Post by Garra Desalmados on Aug 15, 2014 18:35:57 GMT -5
I wrote a thing, I got bored. Proof-reading is for chumps.
----------
A hazy figure stood apart from a background like smoke through glass, nothing was truly visible to my eyes beyond the light of a child. A little girl. Her father was the figure who seemed to blend into the background so easily. It took time for me to pick him out, gauge his threat, determine that he was of no real consequence, and then...well...to kill him. I didn’t touch him. I thought about it...and they did all of the real work. A black streak store through him like a knife through paper and the sickening visions of a man’s rib cage being split in two came into much clearer focus. He was in my way...I couldn’t have that. His words sounded like a fly buzzing around my ears and I couldn’t make out words. The tone of pleading was obvious...I ignored that bit. I wanted the girl. i wanted the spark. I needed it. In her heart a brilliant candle pierced through my damaged eyes and quickly became the only thing I could see...the only thing I wanted to see….then it was over. I was somewhere else, someone else, in some place I barely recognized. My eyes adjusted to a new and crude idea of colors as I felt flesh on my bones...no these weren’t new things. Old things. Very old things. I’d lived with them for twenty three years.
I had been dreaming.
This may seem like a strange way to introduce a story but bear with me; it is of CRITICAL importance that you understand the mindset I was in when I made the decision that would change the rest of my life. I was, like I said, 23 years old. Living alone. Working from home. I guess you wouldn’t call this ‘work’, most people would call it the pursuit of a mad man. I hadn’t seen real money (or even digital money now that my bank account read more like a computer code made entirely of 0’s instead of anything resembling a balance…) in a few years but I was too close to care. I lived in the woods and lived off the land. The forest provided for me as it provided for many others before me and I remember the day that I learned what else it provided for deeper within it.
The day I met that thing changed my life and put me on the path to where I am now.
You might want to write this off as the ravings of a lunatic loser who couldn’t even hold down a job long enough to buy a cup of coffee but I’m the only one who has this information. The only one who has ever seen what they are really like...those things...you write about them. Oh I wish I could be like some of you and think there was only one...you call him the Slenderman. I call him a monster.
If only you knew what you were doing...what you are to them...you’re not normal food. They don’t eat you with teeth. They don’t even kill you most of the time if you’re unlucky...they toy with humanity. They laugh at us as bitter old women laugh at their husbands. They were once like you, an avid consumer of air, water, and food...but they’ve stopped being anything like that. They subsist on the corruption of the mind and your torment fuels them…
Your tears are the ketchup.
Your screams are the buns.
Your pleading the patty.
Now theres something you won’t find on the dollar menu...a terror sandwich.
You might be asking yourself what this all means but don’t let me get ahead of myself, you’ll want to know every detail won’t you? What it takes to turn a man into the faceless nightmare that devours your fear until you have nothing left to give it but your actual flesh? Wouldn’t it be so much easier if you just closed the tab, shut down your computer, and never came back here again?
Lets start with a confession to the more avid readers who’ve pushed on until now…
I am a Slenderman. I only used ‘they’ so you wouldn’t be scared off...I know you might be worried that I’ll corrupt your soul and eat away at your mind through your computer but in my current state? I couldn’t hurt a fly...thats the point. If I were fully charged I couldn’t even TOUCH a computer much less communicate through it...but I’m here for a purpose. Consider this my ‘vacation time’ because hey, even monsters have to party! I’ve got a bottle of vodka and a cellphone full of contacts just waiting to go! So before I go on and have the time of my unlife I’ll tell you what you want to know.
I’ll tell you how to become a Slenderman.
I wasn’t lying when I said I wished there was only one...I wish it was me.
