Dexter Morgenstern - The Slender Man

I start seeing things out of the corner of my eye. It’s like my mind is purposely trying to scare me. It’s showing me the fiend, except not as vivid as it usually does. Then I see him again. He’s far in front of me this time, but as I clear more trees he disappears again. Then he reappears. It’s as if I’m following him, except I’m only catching glimpses.

Surprisingly, my fear recedes, as if I’m not really scared. Good, I think. There’s something off about the way I keep catching him. First, I see this dark spot past a small tree ten meters from me. Then, it’s the same thing fifteen meters. Now I can hardly see him. Maybe he really is here. Is he moving? If he is, then why isn’t he coming for me? The fear begins to rise again. What if he does come for me? He’s ahead of me so I would be easy to intercept. I detour around, trying to move in an angle on the way home. I can’t see him anymore.

I trip and face-plant myself into ground. The leaves cushion my fall, but in my condition, getting up isn’t so fun. I push myself off the ground and see a few drops of blood. Great, the collision triggered my nosebleed. I reach into my pack and pull out some tissue. I look around the area and don’t recognize it. I’m not really lost though, and I walk east until I see the end of the tree line. I emerge onto the road. I look at the paved road boarded by the forest that leads south to my home neighborhood. I walk toward my neighborhood, which is only a kilometer or so away when a thought dawns on me. Why would he be going directly ahead of me, unless it was trying to beat me to my destination? “Adam.”

My feet are running faster than I tell them to. The first time I saw the static shadow he was looming over Adam. Does that mean he’s finally come to collect him? I feel weakened already from the exercise mixed with the sickness, and the lag I’m suffering only increases my worry. I have to get home! My feet thud against the ground and it feels like I’m kicking through molasses to move them forward. When I finally get to my front door, it’s ajar. “Adam!” I call. I run upstairs, the loud thuds of my footsteps blocking out the sound of the creaking floorboards. I go to his room, empty.

“Adam!” I call again. I check Bubbe’s room, empty also. I run downstairs and see that no one is present.

“Mom?” I call. Worry sets in further. Would it take both Adam and my mother? I hear a noise. It’s faint at first but then I realize just how close it is. I turn around, but the sound is still behind me. I listen again. It’s coming from my backpack. It’s my cell phone vibrating. I remove my backpack and open it. I look at my phone and see that I’ve received a text from Mom. I read it.

“Went to the party early with Adam help set up. Dad and Bubbe went to get Lionel’s present and have it wrapped. They will be there to pick you up soon, bring the camera. It’s on the kitchen counter.” A wave of relief sets in. All this stress, worry, and relief can’t be good for my health, I think.

I look at the time. It’s a little after one-thirty and the party starts at three, so I have plenty of time. I head upstairs and drop my backpack onto the rest of the mess on the floor. I kick my shoes off in random directions and yank out my ponytail. I grab a few toiletries and head to take a shower. I turn the water on and while the temperature is moderating I take a look in the mirror. I grimace at what I see. I know the sun isn’t too bright but I’d hoped I’d at least have a little more color in my skin after the run to hide just how sick I am. I remove my clothing, and after I see steam rising from behind our translucent shower curtain I stick my hand in to test the water, making sure it’s not too hot.

I get inside, but instead of immediately washing off I lie down as if I were taking a bath, letting the hot water rinse the sweat and other ickiness off my skin. I almost don’t feel up for a party after that run, but I think it’s mutually understood that something small like a child’s birthday party will help liven up everyone’s mood, even if just a little.

After what feels like ten or fifteen minutes I force myself to get up and wash before the hot water runs out. By the time I turn the water off, my skin already feels dried up. I apply some lotion and change into the day clothes I brought with me. I have a green, Happy Bunny tank top as an undershirt, and I put on my green and black flannel shirt over it. I figure the blouse will match the nail polish, even though it’s pretty badly worn out by now. I put on deep blue jeans and green socks. After my clothes are on, it’s time to work with my wet hair. I use the toilet as a chair and then grab our blow dryer. It’s pretty out of date: old; bulky, and black, but it works. I dry out my hair then brush it out. It’s still a little damp when I’m finished, but acceptable.

I exit the bathroom, leaving my clothes on the floor where I took them off- I’ll pick them up later. I throw on some thin rubber bracelets on my left arm. I use black and blue, because I don’t have green ones, but I do have a black and green Yeah Yeah Yeah’s bracelet that I put on my right arm. I apply a little eyeliner and lip gloss and take one good look at myself in my vanity mirror. I need to bleach my hair again, as my roots are showing pretty badly, but other than that I look… normal.

I let out a little sigh. It’s not really audible, but my body goes through the motions. Ever since the accident I haven’t really been myself, and to see how much damage the recent tragedies have done to my appearance only makes me feel worse. I look up at the framed picture of Shana and me from two years ago. We were standing outside our school, facetiously making duck faces, and wearing matching blue and silver halter top dresses for the school dance.

“If only you were here now,” I say. I touch the frame, only now noticing that a thin layer of dust has built up on it.

“Where are you?”

I fumble around with the camera while we’re in the car. It’s not a very new camera, in fact I think my parents have had it for a decade at least, but it works. It’s rather bulky, so my parents only bring it on special occasions. Like Hanukkah, the Fourth of July, and well- birthday parties. It’s big and black, and the lens-holder thingy takes up more than half of it. It’s got a grip for holding it, but I am just wearing it around my neck. Dad just picked me up from the house and now we’re driving to the party. Bubbe is staying at home. I guess she’s not very interested in going to a children’s birthday party. I look out the window. The drive to the Willow’s house isn’t particularly far, in fact it’s only a few miles from ours, but it’s one of those places set up a mile away from any other building. Everything else is just tree line.

When we pull up to their house, which is very big compared to our house, I see quite a few people have already shown up. In fact it looks like the party has been going on for a while now. It’s taking place in their enormous front yard, and they even pitched large tan canvas tents up to provide some shade. Dad pulls up and Karen Willow waves to catch our attention. Dad stops the car and rolls the window down.

Karen walks up with a big smile. “Hi! We were wondering when you two would make it,” she greets.

Dad gives her a polite little laugh and smile as a response. “Glad to be here. Hey where do you want us to park?” he asks.

“Oh, we’re having all the cars pull around the other side here. Just find a spot, but make it look neat,” she answers. Dad gives her a little nod as she backs off. As we reach the other side of the yard some dozen cars or so come into view, though they aren’t parked very neatly. It seems that the general idea is to park them side by side facing the tree line. That works for us though, so Dad pulls up to the end of the car-line and parks. I hop out and open the back door.