Slenderman Doesn’t Exist
“Slenderman isn’t real.” That’s how this story starts. That’s how this story will most likely end. I don’t lie. My name is Raksha, and this is my story. “Slenderman isn’t real.” Helen has said this a variety of times to me. I nod vaguely and she cries out in frustration. I silently watch her fume, her round, pudgy pig face red all the way to the roots of her bleached hair. She looks me in the eyes and I return her stare. She’s pleading with me, but I don’t care. She wants me to say a lie; but I won’t do that. Obviously seeing my resolution, she stands up, and storms out of the room. I hear her screaming at my fiancée that she couldn’t help me, that I was a lost cause that should be abandoned. Reaching for my untouched coffee that lay on the side table aside the couch I lounged on, I stir in some of the provided sugar and wait for Jer to come and get me. When he does, his eyes show exhaustion. A stab of sympathy hits me. That’s all from my yelling at night. Hardening up quickly, I give him one of my legendary cold shoulders. I told him he could leave me; he refused, therefore his well being was no concern of mine. He seated himself beside me on the psychiatrist’s couch. “Why? Why won’t you admit Slenderman isn’t real? What could you possibly gain by keeping up this charade?” I scoffed at him and his weakness. Was he really expecting me to soften up, lie, and tell him I would stop playing a game that doesn’t exist? As if I would play such a useless game. He knows I don’t play in something that doesn’t benefit me in return. He didn’t say a word as he got up from the couch, but just as he was about to walk out the door, he said it. “I’m calling it off. Our engagement, our relationship. Everything. I’ll file all the paperwork, and send it for you to sign. I’ll tell your family.you just keep obsessing over things that aren’t there.” And with that, I lost Jer forever. I didn’t care. He didn’t believe me, no he didn’t want to believe me. All because of his fear. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life with someone that weak anyhow. I rose from the couch, dusted off my jeans, and sauntered to the dreary day in Seattle. Rain clouds were forming in the sky, ready to pour at given moment. I fingered the large kitchen knife, the lone item I kept in my handbag. A drizzle began to rain over the town, but I continued to walk east. Towards the woods. He was already there when I arrived. His suit was extraordinarily dry, as if the rain found him as revolting as I did. His snake like arms dangled , barely scraping the forest floor. He accessed me in silence- I didn’t think he was blind, but I always had to remind myself that he could see me better than I could see him. I guess I would never get over the feeling that he was wearing some morbid Halloween costume. His long tentacles were absent, for the time being, and one of his long arms stretched towards my face. His spindly finger explored my face and my ody, without ever touching it. I didn’t hide the repulsive shivers it caused. Finally, it seemed as though he was deep into the trance, or enchantment, or whatever this monster could feel. I dug deep into my bag to unsheathed the knife, and I plunged it into his chest. He didn’t look as if he were pain, then again, he didn’t look like anything. His face was still glued to my body as I screamed. My legs couldn’t support me anymore, but I stood. His gaze literally wouldn’t let me go. I felt blood seeping through my clothes, slithering down my torso. My knife was plunged into his chest, yet it wasn’t him I had pierced. The forest began to black out. I realized that I wasn’t fainting; it was Slenderman. His tentacles weren’t absent, but were winding through the trees, dodging my vision. A slimy cloak enfolded me, and Slenderman’s face became a smile, full of razor incisors faced me. I understand why people like Helen don’t search for monsters, or deny their existence. People like her realize it before people like me. She understood me, or better yet, the monster inside of me. Slenderman doesn’t exist. Sure. But you do. As do the monsters inside…. Credit To: Raksha Keller Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.