The Slender Man (18 page)

No matter what I do, that monster- he’s always one step
ahead of me. I finally thought I had him figured out. We just had to get
through one more night and day, and I was ready to handle it, but he saw right
through me. He has his own stage set up, and I have no say in what happens. In
the middle of the night, when I thought he was trying to lure me out, he
wasn’t. He just wanted me to listen while he hurt and kidnapped my brother. He
wanted me to try and get up and come to his aid, only to be held back. He got
Adam, and he made me listen to it. Maybe I would have figured that out if I
wasn’t on the medication.

No, if not for the medication I’d only have been more
emotionally tortured by Adam’s cries. Now I sit, half of my body against the
wall, as the police- whom I must have seen a hundred times this week already-
get their answers. Of course we have none for them. Adam is just another
missing child to add to their list. He’s just another one of the children they
need to find, but never will. I’m not crying, and there are no tears. I’m just
sitting here listening to the footsteps, cries, and words of those around me.
The sheriff isn’t here yet, but Deputy Yew is.

Why couldn’t he- the monster, just let us go? There are
other kids for him to take still, but he had to come after Adam and me. What
makes us so special? Is it that we’ve already fed him so much pain that he
wants to milk us for everything we have? I don’t know. Maybe he was irritated
that I was recovering so quickly instead of giving in to hopelessness in the
face of loss.

There’s got to be something I can do about Adam. Shana is
one person I thought I couldn’t live without, but Adam... Adam is helpless.
He’s seven, weakened, and traumatized by watching the death of his friends. I
recall how much pain and how scared I felt when I was in that realm. How is
someone in Adam’s condition handling it? I can’t let him suffer like that. I
have to do something about it. Can I go back in and get him out? That axe is
probably still on the ground somewhere, but he was watching and waiting for me
before. He’ll probably intercept me more quickly from the start. Even if I do
make it to the tree, there’s no way I can repeat the process I did with Shana.
I was barely able to escape with her assistance that time.

I feel the sounds of those around me drown out, covered by a
new sound. It’s him. I turn around and look. Out of my peripheral vision, I
catch him standing in the hallway. I can’t look any closer without having my
eyes sting. Has he come for me now? No, he’s just here to rub it in and enjoy
the fruits of his evil. The adults are downstairs, and even if they were up
here with me, they’d be oblivious to him. I look in my hand at Adam’s sling.
I’ve been holding it for a while now. This won’t be my last memory of him. I
toss the sling in the fiend’s direction not even looking to see if it passes
right through him, or if he blocks its course.

“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.

I lay my head back, adjusting my position in the water. I
close my eyes and breathe deep, and exhale in a sorrowful sigh.

“I’ll never find peace, will I?” I ask myself. I rest here
for a few more seconds, trying to harvest whatever peace I can get, when I have
a very unwelcome guest.

“Go away,” I cry as the static appears. My voice is already
cracked and I can feel the tears coming.
Stop crying damnit
! I tell
myself. It’s just what he wants.

I open my eyes and turn my head to the side. He’s here, just
inside the door. I can see his silhouette outside the shower curtain. His
black, slim form rendered imperfectly still by his jagged contortions. “Why?” I
ask.

No response.

“What have I done to deserve this?”

He just stands there.

“Give him back.”

Nothing.

“Please,” I cry, but still nothing. I am about to turn away from
him, when he starts moving- really moving. I watch as he leans over, and I
almost think his eye-searing head is going to peek over the shower curtain,
when I see more limbs come from him.

These are identical to his arms that come down below the
bathtub rim, except they extend from his back. What is he doing? I wonder.
Suddenly his form shrinks until it’s normal human size aside from his arms and
tendrils. I hear laughter. I recognize the voice.

“Jason,” I say aloud.

“You aren’t as strong as you think,” he says. His figure
morphs again. Why do I hear Jason?

“You don’t deserve to be freed from this!” shouts Leanne
angrily. He can mimic Leanne too?

“Stop,” I cry, but his figure morphs.

“Why didn’t you save him? You rescued your friend instead of
my brother. My five-year-old brother. Don’t you think he deserves to be saved?”
accuses Lindsay. Lindsay is gone too? Why haven’t I heard about this? He must
have taken her recently, or maybe the police just didn’t relay it to us due to
our own troubles.

“Please stop,” I cry, but he morphs again.

“Alyssa... why won’t you help me? You helped Shana, but I’m
your brother. You won’t help me?” asks Adam in a pleading tone. That one hits
home and I can’t help but cry loudly.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I say. “Give him back to
me,” I beg.

“Give him back and I’ll come. I’m stronger than him. I’ll
last longer. Just let him go and I’ll come,” I offer hysterically. I see Adam’s
long and slender hand reach out and through the curtain. I grab it and am
greeted by a wave of static, but I don’t care. I just want Adam back. I climb
to my knees and clasp both of my hands around Adam- or the fiend’s.

“Just let him go. Just let him go,” I repeat over and over.

The hand jerks away and I look back to see the fiend
returning to his normal form. He’s not laughing like I expect him to be,
instead he seems menacing. He’s assuming a posture that implies that he’s about
to attack. Is he going to take me? If he does will he give back Adam? I feel a
surge of the static screech, and I close my eyes in response. I can’t breathe.
I flail and struggle but something is wrong. I feel consciousness slipping.
He’s killing me. No, I want to see Adam freed first.