his victims without being seen. As he continued walking, Jeff became in a way, infatuated. The empty blackness swirled around him. Muttering to himself in unrecognizable gibberish, he continued to trot. Something felt a bit odd. The crunching of leaves seemed too loud to account for only one person. Jeff felt as if something was lurking beyond his line of sight.

“Who’s there?” Jeff growled.

An abundance of noise could be heard, but nothing out of the ordinary. The chirps of crickets grew louder as Jeff studied his surroundings.

“Come on chicken, I don’t really like games, and not hide and seek at all.”

As Jeff announced this, a quick rustling from a nearby bush could be heard. He slashed at it before the sound could come to a silence on its own. Jeff then saw what was hidden out of sight the entire time.

“Damn rats, you’re just some good for nothing pests.” Jeff proclaimed as a rodent scurried from the leaves.

After he had seen what hid in the bush, he continued his midnight stroll. The rain crashing against his back came to a slow stop. His vision was becoming very blurry, and a loud noise was growing within his head. What could be heard was just a figment on Jeff’s insane imagination, for the woods were completely silent. He tampered around, dragging his feet and cursing at the almost unbearable noise. Nothing like it had pierced his ears with such discontent before.

The noise that drowned Jeff slowly became absent. From the pain, Jeff fell to a tree. Both bottles that were once clenched into his hands fell towards the ground. One crashed against the bark, and shattered everywhere. The crack of glass had viciously dragged Jeff back into consciousness. As his eyes readjusted to the darkness one more, the blurriness was magnified as Jeff saw a white, oval like object hovering above him. His eyes quickly focused from shock, but what had been in front of him a few seconds ago was nowhere to be found.

“What in the fuck was that?”

Jeff chuckled at his own remark. Was his mind playing tricks on him?

“Now I know that ain’t no damn rats”

He hastily came to the conclusion that something had to be lurking in the darkness, following him from a distance.

“That’s it, I’m done playing games. Where the fuck are you, you bastard!?” Jeff screamed to the top of his lungs in hope of some kind of response. He was answered abruptly. As he started to walk again, he felt the slightest tingle on his neck.

“That’s not the damn air, fucker. Get the hell out of the bushes before I decide to fuck you up!” Jeff felt wild at this point. Nothing about this place was right, but he was enjoying every minute of it. Swiftly, he pulled his shining blade from his coat pocket, and began slashing at trees in the darkness.

“Come out, come out bitch!” He cried out. “No hiding now, I’ll cut every last chip of bark to slit your throat!”

Jeff pointed his knife towards a tall, thin tree protruding from the left of his vision, and stabbed. He was astonished to see that on direct contact, the tree, or what he thought was a tree faded away into the darkness in a matter of milliseconds. Not knowing what to do, he glanced quickly towards his right, and stabbed at the black of night. He peered out into the wood, and saw not what he had expected. What stood before the psychotic boy was an extremely tall, thin man, dressed in a clean, black suit. This was all that Jeff could make out at the time, the rain caused Jeff’s sight to become immensely distorted.

Jeff’s eyes had cleared again, and he quickly began to observe the man. He was emaciated, his face pale, almost pure white in color. As Jeff studied the face, he soon came to notice the lack of facial features on this man. This “Thing”’s face was completely empty, no eyes, nose, or mouth. Just a white, blank, head. This made Jeff feel a bit uneasy, and he soon broke out into a laugh. Although astounded, Jeff soon addressed the figure before him.

“So you were the bastard chasing me through the woods huh?”

Jeff stared at the blankness once more.

“You know, I don’t know what the fuck you are, but you kinda remind me of myself” “You’ve got the nice white face, but all you’re missing is a smile!”

Jeff began laughing uncontrollably at his own notion. Yet he was stopped, Jeff’s ears were assaulted by static, and he fell to the ground. He was shrouded in complete darkness as he clenched his ears for mercy. The figure Jeff earlier questioned was now causing Jeff extreme pain, while the place where his eyes should have been staring directly into Jeff’s. At that point, Jeff snapped. He broke free of the pain, drew his knife once more, and began slashing. Each one of his moves were futile, as the man moved around in no time at all, almost as if he was teleporting from place to place to avoid the attacks.

The tall man began to fight back. Jeff had just now begun to notice the tendrils hanging from the back of his attacker. They grabbed at Jeff, and his response was to swing his knife at each that came near him. Jeff managed to slice what seemed to be an arm. In almost an instant, the limb quickly grew back into place. What had just happened astonished Jeff. He felt almost as if the man was a tall tree, and his tendrils simply branches. Jeff fled from the forest, knowing that there was no way he would be able to fight whatever his adversary truly was in what seemed to be his home territory.

Jeff rushed from his attacker, and found himself at the same place where he had entered. To the right of him lie the cemetery. Open space. As he ran past the trees, he noticed one that lie away from the others. The same tree from before. He ran to it out of instinct, and read the note he had seen from a distance before.

“Do not enter these woods at night, a tall man has been spotted in the area recently, some call him the Slenderman. Beware, and enter at your own risk.”

Whatever the being that had stalked him in the woods before was referred to as Slenderman. The name fit perfect with the description of the tall, white figure. Jeff hurried towards the graveyard, where he waited for his foe, wielding his sharp, bloody, knife. Jeff’s wish had been granted, as the Slenderman approached from the woods. It seemed as if it was hesitant to leave its home court. Despite is hesitance, it left the area anyway, and quickly rushed towards Jeff. The psychopath’s instincts started to come back, and he jumped towards the tall man. Jeff was quickly grabbed by his enemy, and thrown against a nearby tree.

Jeff proceeded to swing again at the tendrils that had grabbed him. He was able to slash at one of the Slenderman’s main arms. Blood oozed from the deep cut. The white figure showed no emotion, and began snatching at Jeff once again. As he continued to smash Jeff against trees, and slabs of rock, Jeff’s knife slipped from his grip, and fell to the ground with Jeff. Colliding with the ground, Jeff’s knife slid into his own stomach in a matter of seconds. Blood poured from the wound, and soon the ground was covered in a red liquid. He stood up with a jolt.

“Is that the best you got Slendy?” “I’ve taken worse beatings from my father’s belt than you’re weak twig arms!”

The Slenderman remained silent, but continued fighting. The man reached for a piece of granite from a tombstone, but before he could take hold of it, Jeff jerked the knife from his gut, and flung it directly at Slenderman. Jeff’s accuracy was precise, and it sliced off one of the man’s limbs. Slenderman’s left arm was completely gone, as it fell to the ground with a thud. It was quickly met by thick blood that barraged from his shoulder. It was completely drenched in blood. Slenderman briskly disappeared into the darkness, but illuminated behind Jeff. In his right hand, he held a broken piece of granite, that he proceeded to slam into the side of Jeff’s head. Jeff fell to the ground once again, almost knocked unconscious.

He was not left there for long before he was seized by his assailant, and thrown against a grave. The stone exploded on impact with Jeff. Standing up once again, Jeff’s eyes focused on the name on the grave. As his eyes crossed the name on the granite, his black eyes widened. The words written across the gray slab were recognized by Jeff in an instant. It read out his brother’s name, Liu. Something was coursing through Jeff. Rage filled him within an instant, and he lashed out at Slenderman at extreme speeds. Jeff’s knife was slashing through his suit, as well as his pale skin. Slenderman began teleporting towards the forest.