You see, we compete. We’re animals. You only find us in solitary groups because we very rarely need help tormenting and playing with our food but sometimes...sometimes the added help is worth an I.O.U or a split meal. If you choose to become like me then I’ll have no choice but to hunt you down…
Just kidding. I won’t kill you. Can’t. We have rules...but that doesn’t mean I won’t run through one of your little victims before he’s good and ripe. It takes years to rear a prime cut so that leaves me plenty of opportunities after all...so if you’re already one of the black suited folks? Don’t go blabbing or you’re next. I’m one of the new breeds, I actually UNDERSTAND technology. Scary isn’t it for all of you 1500s cavemen huh? Maybe I just want some MODERN friends who can understand me when I’m on vacation instead of howling at a microwave to create tacos!
...lost my cool there. Sorry. Its just very FRUSTRATING to deal with them sometimes...but that is why I’m here, I don’t have any friends and while that may sound a little ‘low key’ for a multi-dimensional space horror we have feelings too. Not many...but some. Anyways I’m off topic again…
How do you become a Slenderman?
Survive a Slenderman.
I might’ve touched a few nerves there with so many survivors out there and so many people trying to escape one of my brothers and sisters but thats just how it is...if we devour all of your fear and then don’t wring out the leftovers from your husk then you will have become something truly fearless...something capable of following the steps. Until you’ve done this then you can get nowhere even if your damaged psyche enables you to perform the physical acts. Only a Slenderman can truly drain you of every ounce of horror in your soul so if you were entertaining the idea of tentacle fun with your ex-girlfriend...you’ll have lost your appetite for sex before you even start the process. We don’t really have genitals or reproduce sexually so say goodbye to Mr. Winky if you press onwards.
As I said before: only survivors can become one. This makes our hunting habits very...unideal. In order to eat we have to risk creating someone fearless and damaged enough to actually try to become one of us. Usually we kill you when we’re done so we lessen that risk and our cadre can pick up the slack if need be...but sometimes we make something too good at fighting us to kill. I suppose its really a double-edged sword; sometimes we make more competition for ourselves but we also turn your best men and women against you. I don’t know of anyone who makes more deliberately besides me though so I guess we can have fun exploring this avenue together hm?
Besides...most of you will fail at the first step already and if I don’t get new friends? I get to feed on your fear like maggots to a corpse and drain every delicious ounce of revulsion and pain out of you…
Sorry, hungry again it seems...
So anyways...if you’re stout of heart and dead inside you might feel urges...now I don’t mean killing urges (although that often comes with the damaged psyche) but rather the urge to go beyond killing. If your mind is warped enough to derive pleasure from the agony of others...you’re taking your second step: changing your diet. It will take time but slowly you’ll lose the need to eat, sleep, or drink. A human soul damaged with an absence of fear no longer fears the retaliation of a body denied and the body adapts. Your mind is far more powerful than you give it credit. Once you’ve stopped even so much as feeling the need to shit on a monthly basis you might start to idolize us. Look into us. Try to understand us.
Then you’ll see it. The third and final step (well short of finding a tailor that can make a suit that will survive dimensional travel...good luck with that one...) You’ll see some of the earliest work of the modern era and realize that many stories about us have forgotten an early detail. Not because it was never an integral part of our being but because it stopped happening after our initial 21st century boom. If you need more than hints though?
Take a child, no older than ten.
Lead them into the woods.
Skin them alive.
Extract their organs.
Tie their skin into a little bag.
Put the organs and blood back in.
Wait.
It is critical that you not try to skip step 2 because you’ll need to wait a very long time in the forest. We don’t like to respond to these summons so we try to wait you out. If you leave the area then we’ll just take the offering for ourselves before He gets it. If you sleep or close your eyes? Same thing. You’re going to have to outwait the most patient species in Creepypasta history so bring some light reading and a laptop or two.
Your offering will eventually, angrily, be accepted. The Slenderman will come. Not a Slenderman, not one of the the Slendermen, THE Slenderman. The original. You may not recognize him...he’s a bit different. More old fashion. Doesn’t have our modern fashion sense. Don’t worry though he’ll teach you everything there is to know and change you, physically and mentally, into the thing you want to become.
