Monday, 16 January 2012

Photo of a lanky thing

Thanks for reading my tale.

Where My Eyes Remain

Written by DJay32, who also played the slender man in the above photograph
The slender man is a public domain concept, and I do not claim ownership of it.
The idea that the slender man has a different face for everyone, and that cameras pick up no face at all, was one of the original ideas for the creature.
"Where My Eyes Remain" has permission to be used by the Fearbloggers and slenderbloggers in any way they see fit.
All rights reserved to their rightful owners.

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

End of a Night

It's been a long night.

I woke up with blood all over my legs. My head feels better than it ever has. My pistol is missing, as is my camera. I still have the photograph, though.

The front door was wide open again when I woke up. I'm alone in my house, though; I made sure of it. There's a long trail of blood leading out into the woods.

I can't explain it, but I have the feeling that thing's not coming back. I'm sure it's still out there; I'm certain it's literally not a man, and that bullets could never stop it. No one's ever gonna believe that, but I don't care. I can be a crazy lady. It's better than what I was. But I'm sure the thing won't bother me anymore. Because I was once afraid of it, while now it's a bit of a fading memory.

I can't even remember what its face looked like. The descriptions I read on this blog just sound like ridiculous imaginations, impossible to picture.

Let me just.. say that again. I'm not afraid anymore. I went through a horrible event sixteen years ago, but it's over now. I've grieved. I've shed my fair share of tears, and I've faced my fair share of inner demons. During the past few weeks, I let my memories get the better of me. I committed acts that made me no better than the people I always despised.

And for that, I'm going to turn myself in. I murdered my boss, and I'm going to turn myself in for it. I want to be a new person, to forget all about the creature that's been stalking my mind all my life. I won't let it haunt me anymore.

Thank you for the blog suggestion, Mister Reginald. You're a fantastic counselor.

My name is Veronica, and I'm done suffering.

Something Changes

When I looked out at the living room, I noticed that the door was wide open. It hadn't been kicked down; it looked as if someone else had gone over to it and unlocked it. On one hand, I madly wanted to slam it shut and lock it. On the other, I realized that would trap me in here with it.

..then I looked in the mirror one last time. I didn't see any tall men or even any creatures formerly called "men." I only saw a quickly-aging woman on the verge of tears, the bags under her eyes telling of a lot more than just lack of sleep. She'd been suffering far too long. I didn't need to look at her pale skin in order to see that.

"Enough is enough."

As I stumbled towards my living room door, I saw out of the corner of my eye movement at the top of the stairs. I slammed the door shut and locked it.

And then I shouted.

"I didn't lock myself in here with you, asshole. I locked you in here with me."

And then I stumbled over to the light switch and turned it off. The only light was at the stairs overlooking the front door. I was in darkness, gripping my pistol with the single most steady hand I had ever seen myself using.

"And you've stumbled upon Hell's yard, where Satan, herself, is ready to introduce you to a little thing called the fists of your childhood pain."

I heard him stepping down the stairs. I felt nervous as hell, but I wasn't showing a drop of it beyond my talking more than usual.

"Of course, you may be more accustomed to Satan's fucking pistol. Well, don't worry! You'll get to see that again, too."

I saw his fucking shadow.

"But when Satan's pistol's done, her fists are gonna have their way with you. So dress nicely. Show some fucking respect."

I saw a leg.

"Good thing you're already dressed for the occasion. Isn't that sweet?"

I saw a torso. I suddenly got an idea.

"Hey, you love fucking with the police, don't you? You love it. You even go as far as to never showing yourself to them when I'm desperately begging them to see you."

He stepped a little further down; I could almost see his head. I reached to the table next to me and grabbed my camera.

"Well, how about I show you what it's like? How about you smile for the camera, how about you smile for death?"

I was completely ready to die. The photograph would have merely been a photograph of my killer, perfect evidence. Here he was, coming down the stairs, making it all too easy.

"So step on down, let's see them pearly whites of yours."

He stopped on one stair, and then I took my picture.

And then his face changed. No longer was he the bearded redhead; in a fraction of a second, his face had morphed into the lanky blonde thing, his lips scratching away, and his eyes blinking rapidly fast.

And before I had a chance to take another picture, I wound up firing my gun.

