Archive for demons

YouTube-ing, Because There Isn’t Enough of This Crap There Already

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 27, 2010 by aaronsummac

So, Merry Christmas to you five people who keep up with this blog. Blake and I were out of town for the better part of the holiday, and returned home Sunday afternoon in generally good spirits.

And those spirits remain, despite the recent developments. Blake went into our office and found something new. Well, the return of something old, but it may as well have been new. Truth be told, I kind of expected this. I happened to read oohthethingsiveseen’s tumblr message the day before we left, and I assumed she meant to leave us some kind of message. The return of Blake’s flashdrive, I must admit, was not my anticipated method of communication.

Long story short, she deleted all his files except for some pictures he took of me and the park near our apartment, and added a new one. After some consideration, I played the audio file, entitled CHRISTMASPRESENT.wav. I would have posted it directly here, but WordPress insists that I waste my money to do so, and thus, Blake and I now have a YouTube Account.  Here is the message:

If you can’t see the video, here’s the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-7eh9Ckjsw.

For whatever reason, the Bitch seems to think we’d be home for Christmas, which at least gives me the relief of knowing she can’t have been watching us for long, or spying on us very well as of late.

Still, it gives one something to ponder.

What they want

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on November 10, 2010 by aaronsummac

When I first saw Slenderman, I thought he was the sandman. My father had just died and I went through a long bout of insomnia; in desperation my mother started telling me stories to try lulling me to sleep. My grandmother tried to help; she told me if I didn’t go to sleep before the sandman showed up at the witching hour (an hour I’m still not sure of), he would snatch my eyes out of my head.

This, as you can imagine, was not a comforting thought. I was six, and I didn’t know that adults lied.

Not long after, I saw him in my window, late at night. He scared me at first, but he was still, so still, and so incredibly quiet. Just as loud noises and multiple noises irritate and upset me, the presence of a quiet, calm person tends to sooth me. The first time I saw Slenderman, he lulled me to sleep.

The other thing I met earlier still. Someone suggested this creature is something called ‘The Rake’. As near as I can tell, The Rake is a humanoid demon that either tells of death, warns of death, or hurts people. All descriptions of it are close to what I saw, but I am reluctant to call this thing by that name. By any name. Naming things is a bad practice.

Also, The Rake tends to be described as a hairless, malformed humanoid, and it is supposed to speak. Or be capable of speech. The thing I saw, as The Bitch described in her vague and annoying way, is much more like a large, shaved dog. About the size of a Saint Bernard, but muscular and bald, and with teeth more like an angler fish’s. Its teeth are needle-like and protrusive; there seem to be too many of them in its mouth. Its claws, too, are longer and sharper than are normal on a canine.

When I first saw it, it was lurking in the trees that fringed a little park by my house. It was laying in a little ditch, making a noise like a dog will make when it’s sick. That’s what I thought it was, at first — a sick dog, and I called to my mother to come see, and started pushing through the brush. I don’t remember if I made it through and went up to the thing, or if it lashed out before a got to its little nest. All I can be positive of is that one second I was fine, if a little scared, and the next my coat was torn open and blood was falling in the leaves and I was alone there. My mother came and scooped me up, and ran me home, all the while asking, ‘what got you, what got you?’, like she hadn’t seen the beast of a creature. I don’t remember it leaving. I think I went to the hospital for stitches, or my father might have given them to me at home. He died a few months later, and everything around that time is a little fuzzy in my head.

The Slenderman wants something. The persistence of his lurking, the insistent staring and stalking (and, yes: eyeless or no, he stares) tells enough of that. But what exactly he wants, I don’t know.

The other thing… I think it just wants to eat.

Ringing in the Changes

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on November 8, 2010 by aaronsummac

A Very Bad Man took a knife and cut my father out of the world.

But first, Something hurt me. Something that followed us, lurking around the outside of our lives. I saw it in the park, hiding in the dark, and when I called attention to it, it lashed out and marked me.

Before the Something, there were the doors. Doors to everywhen and anywhere, but all of them locked; the perils inside not yet mine. A five year old can only survive so much, and hungry for travel and adventure though I was, the doors would never open. I could only imagine what lay behind them, these doors I was told I only imagined.

When the Very Bad Man cut away my father, I was afraid. If the Very Bad Man could take Dad away, then mightn’t he also come for me? And if I slept, I wouldn’t even see him coming. I denied sleep for days until one night, laying in bed,  a door appeared outside my window,  a black void against the white sliver of moon.

As I stared at this door, I became convinced that this was the door to the Very Bad Man’s house.  Now the Very Bad Man would come and steal me away, the Very Bad Man would come with a knife and cut me right out of the world. He was going to open the door and come in through my window, and Mother would scream and weep and shriek just like she did when the Very Bad Man took Daddy away.

I wanted to call out for my mother, for any adult to come – because bad things always disappear for children when an adult is near, is it not so? But I remembered all to well the Something that had hidden itself in the bushes; how it hurt me when I cried out, how could I forget when the blood still drained into the bandages wrapped around my arm; and I knew that some horrors never flee in the face of the coming calvery. Some just hurt you all the worse.

Then the door opened.

It opened to nothing; blackness layered over blackness, as if someone had taken a swatch of sky and swept away the stars. A complete darkness, malicious and maddening, so total it retuted the possibility of light.

Out of the doorway, the darkness seemed to leak; like ink overspilling the well, it poured over the lip of doorway and down some impossible distance to the ground. My bedroom was in the attic space, and the door hung somewhere slightly higher in the air. Something boneless and vile eked from the door, pooling down in the grass below. It seemed endless, this slimming ink, until suddenly, too quick to comprehend, it took on a solidity, a formedness; it became a thing with long reaching fingers and a pale faceless head staring from above a perfectly black body. It was something terrible; it was a man. It was the Very Bad Man.

