Dexter Morgenstern - The Slender Man

When that thought plays through my head I pluck another note. I feel the loss of Shana too though. I play another. I feel the static presence, but refuse to look around for it. I guess he’s playing the waiting game too.

What’s he waiting for though? Is he waiting for me to fall asleep, does he just want to watch me, or am I still releasing enough pain for it feed on? I play a third note. I can imagine what he’s doing to the others he has captive right now. He’s probably causing them pain so he can feed off of them. I hardly care about Jason and Leanne. Call me hateful, but there are people I actually do have reason to worry about, like the five year old Lionel. Can he even comprehend what’s going on?

I play the first note again, and realize that the three notes make a tune I recognize, but I can’t name it. I keep playing, one note at a time. Each note seems dark, and hangs in the air, not even having fully played out before the next note. I know this song, but why can’t I name it? It’s very common. The pain has blocked out some of my memories and I’m having trouble pulling them out of my head. I keep playing each now with every ounce of concentration I can muster.

I can still sense the static in the background, but I ignore it. He can sit there and wait all he wants, I’m playing music. Maybe this is what the doctor meant. As I play this tune, I feel apathetic about the shadow’s presence, and I’m so focused on playing the music that my thoughts are not even lingering on Shana. I still feel hurt, heartbroken, and scared, but with this guitar, I can push it all behind me. If only I can remember the name of it!

“Moonlight Sonata,” says a voice. I look up and see Bubbe standing in the doorway. “It’s been years since I’ve heard that song,” she says.

“Moonlight Sonata,” I repeat. It’s one of the first songs I successfully learned. Why couldn’t I remember it?

Bubbe sits on the bed next to me. She has a bottle of pills in her hand.

“Your Mom asked me to remind you to take these,” she says. I look at the bottle.

“Prozac,” I say aloud. I look her in the eye, asking if I should even bother taking them with a single gaze.

“I’ve never taken it before, but it might help you. If it’s supposed to help with depression, then maybe it will help with your loss for a while, make it harder for him to get to you?” she suggests.

“My guitar is doing that right now,” I say, resuming the song.

“Then maybe you should take these only when you are going to sleep… or when you’re about to be a hero again?” she says. I chuckle a bit.

“Shana is the only one of them I’d ever do th—” I stop the sentence, listening to how cruel and selfish I sound. It may not be selfish to use that reasoning to refuse from going through the peril of the shadow world, but saying it aloud, when there are little kids suffering from his grasp just makes me sound evil.

“That’s a smart thing though,” she says. I look at her.

“Only risk your life to help the people you can’t live without, like your family. You may mourn the loss of your classmates, but it’s not worth subjecting yourself to him just out of compassion for them,” she explains. I nod, she’s right. I couldn’t live without at least trying to help Shana, but as much as it sickens me to say this, I can live without Lionel Willow.

Bubbe and I sit here quietly while I play Moonlight Sonata. As sad and dark as the song sounds, it actually feels like it’s alleviating the pain. I feel like all the sorrow that is inside of me, making me feel like I’m crawling out of my skin is just flowing out of me. Doctor Filbert is creepy and annoying, but he knows a little about letting go of pain and anger-without destroying things.

I can’t believe how long it’s been since I picked up my guitar. I missed it.

“So, when we go to Michigan, what happens then? Do we just stay there until he leaves?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We might have to move,” she answers.

“I don’t know if he ever truly leaves one of his totems.”

“But you said that there was a tree like it in Poland.”

“There is, or at least there was. That doesn’t mean he only has one feeding ground. He can probably go anywhere he pleases, but once he establishes a totem in an area, he has a permanent gateway there so he’s probably going to drain that place dry and then keep watch.”

I bow my head, thinking of another song to play. The thought that this- my home, now belongs to some fiend sickens me. Is there no way to defeat him? He’s not of this world, that’s for sure, but there’s got to be something that will at least drive him away. I feel the static pulse. It’s as if he can hear my thoughts, and is laughing at them. I play the first guitar chord that comes into mind and drown it out. Now I’m playing Denise’s favorite song ‘Complicated.’

“I always hated this song,” says Bubbe.

I stop playing it and look at her with surprise. “I love Avril Lavigne!” I object.

“Oh, I just think this generation has better music is all.” She looks up and around my various posters.

“Jimmy Eat World. That’s a nice name. It’s odd but nice,” she says. I laugh at her a bit, and then I realize what she’s doing. She’s cheering me up, much like my parents are trying to do with the Hawthorns. Is Bubbe worried that I’m suicidal, or is she worried that I will do something stupid?

I play music all afternoon, ignoring the ominous presence of the entity. Sometimes I end up crying- or at least feel tears threatening to spill over, but as I do, I feel like I’m getting stronger. I feel like the pain is leaving. The thought that Shana is at peace instead of being tortured both hurts and helps me. I think maybe I accepted that I wasn’t getting Shana back when she first disappeared, and that helped to dull the lingering pain of when she died. I’d already mourned her once. It didn’t help with the shock of seeing her die though. That feeling of near triumph, only to fail, it’s like I really did get dragged back to defeat at the edge of freedom, only not in the way I expected.

Our parents return, but even when they do, the house is quiet except for my music. I can’t believe how long I’ve been able to keep this up. By the time I smell dinner, the joints of my fingers feel as if they’re about to crack and my fingertips burn with wear. I still feel stronger though. It’s as if every hour I play music the fiend’s grip weakens.

Will I be able to keep this up tomorrow? No, tomorrow I should be even stronger. I should paint my nails, bleach my hair, and try to be normal. I’ll look like a normal happy teenager ready to conquer the universe when I arrive in Michigan. Shana would want me to.

A smile crosses my lips as I head downstairs for dinner, which is very quiet today. There’s a lot to talk about, but no one is really up to it. Bubbe and I have already said what we need to say, and I can sense mixed feelings about my actions coming from my parents. For one, they are horrified that I would venture off into the woods when there’s a kidnapper on the loose, and yet I found Shana. I did something that all of the policemen and volunteers couldn’t. I feel like I’ve downed at least three pounds of the spaghetti Mom has made before finally, she speaks up.

“The next flight isn’t until nine P.M tomorrow so you’ll be arriving in Michigan pretty late.”

I’ve got more than twenty-four hours to wait before we get to safety? That blows. I guess maybe I’ll try to sleep in. I wonder if Prozac will make me sleepy.

“Not planning on running off tonight are you?” she asks, half-jokingly.

I shake my head.

“Of course not,” but I’m dead serious. The monster is probably waiting until I fall asleep so he can suck me back into his world. He’ll probably try to lure me out with Shana or Lionel or something, but I won’t let him. No, from now until nine tomorrow night I don’t plan on setting foot out of this house. I don’t care if he sits on the bed next to me.