“Come on bitch, I’m not finished with you yet!” Jeff hollered. “I want to help you get to sleep Randy! You look awfully tired!”

Whatever was flowing through Jeff caused his insanity to go into an overdrive state. He had become delusional. He ran at Slenderman, and back into the forest. He rushed through the woods, not observing his environment whatsoever. Jeff was deep into the forest, still pursuing the man. Slenderman continued warping around the forest. Jeff’s lack of caution caused him to trip on a branch lying in his way. As he crashed into the ground, shards of glass pierced him, and the contents of his pockets were thrown out. His items scattered the ground. As Jeff looked up with his mangled, bloody face, the scent of alcohol graced him. Jeff knew that he had been here before, he had fallen on this tree and dropped his bottle.

Jeff desperately searched the ground for his knife. He felt his hand grab hold of something warm, what he had hoped was his blade. Jeff had grabbed his liter. He quickly scrapped at it, hoping that the small flames would provide a source of light. His bloody hands covered the plastic in the red liquid. After many desperate attempts, a small, orange flame was produced. Jeff threw the liter out in front of him as he attempted to find his knife that lay close to him. Before he could make another movement, Slenderman appeared before him. The smooth white face that he had seen before was now covered in slashes and dark blood. Even though he looked hurt, Slenderman remained strong.

Jeff’s grip on the liter became loose, his blood had caused friction between it and his hand. The small blaze dropped towards the ground. Intense flames scorched as the liter hit the ground. Both adversaries fled away from the flame. Before either of them could put distance between themselves and the flame, it was ignited by the alcohol that soiled the ground. In a matter of seconds, the forest was burning from the ground up. Jeff looked for safety, yet none was to be found in the flames. Slenderman thought nothing of this, and continued to swing at Jeff. Jeff fought back, ignoring the orange and red covering his environment. The tall monster grabbed at Jeff. Jeff grabbed his knife and jumped.

To no avail, Jeff was pulled by the Slenderman, and was now stuck in his grip. Slenderman began to shake Jeff around, as he did this, Jeff bit at him, and a loud crack of bone could be heard. The pain surged through Slenderman, out of shock, he threw Jeff against a large tree. As Jeff flew towards the tree, a sharp pain hit Jeff straight in the back. It continued until he saw a large branch sliding through his torso, and he hit the base of the tree. Jeff had been viciously impaled by a long tree branch.

Blood gushed from his mouth and open wounds as he screamed out in pain. Slenderman then fled. He warped to an area of safety, where the forest had not been burned as of yet. He watched Jeff as he attempted to escape. At this point, the Slenderman knew that escape was impossible. The white monster could hear Jeff screaming, even from a large distance away. He continued to warp away from his territory, and left Jeff to burn in the flames.

The blaze became brighter, and surrounded Jeff. Struggling to avoid the intense heat, he violently slid his body from the tree. Fire engulfed Jeff, everything swirled around him. He became wrapped up into the flames, there was no hope for Jeff. He had lost his mind long ago, yet this was something different. He had reached his limit, and his state of mind burned just as the forest did.

.

“A young girl by the name of Sarah Burgess has been reported missing. She was last seen at Drop In Bar&Grill at around 9 o’ clock P.M. If you have any idea on the whereabouts of Sarah Burgess, please call the station at 404-835-HELP(4357). In other news, a major forest fire has broken out in the local area, the cause has not yet been discovered. Investigators are studying the remnants of the forest. The fire has been extinguished. This will hurt much of the animal life found in the once heavily wooded forest. We’ll bring more on this story as it comes.”

Mark turned off the television, and slumped into his couch cushion.

“Hey honey, you want to go take a look at the forest, well, whats left of it? They’ve put out the fire that burned the damn thing to the ground. There’s also a girl missing, maybe we’ll see her while we’re out there.”

“Can we do it some other time? I’m kind of busy right now Mark, and if the police can’t find that girl, there’s no way in hell we can!” Julia protested.

Mark argued. “Come on, it won’t hurt nothing. It won’t be more than a five minute walk!”

“Alright I guess, but five minutes only!”.

The man put on his shoes, and left his house with his wife. As they strolled towards the burnt out forest, they could see something moving in the opposite direction. It looked somewhat human. As they moved closer towards it, they noticed what looked like severe burns to it’s face. The creature’s eyelids were completely gone, and it carried an unnatural smile spread across his face. It was completely white, with hints of gray where it looked like he had been burned. It’s long, black hair was singed. They came closer towards it, and Mark shouted.

“Hey buddy, do you need some help?” Mark bellowed.

“Mark stop, we don’t even know who he is! He could be a fucking killer for all we know!” Julia whispered, frightened.

The man moved swiftly towards the couple. As he approached them, he drew a thick blade covered in a red liquid.

“I don’t, but I can tell you need some help to sleep.”

Jeff slashed the knife across the man’s neck, and he fell to the ground. His wife began to scream loudly. She was unable to continue, as she was next. She was stabbed directly in the heart with the knife.

“You don’t need to worry about me. Just go to sleep.”

Credit To: Dylan R. (CustomCreepyPasta)

“I gotta tell you, Connor, this is one amazing story,” Kurt said, plopping down on the couch next to him. “You’ve got me believing in the boogie man again. I actually checked under my bed last night.”

Connor laughed, taking the manuscript back. “Well it did take first prize in that contest, so I would hope it’s good.”
Kurt put an arm around Connor’s shoulder and proclaimed to the imagined masses in front of them. “I can see it now, Connor. We’ll both head to college after the summer. You will write an amazing horror film and I will shoot it. It will get wildly popular on YouTube, some Hollywood exec will see it, and we will be rich beyond our wildest dreams.”

Connor shoved Kurt’s arm off him with a grunt. “Right, just like what happened with these guys whose series you’re showing me. What’s it called again?”

“Marble Hornets,” Kurt said, pulling out some DVDs. “And, well, they’re not rich and famous yet, but they should be.”

“And it’s about a tall man or something?” Connor said, settling into the couch.

“And you call yourself a horror buff,” Kurt said scornfully as he put the first DVD in. “It’s Slender Man. And he’s scary as hell.”

“We’ll see,” Connor said as the DVD started.

A few hours later Connor stood up and stretched. “That was surprisingly good,” he said.
“I know, right?” Kurt said, popping the DVD back out. “Who would’ve thought a tall faceless dude could be so scary?”

“Not me,” Connor said, turning to look at the clock. “I’m gonna head home. I still have finished packing for our camping trip.”

“My dad is totally stoked for this,” Kurt said. “I think he’s more excited than I am.”

Connor laughed. “My dad’s tolerating it. You should have seen all the bug spray he bought.”

“You want me to drive you home?” Kurt asked as Connor headed for the door.

“I live three blocks away, I can walk,” Connor said, as he opened the door.

“I just don’t want to the Slender Man to get you,” Kurt said.

“Cute,” Connor said as he walked outside. He waved. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kurt.” Putting his hands in his pockets, he strolled across the lawn and down the street.

As he walked, Connor’s brain turned over the concept of the Slender Man in his head. Why was he around? What exactly did he do besides stand around menacingly? And more importantly, how would he use him in a story?