You’ll learn everything you ever wanted to know...and many more things you didn’t.
I’m sure you have many more questions but there is only one more I’m interested in answering.
Why we target children.
To the eyes of a Slenderman the world is gray and murky. We see and sense very little. Our senses are dulled and if we weren’t nearly immortal and tireless we would have difficulty hunting at all...even our food, your fear, is colorless and hard to distinguish from the background static. Courage on the other hand? The single thing we have to fear?
Its brighter than the sun to us. We pursue children because they’re the single most obnoxious thing we have to deal with and we’re not even parents. They don’t fear us. They need to be TAUGHT to fear us...so we can consume them later on in their adulthood. We don’t toy with children because we have some sort of empathy with them. They are, quite simply, indigestable. You don’t have sympathy towards an apple tree. You simply keep tabs on it to ensure it will, someday, grow apples that you can eat.
In the same way we interact with children and hope that their blinding lights will dim with time…
So about my story earlier? That was the last dream I ever had...before the Slendermen came for me. I struggled. Years of sleeplessness and horror...ages upon ages of wondering when it would get me, when my life would end, when I would die...and then ages more instilling the same fear in others in the basement of a church with a power drill and six candles. I gave up the world in order to pursue the horror that had ruined my life...and become it.
You people...you hated me. I was homeless and you shunned me. I was crazy and you didn’t see me. I was hunted and you didn’t help me. I survived. I made you suffer but I knew my mortal life was limited.
Now I can play with you forever.
The last dream I ever had before the insomnia of the hunt began was the dream I ended up living…
Hunting you.
...and now I get to enjoy the luxury of humanity alongside the horrors of inhumanity. I’ve earned enough vacation days to spend a few days among you, as a human, and I’m going to spend it preparing a feast. I hope I can see you soon...either as my prey or as my competition. Maybe we’ll even have time off together…
Thats the door bell. They’re here.
Oh...and they brought their children. How terrific.
----------
A hazy figure stood apart from a background like smoke through glass, nothing was truly visible to my eyes beyond the light of a child. A little girl. Her father was the figure who seemed to blend into the background so easily. It took time for me to pick him out, gauge his threat, determine that he was of no real consequence, and then...well...to kill him. I didn’t touch him. I thought about it...and they did all of the real work. A black streak store through him like a knife through paper and the sickening visions of a man’s rib cage being split in two came into much clearer focus. He was in my way...I couldn’t have that. His words sounded like a fly buzzing around my ears and I couldn’t make out words. The tone of pleading was obvious...I ignored that bit. I wanted the girl. i wanted the spark. I needed it. In her heart a brilliant candle pierced through my damaged eyes and quickly became the only thing I could see...the only thing I wanted to see….then it was over. I was somewhere else, someone else, in some place I barely recognized. My eyes adjusted to a new and crude idea of colors as I felt flesh on my bones...no these weren’t new things. Old things. Very old things. I’d lived with them for twenty three years.
I had been dreaming.
This may seem like a strange way to introduce a story but bear with me; it is of CRITICAL importance that you understand the mindset I was in when I made the decision that would change the rest of my life. I was, like I said, 23 years old. Living alone. Working from home. I guess you wouldn’t call this ‘work’, most people would call it the pursuit of a mad man. I hadn’t seen real money (or even digital money now that my bank account read more like a computer code made entirely of 0’s instead of anything resembling a balance…) in a few years but I was too close to care. I lived in the woods and lived off the land. The forest provided for me as it provided for many others before me and I remember the day that I learned what else it provided for deeper within it.
The day I met that thing changed my life and put me on the path to where I am now.
You might want to write this off as the ravings of a lunatic loser who couldn’t even hold down a job long enough to buy a cup of coffee but I’m the only one who has this information. The only one who has ever seen what they are really like...those things...you write about them. Oh I wish I could be like some of you and think there was only one...you call him the Slenderman. I call him a monster.
