Dexter Morgenstern - The Slender Man

“I want him back,” I mutter aloud. I close my eyes, expecting him to laugh, but he just waits there. I do my best to hide my emotions, both inside and out, but I’m not sure it’s working. Maybe I should take another Prozac? No, that would mean walking right by him to get it, and I can only imagine what will happen if I risk that. I sit here, quietly, almost catatonic for a long time. It could be hours, or maybe it’s only been thirty minutes. All I know is I felt a few pats on my shoulder, hugs, and the police are gone.

I can hear my parents having hysterical conversations on their phones. They must be notifying our relatives of Adam’s disappearance. Maybe they’re looking to receive condolences for Adam to help comfort themselves, but in my opinion that only makes more people feel bad. It’s justifiable though. The way I feel about Adam… I need a friend to convey my feelings as well; I need Shana, but he’s taken her as well.

He’s taken too much from me. He’s taken my family, friends, health, and social life. He may not have me in his shadowy prison, but he’s feeding off me nonetheless. I feel an arm around my shoulder and see that Bubbe has assumed a sitting position next to me. She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell she feels the same way about Adam as I do, and knows exactly what I do about his disappearance. Our feelings are mutual, and there’s hardly anything to say.

“He’s here, waiting for me,” I say.

“I know.”

“He wants me next.”

“I know,” she answers.

“What do I do? I can’t leave for Michigan without him. I won’t.”

“I don’t know.”

That’s all we can bother to say. There’s no use wasting words, but from what I have said, I know one thing is true. I can’t leave without Adam. I won’t let myself, and if it means I have to try and pull off the same rescue attempt I did for Shana- at the cost of my life, then I’ll try. Even if he dies in my arms like she did, I won’t let the fiend keep him.

“We can’t sit here like this. It only encourages him,” she says.

“So what do we do? Ignore him like nothing happened?” I ask, horrified at the thought of- not thinking.

She shakes her head. “We’ll think of something, but he’s only feeding off of us when we’re like this,” she says.

More tears come from my eyes. I slowly stand up, unsure of what I am going to do. I sense the static, but the monster isn’t in the hallway right now. He’s stalking from somewhere else. Despite it being her own advice, Bubbe doesn’t appear ready to get up quite yet. I walk over into my room, wondering if I’ll see him waiting, but I can only sense him. Maybe he really is in here, but is standing just on the other side of the veil that separates our worlds-and is just not visible at the moment. He could be right in front of me at this very moment and I wouldn’t know it.

I look around the room for something to do. Maybe I should play my guitar, and take some medication. Medication could help keep my emotions in check. I walk over to my nightstand and pick up the bottle of Prozac. I screw open the top, but when I feel the lid open, I stop. Is this what I’ve resorted to, drugs to keep me sane while the fiend watches me? I feel a sudden surge inside my chest.

I’m not sure where it’s coming from, but it feels like I’m imploding. I’m squeezing the medicine bottle so hard that my nails are digging into my palm. I feel a surge of rage, fear, and anguish all hit me at once.

“Why!?” I scream at the top of my lungs. I turn and throw the bottle as hard as I can. It hits my vanity mirror and scatters pills across my room, leaving a crack in the glass, but I don’t care. I don’t care for vanity. I don’t care for health. I don’t care for the police. I don’t care for myself. I want Adam back.

I kick my suitcase, causing its contents to spill out over the floor. I pick up bottles of nail polish and throw them, on the floor; at the walls; everywhere. I scream again, this time it’s mostly anger coming from my throat. My vision blurs. I throw something else. I’m not sure what it is, maybe a shoe, and I hear more glass breaking in response. I throw everything I can get my hands on, not paying any attention whatsoever to where they land.

Every time I throw something, I scream.

“It’s not fair!” Slam.

“I didn’t do anything to deserve this!” Bang.

“Just leave us alone!” I rip autographed posters from my wall. I rip my blankets from my bed. I tear out the contents of my closet, trying to find more objects to throw. “Show your face!” I scream.

“Alyssa!” I feel arms wrap around me. I squirm and push, but I can’t get out.

“Calm down!” I hear Dad shout. It takes me a second to realize that he’s the one that has me.

“Oh my god,” Mom exclaims. I don’t understand exactly what’s happening. I have my head in my hands, and I’m sitting against something. I hear the static again, and this time it’s doing that rhythmic pulsing. He’s laughing at me. It takes all I can to keep from clawing my nails down my face. I hear Mom on the phone, and from the conversation she’s having I can assert that she’s speaking with Doctor Filbert. I guess I’m bound from the nearest psychiatric ward soon, a perfect place to go crazy in.

“You should take a bath. We’re going to see your Doctor,” I hear Dad.

“I don’t need a shrink,” I say.

“Have you seen your room? Have you seen yourself!?” he shouts.

“Honey,” Mom interjects. “Listen, we want to find Adam just as much as you do. You forget that we love him too, but we love you as well. We need to be together in this, and we can’t have you being destructive.”

“It’s not that big a deal. Just a tantrum,” I say.

“Just a tantrum? You’ve smashed hundreds of dollars’ worth of your stuff in your ‘just a tantrum’,” argues Dad.

“Lyss, some of that stuff in there you cherished. You would scream at us if we leaned against your signed posters or when we touched one of your pictures. You’ve destroyed all of that now. We’re worried.”

“And your vanity. Practically brand new,” Dad mutters under his breath, although he’s way off in that case. I hear what they’re saying, but all of that seems petty compared to Adam.

“Just take a bath, and get the nail polish out of your hair,” Mom says.

“We’ll never get the nail polish out of these clothes. All trash,” grunts Dad.

I get up and head over to the bathroom, grabbing a towel on the way. I turn the hot water on and flip the switch to keep it from draining. While the bath is running I look at myself in the mirror. I’m surprised at myself. Although I don’t feel it, I can see why my parents are worried. There is what seems like a gallon of nail polish splashed across my body. Some of it is clotting my hair together and my clothes… at least they’re night clothes. There’s no way I’ll get all of this cleaned up in a single bath, and right now I really don’t care to.

I stop the water, undress, and climb in. I draw the curtain and lay my head to rest against the edge of the tub even though my face and hair have the most nail polish damage, and will be the most difficult to clean. The hot water burns my skin a little, but it’s soothing as well. I just rest here, letting the hot water calm me down. I hope they’re not expecting me to finish quickly.

What have I done though? Not to my room, but to Adam. Is there some way I could have avoided this? Is there some drastic turn of events I caused that led to this? If I hadn’t gotten up to rescue Shana, we’d be in Michigan already. We’d be safe, but then I’d spend my whole life wondering if I could have saved her, and now that I have tried, I’m going to spend my whole life regretting Adam’s disappearance. Whether I live to be an old woman, or if I die trying to get him back, it’s never going to go away.