Connor stopped as something black and white flashed by him in his peripheral vision. Heart beating, he turned to look to his right. “Hello?” he said. A click on the pavement behind him made him jump. “Who’s there?” he said, whipping around. A wagging tail greeted his vision and friendly brown eyes. He sighed and laughed at himself. “Hello, Daisy,” he said to the black and white dog in front of him. “Did you jump your fence again?” Daisy just wagged her tail in response. “Come on then,” he said, patting his leg to get her to follow him. “I’ll take you home.”

The next day Kurt, Connor, and both their dads piled into a Suburban packed tight with camping gear. “Let’s get this trip started!” Kurt hooted from the back seat.
“All right!” Kurt’s dad said as he turned on the ignition. Connor’s dad grunted in the passenger seat.

“So, you lose any sleep last night?” Kurt said, shoving Connor.

Connor yawned. “Yeah, I had more packing to do than I thought.”
Kurt gave an exasperated sigh. “Not that.”
“What then?” Connor asked, puzzled. “Oh, Slender Man.” He shrugged. “It was good, Kurt.

Scary even. But I’ve been writing stuff like this for a long time. I know it’s not real.”

“Killjoy,” Kurt muttered, settling back in his seat.

They spent the rest of the ride chattering about the park they would be camping in and the college they would be going to. Kurt’s dad piped in enthusiastically about hiking trails and fishing streams, while Connor’s dad told them about his old fraternity days whenever Kurt’s dad stopped for breath.

They pulled into the state park early in the afternoon and found their campsite. After they set up camp, Kurt grabbed Connor’s arm. “My dad says there’s an awesome hiking trail close by that leads to a nearby lake. Let’s check it out.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Connor said, sitting on the ground. “I could use a nap.”
“Connor, come on,” Kurt said tugging on his arm.
“Stay together,” Kurt’s dad called after them as Kurt bounced off and Connor trudged behind him. Kurt grabbed his pack as he passed his tent.

“It’s not gonna be that long of a hike, is it?” Connor asked.

“Be prepared,” Kurt said with a mischievous grin. Connor sighed and grabbed his own pack.

The trees quickly closed in on them as they walked away from the campsite. “Ooo, he could be here,” Kurt said, spinning around slowly in place.”
“Uh-huh,” Connor said, slapping at his neck. He was beginning to wish he had grabbed some of his dad’s bug spray.
“Hey, hold up a second, I gotta take a leak,” Kurt said, shifting his pack and running off into the woods.
“Kurt, wait, stop!” Connor hollered after him, shifting his own pack. “We’re supposed to stick together!”
“You wanna watch me pee you perve?” Kurt hollered back.
“Not particularly,” Connor said to himself leaning against a tree. He sighed as he waited for Kurt.
A few minutes later, Connor bolted upright when he heard a panicked yell. “Connor, Connor! Get over here, quick!”
Connor dropped his pack and leaped off the path. “Kurt?” he yelled.
“Connor!” Kurt yelled back.

Connor followed the sound of his voice deeper into the woods. “Connor!” Kurt yelled again, close by. Connor rounded a corner and came to a stop as a black and white suit flew at him from high in the air. “Geez,” Connor said, throwing himself backwards. He thrashed for a moment before he realized the suit was empty. He lay back down. “Funny, Kurt,” he said.

He heard laughter above him and looked up. Kurt was sliding down a nearby tree. “Oh, no, Slender Man doesn’t scare me,” Kurt said, grabbing the suit and stuffing it back in his pack.

Connor cuffed the back of his head. “I’m going back to camp,” he said. “Come on.”

Kurt followed him, still giggling. Connor shook his head. “Could you please stop with the giggling? You got me, okay?” Kurt stopped giggling. “Thank you,” Connor said, continuing forward. Then he realized it wasn’t just the giggling that had stopped. Kurt had stopped walking completely.

Connor turned around. “What now?” he said. Kurt was standing open-mouthed, staring at something behind and above Connor. Connor turned around and looked. Trees, trees, and more trees stood in front of him but nothing else.
“No,” Kurt whispered. “It can’t be.”

Connor turned back around. “Look, the suit was funny but you need to knock it off, Kurt.”

Kurt wasn’t listening to him though. He was slowly backing away with his hands up. “I can see you,” he whispered. “Isn’t that enough?”

Connor took a step towards Kurt. “Kurt, “ he said slowly, worry creeping into his voice. “What are you talking about?”

Kurt screamed, high and shrill. It should have been funny. Connor should have been joking about what a little girl Kurt sounded liked. But all Connor could see was they very real terror in Kurt’s eyes as he scrambled backwards, waving at something Connor could not see. “No, no,” Kurt was shrieking, holding up his hands. His eyes locked with Connor’s. “You have to see him,” he screamed. “He says he’ll kill me if you can’t see him!” And then a spurt of red slashed across Kurt’s chest and he screamed again. Connor ran forward then. He couldn’t see what was hurting his friend, but that wound had to come from somewhere.
But even as Connor ran forward, Kurt moved back, only Connor wasn’t sure it was under his own power anymore. It was more like he was skidding as someone pushed him. More red slashes appeared on Kurt’s arms and face and he tried to cover himself as his screams grew quieter. “I didn’t believe, not really,” he whimpered. And then a single deep red point appeared in the middle of Kurt’s chest. He gave one final wail, and then fell silent.
Connor finally caught up with Kurt. He knelt down and shook him by the shoulder. “Kurt, Kurt!” he yelled. Kurt’s body crunched the underbrush and Connor shook him more urgently. “Kurt!” he screamed, his own terror full-throated now. But Kurt didn’t answer. Connor let his hands drop from Kurt and slowly he stood up backing away. There was no doubt in his mind to who the “he” Kurt had been screaming about was, but that wasn’t possible. “You’re not real,” Connor said, voice shaking. But, a squiggling little doubt wormed into his mind. As he backed away, his eyes turned towards the shadows cast by the trees. And then one branch’s shadow seemed to move and snake. And then two. And three. Slowly Connor turned around. A glimpse of black and a head far far too high in the air.

He didn’t scream again. He was too far gone for that. He just ran, heedless of where he went. He didn’t dare look behind him. He knew, knew that if he did he would be lost. Trees flashed past. His stumbled and fell in a briar patch. Hands stinging he shoved himself up. His knees felt wet. He was bleeding. No time to stop though. Just one breath then the next.
Eventually at the top of a steep incline, he lost his footing and fell. End over end he tumbled, neck turning awkwardly at points, but always stopping just short of a break. He came to a stop on his back and out of breath at the bottom of the hill. He looked up at the sky, dazed, seeing the sunlight patter through the branches above him. He was vaguely aware that he appeared to have landed in a patch of mushrooms, that were now encircling him on all sides. And then, something very thin and very tall moved above him.
He was falling again and Connor wondered if he had imagined stopping at the bottom of the hill. But it was dark now. He couldn’t see anything. Just a sensation of weightlessness. He flailed his arms and legs and met nothing.

Something thin but strong encircled his right wrist. Automatically, he pulled away, but he found he couldn’t move his arm. Whatever was around his wrist was twining its way up his arm. Breathing hard, he pulled with all his might. His left hand felt through the pitch black, scratching and clawing at the thing that was moving up his arm. But it was implacable. Nothing he did stopped it. And then it was on his shoulder and wrapping around his neck. He stiffened, wondering if it meant to choke him. But ,though the tendril was firm, it didn’t crush his neck. It snuck around his head and then he felt, rather than saw, it hover just above his right eye. “No, no, no!” he said as he felt it suddenly plunge forward. Vitreous humor dripped down his cheek, but Connor had scant time to worry about that.

