Dexter Morgenstern - The Slender Man

After they all clear out of the hallway, I turn my attention to see my parent’s reactions, but they’re gone. Bubbe is the only one still there, and she’s standing with a look of disapproval across her face. I hear footsteps back toward the other end of the hall and see my parents walking back with the rest of the Hawthorns, attempting to console them as well. They sit down across from us, and Shana and I walk over to sit down next to them. All of us are speechless for over an hour until Dr. Spruce steps out of the ward and looks at us.

“Excuse me? Redwoods?” she asks. We all look at her.

“You can see your son now.”

It almost feels like a sucker punch to leave the mourning Hawthorns to go see my brother, but I have to see him for myself. The doctor leads us down the care ward that almost looks no different from the public areas except for the fact that these floors were tiled linoleum instead of carpeted. She leads us around several turns until we get to the recovery ward. We’re taken to a room with four beds. Two of them have curtains pulled to hide the patient inside.

“Adam is over here,” says the doctor, pulling the curtain on the bed closest to the door.

I almost can’t believe my eyes. There lies my brother Adam, who I had inspected this morning before his trip, not four hours ago. He was happy and grumpy, and ready to go have fun. Now he barely looks alive. If not for the oxygen mask on his face, I would doubt he’s even breathing. I walk over and reach for his hand. His left arm is in a cast, and this one has an IV attached to it. His hand feels cold in mine. I sit on the edge of the bed. I lean in and kiss him on the forehead. As I do I can see a tear splash onto his face and I wipe my eyes against my sleeve. I stroke his face with my hand gently, and quietly, almost whisper the first couple lines of Adon Olam, his favorite hymn. I sing it slowly and out of melody, hoping he can still hear me. While doing so I can feel more tears coming and move my face away to keep them from falling on him.

I look behind me and see my parents and grandmother keeping their distance, waiting their turn. I get off the bed and let them approach. I slink back into a nearby chair and watch them. My grandmother joins me, but we don’t say a word. Mom sits on the bed next to him, where I was, and Dad leans against the wall. Nurses walk into the room occasionally to check on Adam, and the other patient, who I bet is Mr. Mario.

Soon the relief of seeing Adam still alive fades and I begin to worry about Shana. Is she still outside? I look for a clock, and since I don’t see one, I pull out my phone. It’s one in the afternoon. Have we really been here that long?. There’s no way they waited this long for us after hearing the news about their daughter. I may not have lost Adam, but I’ve lost Denise. That loss is even greater for Shana, but I feel that she needs some time alone right now. I see how badly Jason Larch is taking it, and he’s taking it out on the people around him, so I can only imagine how terrible Shana must feel, leaving those emotions inside, and they are just two of the families that lost children in that crash.

I slouch back into the chair, not wanting to get up. I close my eyes. How could something like this happen? So many children dying at once and all from a small community like Murphy, where almost every resident has personally met at least one of the deceased children. I hear the sound of wind rushing, and open my eyes.

I’m still in the hospital chair, but I can’t move. My brain tells my body to move, but I only get a nudge in response. My body is tingling all over, like static is passing through me. Did I doze off? This must be a dream . I try to look around as best as I can with my limited mobility. The room is significantly darker. I close my eyes again, but the wind gets louder, and is accompanied by the sound of screeching static. It matches the stiffness in my body. It’s like the static is howling, and it gets louder as my eyes close. What’s going on? Is this a nightmare? I realize that the howling static seems to be coming from my right and I move my eyes in that direction.

Then I see it. Just out of the corner of my eye stands a dark figure, but I’m not sure what it is. It’s shadowy, and its movements are violent and jagged, like static, but I can only see it through my peripheral vision. Why couldn’t this happen with my face turned to the right? I realize that it’s standing over Adam’s bed, and I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out but wind, nothing but an exhale. I try harder, but still nothing. I keep trying, watching the blackness. I start trying to yell, and then I scream, and although I fail in doing so, I can hear my voice, just a little squeak. I push my voice out as hard as I can and can hear a slight moan. I get some feeling return and keep trying. My voice gets louder and louder until I feel a jab on my wrist.

“Alyssa!” I open my eyes.

“Are you alright?” asks Dad. I look around. I’m still in the hospital. I look and see three confused pairs of eyes on me, but the room is bright with afternoon light and clear of dark beings. Adam’s heart is still beating.

“Oh… um yeah, it was uh. Just a nightmare,” I say as my thoughts return to me.

“Sounded terrifying, what happened?” asks Mom.

“Oh just. I couldn’t move, but I was awake,” I explain. “Oh alright well we should probably get going anyway. Visiting hours are almost over and I want to check in with the Hawthorns,” says Dad. Visiting hours over? I look at the internal clock on my phone. It’s a quarter to four. I slept for nearly three hours, and yet it seemed like I just dozed. What was that thing though? That entity I saw. It’s as if it was watching Adam, but why? Was it just a nightmare, or some kind of omen?

Denise’s funeral is the first I’ve ever been to. It is being held outdoors in the local cemetery, and since we aren’t part of a congregation (the only time we even make the trip is for the High Holy Days), Dad is leading the ceremony as lay leader in place of a Rabbi. I’m surprised at the number of family members that flew out here on such short notice, but there are no less than four additional families related to the Hawthorns here for the funeral.

Only a few people of our community were invited to come, including us, the sheriff, the Willows, The Sourwoods, and a few other individuals. Many other families have their own funerals to attend, and others like the Larches simply aren’t welcome. I offered to play some songs on my guitar for the funeral, but Mrs. Hawthorn says that some of their family members might look down upon music or anything celebratory at a funeral. We aren’t even allowed to bring flowers!

I specifically told Mom that I want flowers and music and junk food at my funeral. I want to go out with a bang, but this funeral just makes me feel worse about Denise. It’s only been three days since the accident and it feels like there has been no real preparation other than chairs and the coffin lying before us. I’m sitting in the front row, but the rest of my family (aside from my Dad), sits in the middle section, making room for the Hawthorn’s relatives to take their seats up front.

I look at Dad standing before the coffin. He’s reciting prayers, but I can barely hear him. I’m lost in my own train of thought. What do we do now? I think. Do we just move on, carry on like normal? Or will things be different now? Empty?

As I think, I look around at all of the faces looking at my father. I’m surprised to say there aren’t that many people looking directly at him. Many are looking at the ground, others at their hands, and even some of them are looking around like me. I look and see Leanne Sourwood, the girl who keeps trying to show me up on track. She has short blonde hair that comes down to her ears, and bright blue eyes. I won’t say she’s spoiled, she does work hard, but she also likes to use that to one-up people, and even today she’s wearing the most casual dress clothes on the market. It’s as if she has no time to dress for a funeral, as if she’s beyond them. My dress comes down to my knees, and I have tights that cover my legs down to shiny black pumps. Right now she’s staring at me angrily as if I’ve done something to her. We’re excused from school until the funeral finishes, and so I haven’t had the chance to use Shana’s idea to beat her in a race, but she’s still glaring at me. Is she jealous of something? I look away, trying not to make this funeral seem awkward.