A/N: This is a fic that popped into my head while I was surfing Creepypasta, like I tend to do in my spare time. R&R for the next chapter. Reviews make me super happy, tell me what I can do better, and maybe some ideas for later in the story :) Happy reading!

He watches her from his unseen place behind tall trees and various shrubbery, unmoving, but obvious to anyone coming from either side or behind. Risk of discovery bothers him little. IF anyone does manage to see him, he can just as easily kill them. His body is still, clothes not even ruffling in the brisk wind, enforcing that he is not of this world. Or perhaps he is, but should not be.

For weeks now, he has watched her. Her short snow white hair intrigues him as it blows softly in the wind like snowflakes drifting lazily down to the dew-kissed grass. She sits on a large boulder that only emphasizes her tininess, setting her bag with a partial white mask and a red rose depicted on it in her lap. She pulls out a small red device that, despite his weeks of watching her, still does not understand how it works. The girl pulls out another small device, this one is a thin rectangle in shape, and the red cylinder object chimes before beginning to play soft music. He closes his eyes, or he would have if he had eyes. Although these humans are barbaric, bloodthirsty, and rather stupid, some of them do manage to play wondrous music. How such a beautiful thing can come from a species that destroys everything in its path is still lost on him. The girl pulls a pair of nunchuks out of her bag and sets them aside, stripping off her baggy black hoodie that could nearly be a dress to reveal her black tank top. Her skin, nearly as pale as her hair, forms goose bumps in the crisp October air, which, while comfortable for himself, must be rather cold for her. She slides off the boulder with her metal weapon held tightly. She performs a few spins, the weapon looking clumsy and brutish in her dainty pianist hand. He tilts his head as she holds them out in both hands, bows, and begins spinning them rapidly. He finds himself flinching for her as they pass dangerously close to her face, close enough to nearly graze her little ear with the three little silver stars stabbed through the cartilage.

Even though he has studied humans for decades, he has never understood why they pay for people to stab little metal things through various parts of their bodies, but when someone on the street does it, it is as though the world has gone mad.

Her silver eyes are closed as she spins her metal sticks around her head, waist, legs, and shoulders, coming so close to hitting her small body, to breaking bones and splitting her porcelain skin, yet the thought of them actually hitting her is absurd to him. Her grip on the weapon is secure, and even when she lets go to allow the chain to wrap around her hand allowing her to grab the other rod, it is as though her grip was never released. As though some strange force keeps those nunchuks from flying out of her hand and hitting her in the face, possibly knocking out teeth or breaking her jaw. His eyes, well, his sight, is drawn once again to the pictures permanently inked into her arms. He sees rippling sheet music, some roses, a skull decorated with dots and things that he is too far away to make out.

This girl has intrigued him for so long. She is different from other humans in appearance, and something else he cannot put his paper white finger on. While he has spent long hours struggling to understand why she is different, he is at a loss. The only thing he has come up with was something he discovered just a few days ago.

XXxxXX

The light of the moon shines wickedly off her slightly curved sword. Music, this time full of heavy guitar and energetic voices, blares from her blood red little cylinder. Little droplets of sweat have formed on her skin from her hours of practicing. She has gone through the same motions over and over again, and then would kneel with her sword sheathed in front of her, and she remained perfectly still, save for her shoulders and chest moving with her gentle breaths. Her silver eyes are closed, her spidery pale hands rest on her knees, clad by baggy black pants that allow her to move. When she would do this she would stay for an impossibly long time, or at least it seemed like it to him. The longer she would sit, the worse he wanted to see her begin her deadly dance with her sword that reflects the stolen silver rays of the moon back at him like a beacon. A signal that she is there.

It attracts him like a moth to flame.

Eventually she would pick up her sword and begin her movements once more. He would venture further to her, like a scientist studying a specimen under a microscope. As she would turn away from him, he would venture closer, inch by painful inch, until he could nearly reach out and touch her.

Her sword halted mid-swing and fell from her hands. He watched it in slow motion as it fell, bouncing from end to end on the crunchy layer of dead autumn leaves. She turns around, a small trickle of blood trails from her nose. Her eyes are flashing like the wicked blade of her sword, so deadly, but so beautiful. He shifts his weight, a human habit he, regrettably, picked up. A few leaves crunch underfoot, but with her dull human hearing she will not be able to distinguish it from the rest of the regular sounds of the forest.

A dagger hits the tree trunk in front of his "face" as a single word leaves her pale rose petal lips.

"Slenderman."

A/N: Oooohh he's been found out. Did you like it? Hate it? Wanna come to where I live and kill me? Even better, wanna come to my house and bring me chocolate? Tell me in a review!