For as the tendril plunged into his eye, visions began to play in his mind. He saw small children on a playground, laughing and running. But as he watched, it was if the very air grew unstable and it wavered. He felt heat as he had never known, felt his arms breaking into blisters. He heard crackling all around him as if he was sitting in a fireplace, and he prayed that the fire would take him. The laughter of the children melded into screams. Screams of pain and, worse, screams of terror. Something malevolent moved towards them through the flames, something that had come to claim them. They should have died in the flames, should have moved on. But something was holding them back, tying them into this one moment of agony, and holding them there until they forgot they had ever known anything else. And Connor was with them in that moment, held suspended between life and death, and he cried, his tears mixing with the jelly pouring from his right eye.

Then more tendrils came and shook him, shook him by his shoulders, back and forth. The screaming became deeper and less panicked. And Connor thought this was odd, because he wasn’t screaming anymore, and the kids’ screams had been so high-pitched it was odd to hear such a mature tone coming from them. Had they been trapped here so long they had grown? The shaking came again and Connor heard his name. “Connor, can you hear me?”
His eyes flew open and he saw far above him a crescent moon rising above the trees. He bolted up, hand flying to his right eye. It was whole, and as he removed his shaking hand, he found he could see fine. “Connor?” someone questioned next to him, but he ignored it. He pulled his right sleeve up, but his arm was whole and unblemished. Trembling, he tried to stand up, but felt hands pushing him back down, a voice urging him to take it easy. The voice was shouting to others now. Connor turned towards the voice and a small corner of his mind registered that it was his dad who was now hugging him and crying.
“Dad,” Connor said voice cracking. His dad hugged him tighter as Connor heard other people stumbling down the hill. “Dad,” Connor began again. “Where’s Kurt?”
His dad pulled away and looked him in the eye. And Connor knew without a word that Kurt was gone. And he wondered if Kurt was really gone or tied to that one moment where you hung between worlds. Burying his head in his hands, Connor sobbed.

“Patrick,” somebody said to Connor’s dad as he continued to sob. “They caught the sonuva bitch that killed Kurt.”

Connor looked up, confused. “But how could you catch him?” he asked. His dad just patted his back and said something about shock. And then firm arms were helping him up and moving him, and Connor, confused, tired, and frightened, let them lead him up the hill and out of the woods.

* * *
Connor sighed as he looked out the window. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe this is our last visit.” He turned his head to look at the woman behind the desk.
She smiled. “Our last scheduled visit. You’ve come a long way from when I first met you. Screaming about the faceless man who killed your friend.”
Connor sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “It all seemed so real Dr. Kennedy. Sometimes I still see him . . . it in my dreams.”

“It’s to be expected,” Dr. Kennedy said, folding her hands and placing them on her desk. “You will probably always associate this ‘slenderman’, as you called him, with your friend’s death in some manner. It was easier for your mind to associate the brutal killing of your friend with a monster than with a man. The medication should continue to help with the bad dreams. And if you ever need me, day or night, you can always call.” She opened a drawer on her desk and pulled something out. “By the way, before you go there’s something I would like you to do for me.”

Connor stood up and walked over to the desk. “What’s that?”

Dr. Kennedy looked up at him and smiled. “Your book, By the Fire’s Light. Would you sign it for me?”
Connor laughed as he reached over and slid the book to himself. Dr. Kennedy handed him a pen. “You know, you were right,” he said, as he scrawled his name and a small note of thanks on the inside cover. “Writing it out, the faceless man and the fire and the kids, really did help me to get it out of my head. I didn’t think I’d be turning it into a book when I started.”
“I think it’s good,” Dr, Kennedy said, taking the book back from Connor. “You’ve taken something destructive in your life and turned it into something constructive.”
“Just one last thing to do, I guess,” Connor said, looking out the window.
Dr. Kennedy cocked her head. “So you still plan to visit Kurt’s killer today?”
Connor nodded, still looking out the window. “I just want to hear it from him. Why he did it.”
“This could be closure you need,” Dr. Kennedy said, standing. Connor turned back to her. “I think it’s a good thing. Just like your book.” She smiled again. “The critics are eating it up from what I’ve seen. It’s starting to sell like wildfire.”

“Heh, right, wildfire,” Connor said, repressing a small shudder. He reached out a hand. “Well, thanks for everything, doc,” he said.

Dr. Kennedy took his hand and shook it. “Good luck to you, Connor.”
Fifteen minutes later found Connor on the way to the State Penitentiary. His blue Corolla rolled down the Interstate. A feeling of anxiety had been building in him all day. Normal, he supposed, he was going to confront his friend’s killer. He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck again. A flash of black and white next to him on the road made him catch his breath. Checking the rear view mirror, he saw a man in a business suit on the shoulder of the road, looking at a car with smoke pouring from the hood. Connor sighed. “Get a hold of yourself, Connor,” he murmured as he pulled off at his exit. “You’ve just put your life back together.”

A guard tower, three buzz-ins, and keyless, cell phoneless, and anything that even looked like a weaponless later, Connor sat down in front of a plastic barrier. Next to him was a beige telephone. In front of him was a tall burly man. Jared Holloway, Kurt’s killer. Jared’s hair was practically shaved off with only a small bit of dark fuzz showing. His brown eyes were hard and his fingers gnarled. Jared picked up the phone. Connor did the same.
“So,” Jared said, a sneer on his face. “I suppose you’ve come to find out why I did it.”
Connor looked into Jared’s face, at the sneer, the hate. He looked into Jared’s eyes, and saw, just for a moment, a flame flicker in them. “No,” Connor said, surprising himself and Jared. “No,” he said again, wonderingly. He put the phone down for a moment and looked around them. The guards were alert for any wrong-doing but they weren’t really paying attention to what he was saying. He picked the phone up again and turned to Jared. “I want to know why you took the blame.”

Jared’s eyes widened for a split-second and then narrowed. “What are you still crazy? Crazy as when they found you after I lost you?” He leaned forward. “It’s simple. I took a knife and sliced your friend up. His blood still dripping from my hands, I turned on you and you ran like a little pansy. You got lucky and I lost you. End of story.”
Connor leaned forward too. “Yes, that’s what you told the cops, the court, everyone.” His eyes locked with Jared’s again. “But it’s not true, is it?” he whispered.

Jared’s eyes flickered back and forth rapidly. Again, for a second, Connor saw a flame dance in them. Jared closed his eyes and shuddered. “Look,” he rasped, voice low and close to panic. “If I say that’s what happened, it’s what happened.” He shook his head. “I may be on death row, but there are things worse than death.” And then before Connor could say anything else, Jared hung up his phone. Connor sat and watched as the guard took him back and wondered.

That night Connor sat in his apartment in his small kitchen dining room area. The only light came from a small lamp on the counter. He looked down at the book in his hands and leafed through the pages. Dr. Kennedy was right, it was selling well and his publisher was already clamoring for a sequel. He should be happy. But he was more apprehensive than ever. Putting the book down on the counter, he grabbed a kettle off the stove and filled it with water. He needed to relax. A cup of tea and then bed. Turning back to the stove, he turned it on. It clicked for a moment as it tried to ignite, and then flames shot out it in a gigantic whoosh.