Tuesday, 10 January 2012


The run home felt like a marathon of blood and sweat. After I shot the thing, I ran for my life. Did I honestly think I could outrun it? Hell no, but I wasn't going down without a fight.

A good few minutes of running later, when I was maybe a tenth of the way home, I turned to look back. It wasn't there. I was relieved. Of course, then I turned around again and spotted a tree that wasn't there before.

The bastard didn't even have a bullet hole from where I shot him. Then again, could I honestly tell if I had shot him? For all I know, I completely missed. I made sure not to miss this time, watching him as he recoiled. And then I ran faster.

I didn't hear from him besides a constant rustling behind me until I got home and locked my door tight.

I'm currently typing this out and looking out the window alternatively. I saw him after I posted my last entry, but when I began typing this one, he disappeared. He can't get in. I locked the door.

Childhood Pain

I patrolled my entire house, and there was a tall man in a business suit standing in the woods, but his hair was red and his mouth was bearded. His face was clearly different from the monster I knew too well.

I asked the redhead just what he thought he was doing, trespassing on an officer's property like that. He said nothing. I pulled out my pistol to show him I wasn't in a "fucking around" mood, and he fucking laughed. He laughed at my threat.

I don't take lightly to that.

I approached him, and he backed away. So I had finally found a way to show him who's boss around here. You know what I did? I kept at it. I chased the motherfucker deep into the woods, 'cause honestly, I wasn't afraid to die. You've never seen me, have you? You've never seen the bags below my eyes or my unnaturally pale skin, the work of a woman driven mad by her inner demons. I've been on a countdown to extinction, and I wasn't gonna let some redheaded fucker get away with taunting me.

He led me deep into the woods, and eventually I began to recognize where we were. It was the path of obfuscation, the little dirt road in the middle of the forest where an awful lot of leaves fell. The trees made funny noises there.

The bastard I was chasing was walking the whole time, head tall enough for me to see despite any obstacle. He was walking backwards, making sure I could always see his bearded face. And no matter how quickly I ran, he always walked faster.

By the time we reached the end of the path, I was out of breath, just as he had planned.

At the end of the path, I stumbled upon Hell's backyard. My eyes remained on that tree, that fucking tree. But I couldn't believe my eyes.

The kids' bodies had been cleaned up sixteen years ago; the cops weren't bad enough to just leave a shitload of dead kids' remains on a tree in a forest. Yet here they were, perfectly preserved, as if they'd just died a couple hours ago. One kid's heart was even still beating, despite the branch pierced right through it.

The tree's spine seemed a little too thin, and its branches seemed a little too sharp. I didn't question any of this. I was too busy reliving everything. Everything.

I remembered the screams of my best friends as they felt impossible branches going through the backs of their skulls, sticking out of their mouths. They were muffled by its leaves. I remember one particular friend, Robert Hamford, got seven different branches. His blood fell upon us below. I was afraid of rain until I turned ten. I remembered Rachel, who had shared her lunch with me that day, wound up choking on her own eye.

And I remember the beast calling himself a man was standing tall, ushering us into this freakshow of fuckup. He patted our backs, calling us "brave" and "bright." "There's a future for you here," he said. "Come one, come all, it's a free-for-all, it's the greatest show you'll ever see!" There wasn't a hint of laughter in his voice, wasn't a tad bit of joy. This was business as usual to him. He couldn't stop blinking, 120 beats-per-minute. It created a bit of an illusion of comfort.

Now, tonight, looking at that humongous tree with the thousands of spiny, writhing branches, the deceased children of my haunted memories all pierced on its painful appearance? "Comfort" was the last illusion I was feeling.

And then I felt a warm hand on my back.

I didn't look up. Instead, I pulled out my pistol and pointed up, tilting my hand just a little bit backwards.

And then I fired.

The Adventurous

The day has come and gone, and still I have seen not a sign of his disgusting face. I'm wondering if the thing will ever plague my life again. It has invaded my mind for much too long; if I see it again, I'm going to do all in my power to rip its fucking heart out.

I'm going to take a look around my house. If I see it, it's dead.

The Adventure

A week ago, that thing told me it'd "show me something in a week." Well, that week has gone. What the fuck do you want to show me, you monster from the darkest pits of Hell?