Dexter Morgenstern - The Slender Man

“I’m sorry, I tried to come earlier but,” I start, but she isn’t making eye contact. It’s as if she’s hardly aware that I’m here. “Is she on any medication?” I ask Mr. Hawthorn. He sighs.

“None that would do this. It’s Denise, she keeps mumbling her name. I think maybe she blames herself and it’s setting in. We are taking her to see a doctor after the shivah,” he explains.

“Well why not now? She’s, it’s like she’s catatonic,” I protest.

“Now Alyssa, this is none of your business. You let them handle Shana and we’ll handle you,” says Dad. I grind my teeth together. Shana needs help now, and she might not be this way if I’d arrived this afternoon.

“We should get dinner set,” says Mom. She and Mrs. Hawthorn head down into the kitchen. Mr. Hawthorn goes back after them. Dad starts to go in.

“Come on,” he demands.

“We shouldn’t leave her alone,” I say, taking her hand and trying to draw a response from her.

“Now, Alyssa,” he demands again. Every time he snaps at me my mind flashes to Ms. Alder. I want to slap her, probably just as Dad wants to slap me. I get up and pull on Shana’s hand. Slowly, she begins to rise up. She gets on her feet and slowly turns her head in my direction, but she’s looking through me. Her demeanor oddly reminds me of Adam’s behavior when we caught him wandering through the road last night. With me pulling her hand, she follows. Dad at least doesn’t stop me from guiding Shana. He may be irritated with me for the essays, but even he can’t deny that something is wrong with Shana, and something that clearly can’t wait until Wednesday. I seriously hope they say something during dinner.

We gather around the table and Mom guides everyone through the Motzi. During shivah the mourners still observe the Sabbath, which helps to lighten up the mood a little, but the absence of Shana’s… lucidity, ruins the mood, at least for me. Shana doesn’t eat at all, not even any of the challah. She does push her food around a bit though.

Today, our parents stay off the topic of Denise, so conversation is easy to carry. The Hawthorn parents keep trying to draw me in, but it seems Dad doesn’t want me doing too much talking. When the Hawthorn’s ask “How was school today Alyssa?” he answers for them “She failed her essay, a big one.” It’s true that I failed the essay, seeing as I will end up getting a zero, but he’s leaving out exactly how I failed the essay.

After dinner, Mrs. Hawthorn says “Why don’t you and Shana go hang out upstairs, we’ll take care of cleaning up.” I can’t tell if she’s hoping my presence will help restore Shana’s mood, or if she caught onto how awkward Dad is making the conversation. I have to guide Shana upstairs. It’s as if my hand tugging on her is the only thing guiding her through her thoughts. When we get up to her room however, she let’s go of my hand and walks over to her bed. She sits down on it and pulls her knees in, wrapping her arms around them.

“Is it Denise?” I ask, hoping to draw some kind of conversation out of her.

“Denise, it’s not Denise. It’s not her,” she answers, rocking herself.

“You said you were seeing her.”

She looks at me, this time directly in the eye. It looks like she wants to cry, but there are no tears.

“It’s not her,” she repeats. “Who is it then?” I ask. With that question she stops moving as if to think. She furrows her brow as if she thinks she should know the answer, but it’s not coming to her.

I note how dark the circles underneath her eyes are. “Have you been able to get any sleep?” I ask.

“I don’t want to sleep,” she says, her body rigid with terror.

“Why not? Is that when you see her?” I ask.

“He wants me to sleep,” she says.

“Who is he? Who are you seeing?” She bites her lip in response and shakes her head. “Is it the static? It won’t let you sleep?” I ask.

She looks back at up at me. She opens her mouth to speak, but then stops. She does this a couple times before finally getting out what she wants to say.

“Don’t leave me again.” As much as I want to tell her that I won’t, my thoughts run to my Dad, and how if I were to dig my nails into the floor, he’d be willing to drag me out. I could kick and scream and he won’t be willing to let me stay here. If I hadn’t turned in those essays. I sit beside her on the bed and put my arm around her.

“I need you to be strong,” I say. I feel her shudder. She may not be herself, but she definitely understands what I’m trying to say to her.

“The essays didn’t work,” I say. I figure if I get her off topic, I can pull her back to herself.

“The essays didn’t work,” she repeats.

“The essays,” she continues. I’m not doing a very good job.

“Why did you choose that story?” I ask.

“The story,” she says. I think she’s getting worse.

“Shana, listen to me. Why did you write that story?” She doesn’t answer. I feel a wave of static pass through me. I know what this is.

“Shana?” I ask. I look at her, and see her eyelids have closed. “Shana!?” I say, trying to wake her up, before she- or even I see it.

She jumps awake and looks at me. She pauses for a moment and then begins panting and trembling. Finally she says.

“Don’t leave,” again. I don’t know what to say at this point, other than point out the fact that she definitely needs psychological help. I hold her, and she keeps saying

“Don’t leave me. Stay here,” over and over again, as if begging me not to.

It breaks my heart when Dad comes up to tell me I have to. I hear the door open.

“Alright, let’s go,” he says.

“Dad I—”

“No.”

“Dad listen—”

“Can it!” I feel his hand around my arm and he yanks me up. He really will drag me out even if I kick and scream. Before we leave the room, I look back at Shana and see that she’s buried her head into her knees. She’s crying now, and even I feel like I’m about to. It’s not just because I’m sad to see her like this, but because I’ve seen weird things too, and I know something bad is about to happen.

The drive home is silent. I’m too busy worrying about Shana to say anything, and Dad is too busy not wanting to hear me complain to get me started.

When we get home, there is no Adam wandering the street. I guess having him go to sleep in Bubbe’s room with his medicine did the trick. When we get inside, Dad tells me to get any homework I have left done, and then get to bed. I don’t know why he emphasizes the homework. What homework I do have can all be done over the weekend, and since it’s unlikely I’ll be doing anything fun while being grounded, I’ll have few distractions. Of course the distractions I have are huge. Like the strange things I’m seeing, the missing people, and most of all, Shana.

I’m not sleepy immediately, so after I’m in my pajamas-a plain tank top and sweat pants- I do as my dad said and work on my homework. No essays this week, but I do have a chemistry lab on Monday. We will be doing an experiment on… I don’t even know. I flip open the book and try to find the pages that look like we went over most recently. I finally find a chapter on covalent bonding that looks familiar because of the pictures. I read over the chapter, but it takes me a while to cover it, because my mind keeps drifting off to Shana, and although my eyes are reading, my mind is worrying. Once I do finish the chapter I still have no idea what a covalent bond does, or even is.

I am starting to get drowsy from the stress and reading, but I decide to at least look over history. U.S history is a little easier. It’s mostly about remembering names and dates, and if you get that right, A minus. As I read over the chapter the homework assignment is on, I think about Shana less. Maybe because social studies is less involved it’s easier for your mind to stay on it. After reading a few pages though, my drowsiness kicks in and I lay my head down next to the book. I’m feeling lazy, but with my light on I’m not getting anywhere near sleep.