With a yell, Connor flung himself backwards over the counter. The flames were shooting straight up, impossibly high, licking the wooden cabinet above the stove. The cabinet began to burn, turning black as smoke curled away from it. It was burning as if gasoline had been dumped on the fire, racing across the cabinet door. Connor turned, reaching for his fire extinguisher, and then stopped. In the corner, by the front door, was tall thin space of black that was darker than the surrounding apartment. Connor froze staring at it, even as he felt the heat from the fire behind him lick his back. And then it moved towards him. “No, no,” Connor screamed, bolting towards his bedroom door. He shoved it closed and locked it, for all the good it would do. Even as he closed the door, he could hear the fire whooshing, growing. There was an orange glow coming from the crack beneath the door. Backing away, Connor looked around him. He was on the fourth floor. The only way down was a long jump. He backed against the window. “Why now,” he whispered. “Why have you come?”
There was no answer as the door crackled and the room began to fill with smoke. Vaguely Connor was aware that smoke alarms were going off and that people in the hall were running for the fire escape. But more importantly he was aware that flames were licking through the door now and in the smoke he could see dancing tendrils weaving in through the cracks.
With sudden resolve he lifted the window. “You may have taken them,” he said, turning to the door one more time. He climbed up into the window as a business suit came into view, smoke and flame obscuring his view so he couldn’t tell if the tie was red, or just black reflecting the flame’s light. “But you won’t take me.” And then he pushed backwards, not daring to look below him.

Wind whistled in his ears as he fell. Connor didn’t feel fear. Instead he felt a certain giddiness. And when what looked like a head popped out of his window, he waved cheerily for just a second before his body hit the concrete sidewalk. There was jarring pain all through him and stars flooded his vision. “At least I get to leave,” he thought, hearing screams and running feet distantly. And then he thought no more.

Credit To – Star Kindler

The sound of footsteps was audible in the merchant’s square. People walked around buying food, supplies, and the occasional odd item. I was setting up my wares for the day-medicines for the sick and potions to cure pain. I loved helping the people of Florence. Everyone needs healing. No one should be sick. I sold little charms, trinkets for luck, fertility, good health, and many other human needs. I also sold little toys for children, for I felt sorry for them. Especially the poor, the orphans, and the homeless, who wandered the streets cold, hungry, and sad. I kept prices low, so that anyone could buy what they need. If the person could not pay, I would give them the item they needed, telling them to pay when they could. I sympathized with them. I knew how it felt to be in need, and it wasn’t fun.

My business practices, though, seem to anger the doctores and other merchants. “I was pulling customers away!” they would say. All I would tell them was “I am doing what I think is right, not what makes the most money. Please leave me to my work.” I knew it was dangerous to make enemies, but that was the way I thought.

Though if they had known how I made my potions from the beginning, I would have met my demise before I could become a threat.
You see, I practiced the art of magic, something that was forbidden. I never did anything to hurt people. I was always careful. No one needed to know my secrets, and I intended to take my secrets to the grave.

But, even the most careful person can make a mistake…

One night, when I was making a new potion for a child who was coughing up a red liquid, I saw a strange glow from the corner of my eye. I looked up to find one of my books glowing on my work space. The glowing book mystified me. None of my books had done something like this. I opened the book, which had opened to a particular page. It was a summoning spell. Something came over me that night, and I began the spell. I don’t remember what I did, though even if I could, I would not tell you. I remember a flash of light, and a strange, almost menacing laughter, then darkness.

I woke up the next morning on the ground, my head pounding. When I stood and saw what I did, I panicked. A pentacle was drawn on the ground. It looked like it was drawn in blood. In the middle was a circle with an X in the center, this was burned into the ground. I quickly covered the symbols with a rug that I had rolled up in a corner. The rug was big enough to cover the pentacle, and the strange symbol. Feeling that I was successful, I packed up my wares and went to the merchant’s square. Everything was going to be alright.

All day that day I felt uneasy. I could hear the strange laughter in the background of the market. I saw a shadow just out of the edge of my vision multiple times. I became worried. Did I awaken a spirit that night? I did not know. I tried to act natural, but I think that people began to suspect. I know people began to suspect. They were not stupid. They knew.

Near the end of the day a group of children came to my stand, asking for medicine to help their mother. I was out of medicine for the day, so I told them to stop by my home, that I would have the medicine there. “What could go wrong?” I thought, “I covered up the symbols, no one would know.”
At that point, the laughter started again, this time much louder. I waved it off, thinking nothing of it this time. Nothing will happen. Nothing at all.
That night the children arrived. I told them to wait in my living quarters, and went to get the potion. I had found the potion when I heard the screams. Dropping the potion, I rushed out to see what was wrong.

What I saw made me freeze with fear.

The room had been covered with bloody pentacles, in the center that same circle. The children looked at me, horror on their faces, for they knew what that meant. Before I could do anything, they started screaming again. I tried to hush them, but no matter what I did, they continued to scream. Guards had come soon after.

I do not remember what had happened after that. I do remember days upon days of being locked away in a dungeon, the strange laughter echoing off the brick walls, driving me insane. For what had seemed like years I sat in a corner, listening to the laugh, thinking about those children. Why did they not stop? Why did they not listen? THEY were why I was there, sitting in a dungeon. It was their entire fault!

By the time the guards came, all that was left of me was skin and bone. All I could do was rock back and forth, muttering about children and laughter. One of the guards must have hit me in the head, because the next thing I know, I am strapped to something, a crowd of people standing in front of me, shouting curses and profanities. I was in shock. How could they? When I had helped so many of them?!

The pain started then. It felt like my body was being torn in two. I started to scream, the pain was unbearable. I cursed them back, thoughts back-stabbing, wretched creatures! They would not help me! They hated me! I did nothing to them, and they hated me!

I felt pricks of pain go through my eyelids, then my mouth. I could no longer see, no longer scream. I felt liquid hit me. It burned. I hated them! HATED THEM! All of them! Especially the children. Oh, how they should suffer! If not for them, I would not have been caught! It was their entire fault!
I heard something in my mind. The laughter. Darkness suddenly filled the back of my mind. Behind my closed eyes, I saw tentacles of pure darkness. They wrapped themselves around my mind. The laughter became a voice. A horrible voice.

“Do you hate them so much?”
“Yes.” I said.
“You wish to make them suffer?”
“YES!”
“Then our deal is done.”
The pain subsided. My vision cleared. It was dark, but I could see. I tried to blink, but could not. I felt something, but not happiness, sadness, or even surprise.

I felt anger.

They were still there. Laughing, playing. They will suffer. All of them. But the children will suffer more.
Oh, how they will.
They will…

Credit To – Nighthawk

I tense up at the sudden noise from my headphones that breaks the silence in my dorm room. It takes a while, but I adjust to the noise, letting the video play out with mild interest. My stomach growls harshly, I should get something to eat from the basement. I glance at the clock; 3:06 a.m. About bedtime, Kyle. I think to myself.

I roll over after laying my laptop aside and cover my tired eyes, only more tired by the effects of the glare from a computer screen that has shone into them for hours. The covers are warm against me, and my roommate’s steady breathing adds more white noise to the air conditioning unit above my bed. The air conditioner shuts off and the room is still, even my roommate’s breathing is too light for my sleep-deprived ears to pick up. It seems at night, silence breaks even itself.