It moved toward me in one smooth step, so it stood right outside the window, its long fingers clutching at the sill. Though I had been scared for so long, and though the thing standing beyond the thin glass of my window leaked malvolence from every bit of itself, as I watched it, my fear suddenly fled me. Iwas in the presence of the Very Bad Man, but I couldn’t be scared. I asked, starting to slide from my bed – perhaps to open the window – “Do I have to come with you?”

The Very Bad Man looked at me, seeming to stare with his ever shifting face at my bandaged arm. Was there was something about it, something about my clawed up meat that changed his mind? Because after a while of staring, he simply shook his head. No, I didn’t have to come; not yet. Later, perhaps; and did he say that with his mouthless face or did I just make it up? I don’t remember. I remember the cracks running across his face, shifting, changing, consuming themselves only to spread in anew different web; I remember watching these and falling asleep, thinking of wounds that heal and reappear, heal and reappear.

 

Kinda Freaked Out

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on November 4, 2010 by blakecalhoune

I spoke with Aaron after ‘Wenders’ commented my last post. He…

Okay, first, let me tell you the deal with Aaron. He wanted me to drop this whole thing, and after the hospital trip, I said I would. I told you all that. But when the USB drive disappeared, he started getting twitchy about it again. He said he knew it had ‘something to do with that bitch’.

‘That bitch’ I assumed to be our Slenderfriend. I asked, and he tensed and said, ‘not quite’.

Other than that, I can’t get a word out of him about what he thinks is going on, though he’s back in the habit of sitting up late at night. I think he’s waiting.

So I showed him the comment from ‘Wenders’

(and it’s okay that you can’t or won’t tell us who you are. I just hope you’re not another jerkass)

and he clicked the link and just stared at the Tumblr page we were linked to, before pushing away from the computer and stalking back to the living room. I have made a Tumblr account, thinking to comment — I have almost left a question on oohthethingsiveseen’s page twice now — but somehow I just can’t bring myself to do it. I have to admit, I’m kind of scared too. This guy claims to have been in our house, and I honestly don’t want to provoke him.

But at the same time, the guy seems to be such a flake. I can’t be sure that he didn’t just happen upon our blog and decide it would be fun to mess with us. He puts random words into caps (though sometimes the caps turn into little phrases that might be intentional, I have no idea) and seems to thrive and messing with yet another crazy guy on Tumblr.

Does anyone have any advice?

All Quiet on the Mid-Western Front

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on October 17, 2010 by blakecalhoune

First things first: still no sightings, though Aaron continues to have trouble sleeping.

There is always something to see

After reading through some of the other Slender Man related postings on this and other blogging sites, I am hopeful that there might be a few people out there who honestly have seen what we have or know something about our kind of situation. Though a few seem to trail off into ominous silent spells, which is kind of off-putting.

Deeply dreaming, we don’t worry about waking

Last night I was talking about my recurring dream. I feel it prudent to mention that the dreams (for me at least) are not an every-night occurrence. Rather, they became less frequent as waking life started getting more… upsetting. Which seems kind of backwards, really… usually upset in the waking hours seeps into your dreams; isn’t that where bad dreams come from? But still. The worse things seemed during the day, the better sleep was once I finally got there.

Wake up, don’t wake up

The waking stuff started like ‘from the corners of my eye’ kind of eerie-ness. I’d see something dark slink around a corner, or a streak of pale white hovering high outside the window. Whenever I turned my head or strained for a better look, there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. I thought it was just… well, you know, nightmares steal sleep; I’m just so tired.

I honestly think Aaron has been going through this longer than me, though he’s become suddenly quiet on the topic. He was often snapping his head to one side or the other, peering off suspiciously into nothing. I honestly didn’t really think anything of it, because well… Aaron has always been kind of suspicious of the world around him, just sort of by nature. It wasn’t anything to me, until he finally admitted that his insomnia was also stemming from a rash of bad dreams.

I’ll always be right here, baby

(He gave me one of his Looks when I asked about sharing his nightmares (he’s got several recurring ones), so we’ll have to wait and see. Maybe he’ll relent, or maybe he thought I was stupid for asking instead of just doing it. I’ll clarify that tomorrow.)

This log was his idea, in case anyone becomes curious. I at first didn’t like the idea of broadcasting what sounded like our brief bout of craziness. But I actually find that writing it all down is kind of soothing. Aaron, however, seems inclined to steer clear of the blog now that he’s gone to the trouble of making a banner and everything. “Better not to talk about it, maybe.” He says. “Put it from our heads.”

Whisper in the dark, darling

But I can’t, and I know he can’t either.

I’ll whisper right back.

Unfound

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on October 15, 2010 by aaronsummac

There are doors, many open but most closed. It is right that they remain closed. We don’t need to see what lies behind their sturdy barricades.

As days crawl by, each shorter and darker than the last, the thing I cling to most is this: most of the doors are still closed.

But I keep thinking of Quill and how the door was closed, the basement door was closed and locked, and how she was out when we came back.

Is a closed door really so much security, even one that is as locked and barred as these are supposed to be? Graviora manent; Nemo ante mortem beatu.

A cat’s collarbone is not connected to other bones in its body, instead buried in the muscle of the cat’s shoulder. This allows a cat to slip through any opening the size of its head — Quill was locked in the basement when we left the house, and through strength and acrobatic flexibility, she managed to squeeze between the door and the wall, straining the door against it’s chain lock.

Most doors are kept closed, but it is really so hard to imagine that something on the other side could, like a cat, squeeze itself through the cracks? Something thin and flexible and hungry which, sniffing long enough around the edges of its door, has smelled good prey and comes now to hunt.