Dexter Morgenstern - The Slender Man

I look at Shana, trying to make eye contact, and it looks like she’s the one taking it the worst. I see that same gloomy gaze she had on her face when we first found out about the accident. I’d hoped she feel a little better about it by now. I know it’s normal and perfectly rational for a person to feel like it’s the end of the world when one of their family members dies, especially a child, but I hate seeing Shana like this. I’ve only known her four years, but this girl is like- no she is my sister, and her mood rubs off on me like grease. I wish I was sitting next to her, I’d reach over and pat her on the back or something, but she is across from me. I reach over and lightly kick her to get her attention, and when she looks at me, I give her one of those smiles that shows her exactly what’s on my mind, empathy, and my desire for her to feel better.

She tries to return the smile, but her mouth only wobbles in response and she looks back at her plate. I see she’s only managed to eat half of one of her falafel sticks, and hasn’t touched her alfredo. I bite my tongue and look at my half-emptied plate. I wish there’s something I could say, or sing, or- I wish I’d brought my guitar, no I wish I was allowed to bring it. We could do something like play Complicated, and although it would make her feel worse for a second, I think it would help her cry the rest of it out.

The rest of the meal is full of my parents starting conversations about Denise that end short, at least none of them end on a sour note like the first. Mom and I wash the dishes for the Hawthorns, and my Dad stays with them to keep the mood from becoming awkward. If I was mourning, I sure wouldn’t want to wait for my best friend to clean up before speaking to her again. I’m sad to say that it isn’t just the food on Shana’s plate that had to be dumped down the garbage disposal. I think the Hawthorn’s have become good at hiding just how hurt they still are by the tragedy.

I hear coughing, and recognize Shana’s voice behind it. She is sick too, but her parents aren’t.

“My, oh my,” comments Mom, drying her hands off on a towel now that we’ve finished the rest of the dishes.

“I swear everyone’s getting sick. Do you think the flu is going around?” she asks.

“I’ve never had a nosebleed from the flu,” I answer, and realize how rude I just sounded.

“I think it’s something else. The people I’ve seen don’t appear nauseas, just..,”

“Weak and sad,” Mom finishes for me.

“Yeah,” I say, her words ringing a note in my mind. Mom and I head back into the living room, and we see Dad chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorn, but I don’t see Shana.

“She went upstairs,” says Mrs. Hawthorn, who saw me looking. I nod and begin to head upstairs.

The Hawthorn’s house is very different from ours. They have wooden stairs with no carpeting on them unlike our house. At the top of the stairs, the lights are off, and the place is just as dark as it feels. Shana’s room is down the hall on the left, and the only light upstairs is coming from it. I walk over to the door, which is slightly ajar, and push it open.

Shana is sitting on her bed, crying. She has a tissue in her hand, and she’s using it to wipe the tears from her face, but I can see spots of blood on it. I walk over and sit on the bed with her. We make eye contact, and although I can’t find the right words to say, I get my message across. “Shut the door,” she says. I get up and do so. I see Shana’s guitar case resting in the corner behind the door. There’s a little bit of dust on it, so I know she hasn’t touched it. I don’t think I could have followed that rule of Shivah though. If Adam died, the first object to help comfort me would be my guitar.

“I wish we could play,” I admit. Shana is crying harder, she’s sobbing now. “Shana, what’s- what can I do to help?” I ask, sitting back down and rubbing her shoulder.

“I think I’m going crazy,” she says.

“No, it’s normal to feel this way.” I say, but even I’m not sure if that’s true. She looks at me and shakes her head. “It’s not normal to see things,” she says.

“See… It’s not normal to see?”

“No, I’m seeing… her,” she says. I turn my head when she says that.

“Denise?” I ask, even though that’s the obvious answer.

I catch her nod out of my peripheral vision. “I can’t go an hour without her appearing. I can’t sleep without her coming for me,” she says.

“Have you told your parents?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I can’t… I’ve tried crying it out, and I’ve tried ignoring her, but she won’t go away,” she explains.

“Maybe you should try talking about—” but I stop, realizing what I am saying. I really am no good at words.

“It’s not like I’m just seeing her around though. She’s… haunting me,” she says.

“Haunting?” I ask. She nods, wiping another tear from her cheek.

“Yeah, like I’ve done her some wrong,” she says. I look down at the bed, thinking, but she grabs my shoulder and looks me directly in the eye. “She wants something,” she says.

“Do you know what it is she wants?” I ask.

“At first, even before the funeral… she wanted my help. Now I think she’s angry.” The word ‘help’ rings a bell. Jason said that Kenny needed his help, and that he was going to help him, but how?

“She won’t let me sleep, she won’t let me eat. She’s in my dreams, she wants me to leave,” she continues.

“Leave? She wants you to go somewhere to help her?” I ask.

“She wants me to go into the forest,” she answers.

“What’s in the forest?” I ask. She shrugs.

“I don’t know. I don’t think she’s ever been there. I think I’m just… losing it.”

I shake my head instinctively. I never recalled anything unusual or significant in the woods. There’s nothing like a graveyard or historical event that anyone would take an interest to there. Then again, I’ve never been deep into the woods. I mostly have only been there for a run, and even the trail I found was only by chance. I missed the bus from school so I took the trail home instead of calling my parents. When I found that the trail turned off course, I just cut through the woods, and came out a quarter mile from my neighborhood. If there is something in there, anything of importance, I’ve never seen or heard anything about it. I look up and realize that Shana is still waiting for a verbal answer.

“I think it’s just the emotional stress of the situation. I’d be seeing things too,” I say.

“I’ve been seeing things,” I correct, thinking of the entity I’ve been seeing, the one that Jason thought was Kenny.

She shakes her head though.

“I can feel her. When she touches me it… it hurts,” she says. Then a thought hits me.

“Does Denise look… normal? When you see her?” I ask.

She shakes her head again.

“She’s dark now. It’s like she’s shrouded in death,” she answers.

“When she touches you… is it like being shocked?” I ask.

Her eyes widen.

“You’ve seen her too!?” she asks loudly, amazement in her eyes.

I shake my head quickly, realizing her excitement may not be such a good thing.

“No, I’ve just. I’ve seen something else, but it’s never… talked to me, or anything, it’s like it’s talking to someone else,” I answer, but suddenly wish I hadn’t said that either.

“Who’s it been talking to?” Shana asks. I want to say Jason. After all it’s my instinct to tell Shana the truth.

“I can’t hear it, but when I saw it, it’s like it was talking to… Leanne.”

“Well her baby brother got sick and died. Maybe,” she thinks aloud, but stops. She must not be sure what conclusion she should come to.