So I lay there, for God knows how long. Listening. The silence is good for that. I lay there and adjust to a more comfortable position and as I get comfortable, I am brought back to alertness by the sudden noise of a few drunk friends in the hall coming back from a late-night party. They don’t say anything important; just being extra loud like most of their kind. So, I lay there, listening to one complain about his girlfriend being whiney and another tell him how whipped he is.

After the ramble calms, I close my eyes and attempt to sleep again, rolling over. My stomach growls loudly, ravenously, wolf-like, begging for a snack. So, I get up and slip on some short and flip-flops to go downstairs, pocketing a few quarters as I leave the room.

Newberry is always empty after midnight, but I don’t feel like taking the elavators, they take too long. So I walk across the hall to the stairwell, very reliable and fast when you live on the second floor.

The door closes behind me and the solid thud echoes up and down the eight floors of the stairs. It’s eerie how quiet it is afterwards. Not even the usually annoying, cheap, flourescent lights buzz. Just the sharp SMACK! of my flip-flops hitting my heels as I make my way to the stairs leading down.

I softly climb down the stairs, strangely nervous about being alone. I feel like I’m being watched, so I lean over the side of the railings and look straight up the stairwell. Nothing. And then I look straight down. Nothing.

I must just be getting paranoid at nothing, so I shake it off the best I could and make it down to the first floor, smiling at the only camera above the door and walking into the door leading to more stairs, which lead to the basement. So far so good.

This door is incredibly loud, and the sound rings off the walls for what felt like forever. But there was something else. I listen as hard as I can, but I don’t hear it again. It sounded strange, like a wheeze or a shuffle of something. Just another student, I think to myself, waving off the paranoia, with little effect. My eyes droop heavily, and I slowly continue marching down the stairs, ready to eat.

I make it to the basement and walk through the small maze of hallways into the open area we affectionately call “The Man-Cave,” which is nothing much, just a pool table, some ping-pong, and of course, vending machines. It’s dimly lit, and empty, save a few couches and those previously mentioned.
I walk slowly towards the machines, which stand in the darker area, the shadows seem to twist and stretch. My sleep-deprived brain can’t comprehend much. And out of the corner of my eye, in the hallway, I see a figure. It’s gone now. But it was incredibly tall, and dark. I didn’t look directly at it, because I’m always cautious to not move when in danger. I read The Ranger’s Apprentice… I really may seem weird for it, but I follow a lot of the stealth patterns presented in it. I mark off this sighting as mere sleep-deprivation. But my mind is racing. I don’t feel very hungry anymore… And my hands won’t stop shaking. I have no idea why I’m so scared… I just need to get to the room.

I grab a few snacks and something to drink and head to the elavator. I don’t care how long it takes, I just want to feel safer. So I wait by the laundry room, staring into the obscure room from which I came. Nothing changes, save a few instances of my vision making me believe I see someone standing in the corner, behind the vending machines… Peeking at me from near the top. I don’t think it’s a person, there’s no face, after all. It’s just the light playing tricks on me… But I can’t help but to feel upset at the sight of this. It couldn’t be real… Maybe I should check it out a little more….

DING! The elevator snaps me out of my terrified stupor and I board it with my sloppy groceries. Pressing the “2″ on the pad. As the doors slide together, I look and feel both relieved and worried that the “face” isn’t there anymore. Watching me. My nerves are on end as I pace around the dingy little box.

It finally stops, and I get off. The doors slide together and I get off and begin to head towards my room, pausing as I look and notice it looks different… A few lights have gone out on my end, I realize. I think nothing of it, but it still adds to my paranoia as I enter the longer halls.

I creep around the corner, and look down the hall into the frightening darkness that embraces the end so tightly. And at the end I stop in slight shock and fear as I notice the tall man standing there. He seems to be bald, and must be looking down, or his face blurred by my vision, for I left my glasses in the room. Either way, I can’t make out anything other than a pale globe on his shoulders… His strangely thin shoulders, I notice as I draw nearer to my door, which is safely away from him… I can’t help but feel fear rising in me as I see him… Standing there. Watching me. I can’t see any eyes but I feel the gaze. I walk faster to my door, and try to open it. The door won’t open with my key, so I look up… Trying to ignore the feeling of his gaze. His horrifying gaze cutting into me.

“406,” the door read. I must have pressed the wrong button by accident. That’s why it looks so different. I look back down the hall and I don’t see anyone. This doesn’t help my stomach at all. I feel even worse now. That man was JUST there. Where could he have gone? I rush to the stairs, for they are closer than the elevator… And I don’t feel like standing in this hallway any longer than I need to.

The door slams louder than any of the others and makes me ears ring. But the ringing doesn’t stop. It just grows louder with each step down. I feel like I’m being watched by that man. I don’t know why, but I feel sick just imagining him. I’m panicking. I feel unsafe. Like I’m in danger.

I pass by the third floor’s doorstop and look through the small glass window for a person to talk to, just to get my mind away from this paralyzing fear… Or maybe to seek help. But through the window I see a man, dressed in a black-tie affair-like outfit, with the longest arms I’ve ever seen, standing there. He is much closer now, and I can see his face… Or where his face should be.

There was nothing. Just a pale white head. No sign of age, or wrinkles. The sight of it causes my stomach to lurch and I vomit on the door. The thing makes no response besides to stand there, as if enjoying my horror. Just watching through a window.

I tear myself away from the scene, as my body feels drawn to this thing. I run down the rest of the stairs and, feeling as if I’m safer, puke over the siderail in fear. As I open my eyes to look at how bad my sickness was all over the bottom steps I see him.

Staring at me. Slowly stepping up the stairs… But his head never moves… His neck just stretches over the side and keeps watching my pain and fear… Torturing me.

“WHAT?!” I scream and throw my food at him. He has no reaction. But the neck draws back under the staircase, and he dissappears from view. I run onto my floor in utter terror, just wanting to go to bed. And I turn around, and there, only a few steps behind me, he stood. Arms outstretched, as if beckoning me to come let him hold me. I choke on vomit as I see his face ripple across and lunge with all my might to my room.

I turn the corner and I see him again. On the far end. Staring. Like an ever-present Guardian Angel watching over me in my pains. I vomit again. This time it hurts horribly, and I can see drops of red leak from my lips as I finish. I start to cry. I feel like I’m going to die. I just want to give up. There’s no hope…

I make it to my door, which was just a few steps away, and open the door. The sound of my roommate’s breathing is all to be heard. No more ringing. Just breathing. I flip on the light and close the door, my roommate doesn’t stir. I close the door and look in the mirror attached to the back.

I look insane. My eyes are red and puffy, my hair a mess, and a tear stuck in suspended animation in my unkempt chin hair. I still don’t feel as safe I as I think I should. I turn around and begin to walk to my bed when I hear a THUNK! in my closet. I stop moving. And stare in horror as a long pale hand pushes the door open and a tall, thin, creature steps out. I turn around. Not wanting to look at it. But I can see it in the mirror.

I watch it stalk toward me on those tall legs. I watch it stop only inches behind me. And I feel it slowly close it’s limbs around me.

Then nothing but silence.

