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.
©TheFearMythos2012

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.

Thrill

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?

Roundabout

I've realized my mistakes, and I've relived my childhood traumas. That monster I cannot call a man has taken over my life, and I let him. But I shall suffer onto this no longer.

The thing was not standing at my front door this morning. He knows I've woken from my fool's journey, and if he doesn't already know full well that Hell's coming to his backyard, he'll learn when he hears the devil's name is Veronica.

Humanity is a disgusting piece of pleasure, and that creature made me realize why. The blonde man is not a symptom of mankind, but the study of the disease. With sin comes, as it must, temptation and appeal. With sin comes, as it must, the lie. As children, we were taught lies came in little white packages, and that it was alright for mommy and daddy to cheat on each other and murder their innocence on the literal little white packages you may know as cocaine. But the little white packages are mere proxies to the malevolent structure of black lies. These are not little, but tall and thin. They tempt all of us, ushering us into the streets of disgust and the wheats of lust.

I fell for that thing's web of branches because I did not understand temptation. Well, I'm no longer tempted, you filthy bitch. I'm driven, and you're standing in the middle of my fast lane.

Feel the Rain

I stumbled hard, I stumbled far,
But no man can stop me from stumbling
Upon Hell's backyard, where my eyes remain
Still on the tree of my childhood pain.


I can no longer resolve to do wronger
Than mankind with its insanity mind.
I take my foot and I mark my cut
Through evil's bane and I let my heart feel the rain.


-Hell's Yard (Henry Rutherford)

Would be to remain

He has been silently standing outside my front door all day. He seems to be waiting for me to come out.

Yet I feel such a wide spray of emotion, a bouquet of uncertainty upon a garden of imbalance.

I know not whether to leave or to stay, I know not whether staying would leave me and leaving would be to remain.

The Killing Hand

Today, a man came into the station and pulled a gun on an officer. I apprehended him and told him I was taking him to jail; instead I blindfolded him and drove him to the forest.

On the way, he tried to scare me with tales of the so-called "impressive feats" he pulled out at sea. This only strengthened my desire to leave him for the shaggy-blonde man.

He tried to kick me away as we got out of the car, but I am no longer just a policewoman. You cannot run from a child of the trees. As I dragged his terrified body into the path where all leaves fall, I recognized him by his blonde hair and bloody mouth. He looked at me, and I knew.

He was the albatross.

The Mariner and the Albatross

He led me out into the path where all leaves fall, and there he showed me Big Apple, strung up on the tree but fully conscious.

"He is left staring at his own beating heart, and he screams a lot. The folly be his own; the lurking thing near can tell by smell and sound."

I heard a rustle in the bushes behind us, so he turned to me and told me it was time for me to go back to my home. "You are to bring the mariner by these trees, and the albatross will reward you with your test."

I woke up mere minutes ago on my chair, the moon out my window reminding me of his skin.

Idaho and Big Apple

The investigators came back with their warrant. They found nothing, as I had predicted. Before they left, I asked them if they could accompany me; "I found a dead body you might want to see."

They foolishly agreed to it.

The walk was cold, ice cold, but the fires of his desires kept me warm. As the trees grew around them and the leaves fell, I could hear their nerves wracking up a storm.

I could see him standing ahead of us, hair clean and face seeming fixed, legs standing tall. Big Apple behind me muttered something about "evil red hair," and Idaho said "Who is that?"

And then the picture looked into them and they were gone.

Burn your fingers one by one

He led me out of my house and showed me the path all walk.

Down this path is the creature that lurks, but I must never see its face or else it will take my soul and organs. He wants me to take the officers down this path when they return with their warrant. He cannot guarantee they will encounter the creature that lurks, but he can guarantee they shall look into the picture.

I woke up on my living room seat. I'm growing paler.

I don't recall today.

I have to follow the straight line; memory is off to the side of the line. It's a luxury not everyone is allowed to have. I can't afford to risk his trust, or else I'll have to remember again.

He has plans for me. He will be showing me something every night until a week from now, where I will receive his gift.

Suspected

I came home, and the police were waiting for me.

The first person to interview me, some low runt from Idaho, concluded I was mentally insane when it was clear I was looking out the window at every chance I got, looking out at him. Idaho claimed there was no one out there.

The second person to interview me, a white-collar thirty-mil jackass from the Big Apple, found me to be perfectly sane and-- as he put it-- 'respectable.' He asked me where I hid my new boss' body. I told him "I didn't." This was only somewhat true.

Apple and Idaho left and said they'd come back with a warrant. They're full of shit; I know enough about the force to know that they're going to stop by with a warrant, they'll look around, and they'll find absolutely nothing besides maybe a few too many tampons for a healthy woman. They'll go back to their low-budget low-cut office and try to look for some new leads on the case of Terrance Englebert, now deceased.

And they'll never expect Terrance's body to show up stringed along a tree miles deep into the woods.

My New Year's resolution is to avenge.