If only you knew what you were doing...what you are to them...you’re not normal food. They don’t eat you with teeth. They don’t even kill you most of the time if you’re unlucky...they toy with humanity. They laugh at us as bitter old women laugh at their husbands. They were once like you, an avid consumer of air, water, and food...but they’ve stopped being anything like that. They subsist on the corruption of the mind and your torment fuels them…
Your tears are the ketchup.
Your screams are the buns.
Your pleading the patty.
Now theres something you won’t find on the dollar menu...a terror sandwich.
You might be asking yourself what this all means but don’t let me get ahead of myself, you’ll want to know every detail won’t you? What it takes to turn a man into the faceless nightmare that devours your fear until you have nothing left to give it but your actual flesh? Wouldn’t it be so much easier if you just closed the tab, shut down your computer, and never came back here again?
Lets start with a confession to the more avid readers who’ve pushed on until now…
I am a Slenderman. I only used ‘they’ so you wouldn’t be scared off...I know you might be worried that I’ll corrupt your soul and eat away at your mind through your computer but in my current state? I couldn’t hurt a fly...thats the point. If I were fully charged I couldn’t even TOUCH a computer much less communicate through it...but I’m here for a purpose. Consider this my ‘vacation time’ because hey, even monsters have to party! I’ve got a bottle of vodka and a cellphone full of contacts just waiting to go! So before I go on and have the time of my unlife I’ll tell you what you want to know.
I’ll tell you how to become a Slenderman.
I wasn’t lying when I said I wished there was only one...I wish it was me.
You see, we compete. We’re animals. You only find us in solitary groups because we very rarely need help tormenting and playing with our food but sometimes...sometimes the added help is worth an I.O.U or a split meal. If you choose to become like me then I’ll have no choice but to hunt you down…
Just kidding. I won’t kill you. Can’t. We have rules...but that doesn’t mean I won’t run through one of your little victims before he’s good and ripe. It takes years to rear a prime cut so that leaves me plenty of opportunities after all...so if you’re already one of the black suited folks? Don’t go blabbing or you’re next. I’m one of the new breeds, I actually UNDERSTAND technology. Scary isn’t it for all of you 1500s cavemen huh? Maybe I just want some MODERN friends who can understand me when I’m on vacation instead of howling at a microwave to create tacos!
...lost my cool there. Sorry. Its just very FRUSTRATING to deal with them sometimes...but that is why I’m here, I don’t have any friends and while that may sound a little ‘low key’ for a multi-dimensional space horror we have feelings too. Not many...but some. Anyways I’m off topic again…
How do you become a Slenderman?
Survive a Slenderman.
I might’ve touched a few nerves there with so many survivors out there and so many people trying to escape one of my brothers and sisters but thats just how it is...if we devour all of your fear and then don’t wring out the leftovers from your husk then you will have become something truly fearless...something capable of following the steps. Until you’ve done this then you can get nowhere even if your damaged psyche enables you to perform the physical acts. Only a Slenderman can truly drain you of every ounce of horror in your soul so if you were entertaining the idea of tentacle fun with your ex-girlfriend...you’ll have lost your appetite for sex before you even start the process. We don’t really have genitals or reproduce sexually so say goodbye to Mr. Winky if you press onwards.
As I said before: only survivors can become one. This makes our hunting habits very...unideal. In order to eat we have to risk creating someone fearless and damaged enough to actually try to become one of us. Usually we kill you when we’re done so we lessen that risk and our cadre can pick up the slack if need be...but sometimes we make something too good at fighting us to kill. I suppose its really a double-edged sword; sometimes we make more competition for ourselves but we also turn your best men and women against you. I don’t know of anyone who makes more deliberately besides me though so I guess we can have fun exploring this avenue together hm?