Credit To: Kyle Bailie

I jammed my hands into the pockets of my pullover sweater, and hunched my shoulders slightly against the morning chill. The spongy forest floor cushioned and muffled each footfall into near perfect silence. That explains why I didn’t know I was being watched. Followed. Never alone. Unsafe. The towering redwoods used to bring me comfort, sheltering me with their spiny branches. Then there was that day. Just that one day. Changing everything. It was morning, a bit early. Just after dawn.
The ocean fog had rolled in, shrouding everything in a thick mist. Even though I was young, just a teen, I knew my mom would be okay with me walking around this early. I had grown up in these woods after all. I should have noticed that new tree. A tree that hadn’t been there yesterday. A tree that shouldn’t have been there at all. It wasn’t even a tree. But I didn’t take notice because an odd rustling, swishing sound approached me from behind. A light chill ran across my shoulders as I spun frantically to look at the source of the noise.
My cat, Anna, trotted up to me happily through the fog and rubbed her head on my leg. I ran my hands through her long, silvery fur. How could I have been so paranoid? She almost always followed me on my walks. I strolled a bit longer, Anna following me unusually closely. Suddenly, she darted off into the forest, leaving me alone. I didn’t know that was the last time I would have see her alive. How could I have?
“Hm. Must have been a squirrel,” I said slowly. I kept walking. Then I heard it. An unearthly yowl. An animal in pain. A cat. My cat. “Anna!” I shout into the grayness, crashing through the undergrowth towards the sound of my beloved pet. A small clearing opened in front of me. Empty. Lifeless. An old redwood sat at the other side of the clearing. I stepped toward it. Closer, until it was six feet from my face. Bile rose in my throat as I saw a symbol scrawled on the bark. An ‘X’ superimposed on a circle. Written in blood. Fresh blood.
A buzzing sound filled my ears, like that of an insect. I stared at the symbol, not knowing what to think. The buzz increased in frequency until it was a high-pitched ring. It hurt my ears. They felt like they were on the verge of bleeding. Yet, somehow, I still managed to hear a soft laugh behind me; an evil snicker. I turned slowly, and saw him. It. Whatever the Hell it is or was. It was So. Tall. 10 feet maybe. At first I thought it was a logger. I had seen some pretty big loggers in my life. But what logger wears a goddamn business suit in the forest? And I have never seen, or will see, a human that tall.
And what human has that many limbs? Along with two abnormally long, spindly arms, it had…others. Tentacles. Four. Six. Eight. Maybe ten. It was skinny, too. Unnaturally slender. I saw something in its hands. In it’s white hands, something silver and gray…and scarlet. In each hand. Dripping scarlet off of soft fur. The ringing in my ears gave way to his laughter. Filling my ears. Filling my mind. Cramming itself into my soul. Eating away the good. The happy. Leaving darkness, blood, pain.
Several emotions flood through me at once. Rage. Sadness. Pain. Above all, fear. Undiluted fear courses through my veins along with frantic adrenaline, making me feel as though I am freezing and boiling at the same time. An awful cough rattled my bones, forcing me to my hands and knees. My back arched slightly as I inhaled, sounding like death. But that was impossible. How could I be Death? How could I be when he was standing before me?
I glanced up briefly, hoping he would be gone. Hope was crushed. Crushed in the face of fear. He was still there, closer. About 5 feet away from me. I was still on the ground. Then he moved. He leaned towards me. I didn’t look up. He bent down and grabbed me with one of his long, bony tentacles, binding my arms to my sides. He lifted me off of the ground as if I weighed nothing. My eyes fluttered closed. I felt him grab my chin with his hand. Even with his palm on my chin, his long fingers reached into my hairline. His hands were surprisingly warm.
I opened my eyes slowly. I opened my eyes to look upon his face. Our heads were about 3 feet apart. At first everything was fuzzy. I could see shapes. I saw the outline of his head, tilted slightly as if in curiosity. He angled my head another way, and my vision came into focus. I opened my mouth to scream. He had no face. Smooth, white, bald blankness. No eyes to examine me with, though that was what he seemed to be doing. No mouth to laugh with, but I knew he had. I will never forget that laugh.
My scream never made it. Impossibly fast, his hand slid up to my mouth, clamping my jaw shut, displacing some of my hair, which had been tucked behind my ear. He shook his head slowly. I flailed, kicking my legs wildly. In the same unnatural quickness, another sharp, angular tentacle wrapped itself around my ankles, immobilizing me completely. He shook his head more emphatically, squeezing my jaw until it felt like my bones would snap.
Even though I willed myself against the impulse to cry, a tear rolled down my cheek. With unexpected tenderness that contradicted the extreme pressure on my jaw, he reached up with his other hand to brush away the tear and tuck my hair out of my face.
He tilted my head this way and that, and when he seemed satisfied, he shrugged a little and carelessly dropped me on the ground. I landed on my back, the air pushed out of my lungs. I managed to breathe after several seconds. He stood over me, watching, staring down at me. He waited for me to catch my breath. When I did, he kicked me viciously in the ribs, flipping me over onto my stomach. I felt a rib crack, sending searing pain through my chest. That, coupled with the pain in my jaw, forced a small whimper out of me.
He chuckled at my pain. Then I watched him walk away. Every breath hurt. I watched until the fog had almost completely hidden him from view. Then he stopped suddenly, and turned back to look at me again. In an instant, he was right behind me, he grabbed the hood of my sweater and lifted me off of the ground again, the hood practically choking me.
“What do you want from me?” I managed to say. More cold laughter. With abrupt cruelty, all pairs of thin tentacles pierced my back. What did I know of pain? Who was I to say I that I had known agony? He did nothing to mute my screams, which echoed through the forest in a haunting song of misery. The pain was nothing I had experienced, or will experience ever again. I heard someone shout my name, far in the distance. He raised my body over his head, and gave my body a little jolt, driving the knives of agony deeper into my chest. My screams doubled in intensity.
He finally flung me to the ground, and more bones broke. Blood trickled out of my mouth. My sobs rolled through the clearing, and then the darkness closed in.

I remember waking up in the hospital, hearing voices on the other side of the curtain. Voices talking about how I was lucky that the eight stab wounds missed any vital organs, any organs at all really. He just nicked a lung. A few broken ribs, a cracked ulna. I heard them say that the body of a convicted felon was found hanging from a tree they day after I was attacked. Convenient. Convenient for him and clever of him. Everyone would think that the criminal had killed himself in an act of remorse for what he had done to me.
When my parents asked me what happened, ‘What did I remember?’, I lied. I told them I remembered walking through the forest, and the man had run up behind me, and stabbed me. I told them I blacked out almost instantly. The police questioned me a little, but since the case was pretty much closed, they didn’t really bother me after that.
He didn’t kill me. He didn’t kill me on purpose. He didn’t because he’s not done with me. I still see that symbol now and then. Here, there. Everywhere. I still have scars. Nobody knows the truth. Nobody but you now. Now that you know him, he knows you. He will find you. You might not see him right away. But he sees you. You might get lucky. He might kill you from the beginning. Or you might be like me. You might be haunted by that slender man. Then he takes you away. He takes you away eventually. He makes your life a living Hell until you welcome death. Ah-I see he has finally come for me. He stands behind me now. He is behind you, too, somewhere. Waiting. Watching.

