Dexter Morgenstern - The Slender Man

“Roger,” I say.

“I came to get you,” he continues.

“Come on, we’re going to get Adam, they’re letting him go,” he says. My eyes light up. Adam’s finally coming back! They said they’d only need him for a couple more days, but it’s the fifth day. I don’t hesitate, I don’t argue, I don’t even grab my backpack, and my dad and I are in the car on the way to the hospital in less than five minutes.

At the beginning of the drive to Andrews, I feel joyous, and am highly anticipating getting to hug my little brother again when he’s awake, but later in the ride, I have time to think. I think about that static entity I’ve seen thrice now. I’ve seen it too many times for it to be some kind of hallucination, as I’m not on any medication to induce them, and although the recent events have downed me severely, I’m not depressed enough to conjure them.

The only possible solutions I am able to think up, are that either A: it’s some kind of ghost, or entity like the Boogeyman; or B: it’s got something to do with the disease that’s making everyone pale and giving them nosebleeds, which doesn’t add up as much even though it would be the more scientifically acceptable solution. Then I am struck with worry. If it is an omen, and I saw it first at the hospital, does that mean something is going to happen to Adam?

We pull up to the community hospital, and my door is open before the car comes to a full stop.

“Whoa, careful!” shouts Dad, but I am already walking a brisk pace to the hospital. I don’t want to make a scene, because it’s only a hunch, but the tension is building up inside.

When I get indoors, I don’t stop at reception, I don’t check the map on the wall. My feet guide me exactly where I need to go from memory. I make a numerous rights and lefts with the white walls decorated with portraits of nameless child models mark my path. When I get to one of a two little kids shooting each other with water pistols I recall the almost concealed door to the stairway. I open the gray door and go up two flights, after a few more turns here and there I’m in the hallway we awaited the fate of our loved ones in. I don’t enter the intensive care ward though. I continue until I get to the end of the hall, and make another left.

There are two double doors on my right. They lead to the recovery ward. I am about to enter when I hear my dad’s voice in conversation with someone, but they aren’t behind me. Ding! I look to the left and see an elevator door open, and my Dad steps through accompanied Dr. Spruce, now with a happier look on her face. I am ready to face-palm myself. The elevator!

“…here she is. I’m telling you she just took right off!” says Dad to Dr. Spruce.

“Eager to see her little brother?” she smiles. I nod back and she leads us through the recovery ward. I don’t take off this time, lest they have some teleportation device that will get us there faster, but they don’t. We enter Adam’s room and I am surprised to see him already out of bed in a wheelchair being pushed by the nurse that almost wordlessly relayed the fate of Kenny to the Larches. I look at Adam with a smile, but it drops quickly as I see that not only is he not smiling back, but no color has returned to his face, and he puts a bloody tissue up to his nose stifling a nosebleed.

Vegetable alfredo and falafel sticks with hummus. I smell the aroma of the food resting in my arms, and can almost taste it. We cooked this for the Hawthorn’s and are bringing it to them. It’s not traditional for people to use appliances while sitting shivah, so family and friends often bring meals during visits. The aroma is mouthwatering, and I can’t wait to eat it. I am riding in the car driven by my parents. Bubbe is staying at home to watch Adam (she isn’t too close to the Hawthorns), but the rest of us are paying a visit, and we will be every day until Wednesday, when the Hawthorns can return to their business.

The Hawthorns don’t live far away, but not far away means driving through the main part of town. On the way I look around and note how remarkably grand looking the town is for such a small population. A lot of the buildings are constructed with beige bricks and have their business logos painted, and for some places engraved on the buildings. It all seems older and more crudely built, but when you compare them to the more modern buildings, with bright electric signs in other cities, this place just looks beautiful, more serene. Even the supermarket we are driving by looks like it fits right in.

The drive takes around ten minutes, and when we get there, I am first out the door. We get to the front door and I nudge the doorbell with my elbow. Mrs. Hawthorn opens the door and welcomes us inside with a faint smile. She doesn’t look so well. Her normally groomed short hair looks messy, worse than bed hair, and she’s without makeup. As much as I missed the Hawthorns, my eagerness to see them turns into worry as I see how dark their house has become, even with the lights on. We enter the house and I look around. I am so used to seeing the wall mirror in their living room, but now it is covered. Their television that’s usually on all day is off. Even their coffee table, normally strewn with books or newspapers or whatever they were reading at the time is empty. I dread the day I have to practice shivah.

The others gather about in their living room. Shana walks in and gives me a smile that matches her mother’s. She also looks very messy, but it looks like she at least ran her fingers through her hair to keep most of the strands straight. I hand the food to Mrs. Hawthorn who thanks us and then takes it into the kitchen. I walk up and hug Shana. “Missed you,” I say.

“Missed you too. It’s probably not a good thing to say, but I’ve wanted your company even more than my relatives’. It’s been unbearable,” she says. It’s a few extra seconds before she lets go. It’s only now that I get a good look at her. Her skin color has paled, and although I don’t see any signs of a nosebleed, I can tell she is sick. I want to comment on it, ask if she needs us to bring some medicine (although her family probably already has some), but she proceeds to thank my family for coming. We all move into the kitchen as Mrs. Hawthorn and Mom dish out the food to everyone. Shana’s eyes actually light up as she sees the falafel sticks. Mom’s falafel sticks are one of her all-time favorites.

As we eat, Dad gets the conversation going. It’s customary to speak about the deceased during the shivah.

“So,” he starts.

“Denise was always the charmer, wasn’t she?” he says. I wince, that’s probably not the best way to start the conversation.

Mr. Hawthorn is the first to respond.

“Yep, she was a little gremlin in her younger years. I think we spoiled her a bit,” he admits. Good, no tears are coming, at least not yet.

“I remember when we first met. Denise asked me for a quarter so she could play the crane game,” says Dad.

Mrs. Hawthorn laughs, but I can tell it’s forced “She only played that game once, and hated it because she lost.”

“Then we come to find out,” Dad continues. “She asked Sarah for a quarter too when I was away,” he says.

“She ended up swindling a quarter out of every one of you,” says Mr. Hawthorn.

“She even tried Adam,” I add in.

“She was clever for a three year old, just imagine if,” Mom starts. I can tell she was going to say something along the lines of “Just imagine what ruse she’d pull three years from now.” It’s a little too late, and I can see that I’m not the only one that looked down in my plate in response. Luckily no one bursts out crying at the thought. I think it’s mutually understood that Denise is dead though and with the last couple of days when their family visited, they probably have had a lot of practice, both crying it out and trying not to cry.