Besides...most of you will fail at the first step already and if I don’t get new friends? I get to feed on your fear like maggots to a corpse and drain every delicious ounce of revulsion and pain out of you…
Sorry, hungry again it seems...
So anyways...if you’re stout of heart and dead inside you might feel urges...now I don’t mean killing urges (although that often comes with the damaged psyche) but rather the urge to go beyond killing. If your mind is warped enough to derive pleasure from the agony of others...you’re taking your second step: changing your diet. It will take time but slowly you’ll lose the need to eat, sleep, or drink. A human soul damaged with an absence of fear no longer fears the retaliation of a body denied and the body adapts. Your mind is far more powerful than you give it credit. Once you’ve stopped even so much as feeling the need to shit on a monthly basis you might start to idolize us. Look into us. Try to understand us.
Then you’ll see it. The third and final step (well short of finding a tailor that can make a suit that will survive dimensional travel...good luck with that one...) You’ll see some of the earliest work of the modern era and realize that many stories about us have forgotten an early detail. Not because it was never an integral part of our being but because it stopped happening after our initial 21st century boom. If you need more than hints though?
Take a child, no older than ten.
Lead them into the woods.
Skin them alive.
Extract their organs.
Tie their skin into a little bag.
Put the organs and blood back in.
Wait.
It is critical that you not try to skip step 2 because you’ll need to wait a very long time in the forest. We don’t like to respond to these summons so we try to wait you out. If you leave the area then we’ll just take the offering for ourselves before He gets it. If you sleep or close your eyes? Same thing. You’re going to have to outwait the most patient species in Creepypasta history so bring some light reading and a laptop or two.
Your offering will eventually, angrily, be accepted. The Slenderman will come. Not a Slenderman, not one of the the Slendermen, THE Slenderman. The original. You may not recognize him...he’s a bit different. More old fashion. Doesn’t have our modern fashion sense. Don’t worry though he’ll teach you everything there is to know and change you, physically and mentally, into the thing you want to become.
You’ll learn everything you ever wanted to know...and many more things you didn’t.
I’m sure you have many more questions but there is only one more I’m interested in answering.
Why we target children.
To the eyes of a Slenderman the world is gray and murky. We see and sense very little. Our senses are dulled and if we weren’t nearly immortal and tireless we would have difficulty hunting at all...even our food, your fear, is colorless and hard to distinguish from the background static. Courage on the other hand? The single thing we have to fear?
Its brighter than the sun to us. We pursue children because they’re the single most obnoxious thing we have to deal with and we’re not even parents. They don’t fear us. They need to be TAUGHT to fear us...so we can consume them later on in their adulthood. We don’t toy with children because we have some sort of empathy with them. They are, quite simply, indigestable. You don’t have sympathy towards an apple tree. You simply keep tabs on it to ensure it will, someday, grow apples that you can eat.
In the same way we interact with children and hope that their blinding lights will dim with time…
So about my story earlier? That was the last dream I ever had...before the Slendermen came for me. I struggled. Years of sleeplessness and horror...ages upon ages of wondering when it would get me, when my life would end, when I would die...and then ages more instilling the same fear in others in the basement of a church with a power drill and six candles. I gave up the world in order to pursue the horror that had ruined my life...and become it.
You people...you hated me. I was homeless and you shunned me. I was crazy and you didn’t see me. I was hunted and you didn’t help me. I survived. I made you suffer but I knew my mortal life was limited.
Now I can play with you forever.
The last dream I ever had before the insomnia of the hunt began was the dream I ended up living…
Hunting you.
...and now I get to enjoy the luxury of humanity alongside the horrors of inhumanity. I’ve earned enough vacation days to spend a few days among you, as a human, and I’m going to spend it preparing a feast. I hope I can see you soon...either as my prey or as my competition. Maybe we’ll even have time off together…
Thats the door bell. They’re here.
Oh...and they brought their children. How terrific.