Goodbye.  ⊗

Credit To: Shannon

As of late, I’m losing more and more sleep each night. I stay up at night, watching the windows, knife in hand. Not much good it’ll do if that thing is real…
I guess I should start from the beginning, shouldn’t I?
It started about a month or two ago with my friend (I’m using another name for safety reasons), Vic. I was just sitting at my computer, watching random youtube videos when Vic sent me a text.

It read: “Check out creepypasta slender man on youtube.”

At first I lied and said, “Sure, man.”
It took me about another two weeks to actually look it up because I was bored. I watched it and it kind of freaked me out to know that some tall guy in a suit with no face has been a myth for a few years. I shoved it to the side as nothing and continued on with my life.

I mentioned to my friend that I had watched it and he said he had been freaked out lately, feeling like something had been watching him. I told him to come over to my place and stay the night if it got any worse. He came over that night.

We mainly stayed up and played video games (he was beginning to act normally again)and we stayed up until about three in the morning and decided we should probably call it a night. Before I reached over and turned the light out, Vic asked if I could do a favor. He asked me if we could record a little something of us for memories sake. I said sure, thinking nothing of it. We made a brief recording, saying how it was just us at three in the morning, “chilling out and hanging.” After that, we went to bed and that was that.
I woke up the next morning and noticed Vic wasn’t where he had fallen asleep. I figured he had already gotten up and was downstairs getting something to eat.

I headed downstairs and couldn’t find him anywhere. I called for him and when he still hadn’t responded, I grabbed my phone and decided to call him. I heard his ringtone and ran quickly to where the sound came from. He was in the bathroom the whole time. I opened the door and he wasn’t using it, he just sat there on this little stool in there. He apologized, said it was just a stomach ache and decided to spend the night in the bathroom.

He went home shortly after that, leaving me to play video games and enjoy the rest of my day. It was quiet for about another two weeks when my friend mentioned something about Marble Hornets and Slenderman. I decided to look into it, and I watched a few episodes before asking my friend why he keeps watching these things that make him afraid. He didn’t respond. I watched them all the way through that week and decided to see how my friend was doing.

He didn’t respond to any of my texts so I decided to go see him. His landlord told me Vic had moved to another nearby city. I asked if there was a reason and the man said that Vic had been increasingly paranoid lately, staying indoors, keeping out an eye for anything that moved. I became worried about him so I asked the landlord for an address where I could find him. After receiving the info I asked the man if he wouldn’t mind me taking a look inside his place to see if he left anything behind that may indicate why he was acting that way. The man said sure but make it fast.

He gave me the key and I unlocked the door to take a look inside. Everything seemed to have been moved in a hurry, as there were papers everywhere and some trash still on the ground. I walked around the place, looking for answers. When nothing had yet popped up I decided to check the outside of the house, locking the door behind me and checking around. When I went behind the house I noticed a huge circle with an x in the center carved into the wall. I couldn’t make anything of it so I shrugged it off as some kids messing around. Maybe that’s why he was panicking. I returned the key and explained to the land lord the carving in the back of the house and told him to keep an eye out for kids in the neighborhood. They might have been the ones causing it. The landlord nodded, took the key and left.

It was getting late so I decided to go home and rest before looking for him again. I headed home yawning a little bit as I drove. When I got home I started to open the door to my house when I heard someone walking heavily behind me. I turned around and noticed a n owner and her dog walking near the house. I don’t know why that made me look, normally I’d just keep heading inside. I turned back to the door and noticed a black mass move inside. I opened the door and held my keys cautiously. I turned the light on and noticed my dog had hopped up on my couch. I told him to get down and passed it off the shadow as my dog running past the window and hopping up on the couch. Shortly after it began to storm heavily, heavy rain and periodic thunder. I sat back on my bed and decided I’d just try to get some sleep. I woke up to the sound of an extremely loud clap of thunder nearby and decided to get something to drink. I stumbled over to the light switch and flipped it, but nothing happened. Great, i thought to myself. I grabbed a flashlight from my table and turned it on, working my way downstairs to the kitchen. I heard a sound coming from the kitchen, it sounded like the suction from the refrigerator door opening. I realized I had left a rag hanging from the door so my dog must have opened it. I rushed a little faster and snapped out at my dog, before I rounded the corner. When I got into the kitchen, my dog wasn’t there, the door was closed and there was no rag on the handle. I yawned and realized I was probably just imagining things seeing as how I just woke up. I checked my phone briefly and noticed it was four in the morning. All the same I opened the refrigerator door and the light came on. I set the flashlight on the counter, forgetting to turn it off. I grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and opened it and took a swig from it before shutting the door. Suddenly I felt unnerved, like something was watching me. It was a subtle feeling, but it sent chills up my spine all the same. I thought I saw a tall figure to my right but nothing was there so I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. I grabbed the flashlight and headed back upstairs and fell back asleep in no time. But right before I fell asleep, I wondered why my dog wasn’t barking at the thunder. No matter what I do or how many times I calm him, he always barks.

The next day I got up and decided to track down Vic. I headed to his place but he wasn’t home at the time so I left a note telling him to contact me ASAP. I was worried about him. He is like my brother after all.

This was last week.

This week I’m suddenly more jumpy. Maybe Its because I found that same symbol I saw at Vic’s old place carved into the sidewalk right outside my house. I decided to pass it off as kids messing with me. I began keeping my window blinds slightly open so I could see where that symbol was to see if the kids return. That was Monday. Two days ago it started storming VERY bad. Rain just poured from the heavens and lightning echoed closely from the forest near my house. I decided to make myself lunch so I grabbed the toaster to toast some bread for a sandwich. As it was toasting I opened the blinds on the window in my kitchen to watch the rain (I love watching the rain fall. Its calming.) I turned around to answer the text on my phone and in the corner of my eye I noticed a black figure walk past my window. At the same time a clap of thunder must have hit a nearby tree, it got my dog going nuts, and the toaster popped. I jumped and looked outside but no one had passed by. Maybe it was in my head I thought. But I had a second thought as I looked at the text. It was from Vic. I reread the words three times before calling him.

The words read: You’re being followed.

He answered and said he couldn’t talk long but he was coming over. We talked and I asked how he knew this but he said he had been followed too since he got into that slender man stuff. I stared in disbelief but he asked if anything weird had been happening. I told him about the symbol and that night I woke up. He said he would stay the night and have to go tomorrow because of his job. The night he came over, I was far more jumpy . I started carrying a knife in my pocket as a sudden precaution. I was up until four in the morning, not tired at all. Vic had crashed in my reclining chair and I crashed on the couch. I didn’t feel safe in my bed suddenly. For me to act that way it was strange. I’m a logical person, I like facts and truth. And for me to suddenly act paranoid and be checking over my shoulder, it was freaking me out worse than this stupid stalker of mine. What the hell is this thing that’s following me and why is it following me? And before anyone says its slender man, know I don’t believe in him. He doesn’t exist. Its just my mind playing tricks on me. But…at the same time, in the back of my mind, if this thing is real…

I have to find answers. Maybe Vic can help me out.

And if you are the one that has been following me, cut it out. This isn’t funny anymore. If you stop now, I won’t be mad, we can go on our separate lives without ever dealing with this again. But if you continue, know I will find you and I will reveal you to everyone and have you arrested for stalking charges.

If anyone knows anything, please assist me. I’ve included the site you can contact me at the credit link.

-Prophet

Credit To: Prophet

Admin Note: Please do move on on to the credit link if this pasta has you at all intrigued, as this story continues there.

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