AN: A story written from Slender Man's point of view. I read up on him, his behaviors, his patterns and his origins. In my finding I came to the conclusion that Slender does indeed exist. If this is the case, (which it might not be) then he attacks like a serial killer, carefully selecting his victims but for no apparent reason. He is one of those monsters who has survived the ages. It was said that in the 1900's, his primary victims were children, and later adults around our time. "It must be terribly lonely" I thought. Then again, Slender is indescribable. Here is a piece from his point of view.
The heartbeat. The beating heart of a human. It is close by. The vibration is tremendous. The sound itself cannot be heard. I cannot hear it.
The thoughts though, I can hear them. The words that I don't understand, don't comprehend. Tantalizing, just beyond my reach. The music and knowledge. Why do these things torture me?
The light. The light burns. I do not know light. What is it? Why can I not experience it? It burns me. The hated light. The light they can hold in their hands. I can feel that too. A light held. It buzzes. Is that what you would call it? This irritating vibration.
Shadowing, following. In the shadows. Avoid the hated light. Beware the hated light. I cannot see it. I cannot see. The vibration. The light gives off a vibration. It burns me. I must follow. The man. He is here. I can hear his thoughts. He stands out.
The existence of his thoughts stands out to me. They drive a hot spike of light into my mind. They are painful. Compared to the other humans, his thoughts are a bullet in my head. They are sharp.
I know sharp. Like the branches on the trees, and the swords that once bit me.
The man. His existence is a constant reminder of my inability to feel. The trance which I live through. The cloud that hangs over my mind. I can feel his mind like a hot beam of light, pointed directly at me. I will break him. Just like all the others.
I can feel him break. He knows I am here, even if he cannot see me. I will break him. Just like all the others. The hot spike in my mind will be taken out. Just like all the others before it. It will be soon.
Already, the sweat is dripping from him, and under his thoughts is a still pool of terror. It is like a reflecting glass. The fear eases my pain. Soon he will be dead.
The night falls. The blesses darkness which closes around me. The man's thoughts are in panic. The terror is cool. It restores my calm. He is running. I cannot run, but I will catch him. I flicker in and out of existence closer, closer, closer. Then I am in front of him.
His mind goes still. I can sense his mind dying. My anger does not rise. Anger is not me. I am nothing. He is falling. Death will take him soon. I reach out, a flicker, and he will vanish, and I will be free again. I flicker, and his blood stains the ground.
At the moment his thoughts cease, I am free again. I am gone. Back to my world of darkness and shadows. The light does not exist here. I can be safe.
I remember before. I was different. The spike of pain came not from these pitiful adults, but from children. They seemed to be made of light. I was tormented by them, but no more. I am free from that.
The children and the adults. They irritate me. My mind can only understand anger. My body can only feel. They are more than me. I cannot understand them.
They hold the light in their hands. For hundreds on their lifetimes. They have held the light. Strangely, it is not their light that bothers me. It is the ones who no longer see that light that I hate. Hatred. I understand hatred. Their hatred is what drives me. Their hatred is light. I am darkness. Only their darkness does not reflect my own. Why can they not stop?
Hatred. Dangerous. I am dangerous. The only sound I can hear is their screams. Their existence is utterly painful.
I am a force. They are nothing. I am anger and hatred. I live nothingness. They can sense me, even when they do not see me. Their minds go fuzzy, just like the lights they hold.
Passiveness. I am nothing. I live through a trance. But so do they. So do the humans. The pain of their existence that wipes away that trance is what drives me. The hatred drives me.
But if I am nothing, how can I feel all this?
For so long, I have been nothing. Now I can feel. The hatred boiling inside me. The anger that threatens to rise up. To them I am a monster. No. They are the monsters. I will show them. I can destroy them.
But the trance holds me. I struggle against my bonds. Silently, in a world of shadows, I struggle. I spent my whole life killing them. They cause me pain. I will eliminate them. Kill them. Bring them down. That is why I exist.
And yet.
Only a few cause me pain. What of the rest? There are so many of them.
And some of them. Their light is different from the others. The darkness inside of them is prominent, yet these few among them shine so brightly. What are they? I want to kill them. My anger begins to rise when I see them.
I cannot kill them. These few sparkle brighter than all the others, but they hold so much more darkness. I want to but I cannot kill them.
They can sense me. Me watching them. They sit with their backs to walls. They sleep little. They are always looking behind them. But for some reason, I cannot kill them. Nothing forbids me but myself. Held in check by something I don't understand. They are untouchable.
Every single one of them is different.
They spark to life and die, again and again. They are sad, angry, and fierce and bright. Then they die. Then they spark again, soft, kind, and dark. What are they?
They fall and rise, again and again.
They talk to me.
They whisper to me. They know I am there. They can feel me. They are not afraid.
I am stretched toward them, and repelled away from them. They are odd.
These children but not children. They are all young, to be sure. But they are old too. Their soul is so old.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know a thing.
I am timeless, ageless. Trapped like this. What am I?
They are all human. All of my prey. They are human. Human…
But those few. They don't feel human. They are different.
Was I like them once?
I should kill them. I must kill them, but I cannot. They resound is a way that is untouchable, unfathomable. Indescribable. Just like me.
They have tried to describe me. I know that. They cannot describe me.
Primitive. Killing. Death. Dangerous. Stalking. Following. What am I?
That are those few?
Why do they shine so brightly, but do not hurt me.
And that one. She glows. She is the brightest of them all. It should be painful to look at her, but it isn't.
She sings. I know she sings. She is full of song, but knows that she is not a musician. She merely loves music.
They all read. Every single one of those strange humans. They all read, but that isn't what is different about them. They have all seen something. They cry at night, but they have no sadness. They don't cry for others, or for themselves. Tears are something I cannot understand. They know something.
What is it they know?
Why can I feel them?
Why is their light different from all the others. They all know something I don't know. I hate them. I want to kill them but they are untouchable.
She sings sometimes. The one that shines brighter than all the rest. She sings, but no one hears the songs. Not even me. And I am always watching.
Her heart is heavy, and yet she sings.
Was I once like them?
I don't know.
Was I once human?
What happened to me?
Her songs are unheard. I am unheard. The words I don't understand, but resound within me. And the sharp light that burns me. What is it?
Can they hear me? Those few? They hear something. The spark inside of them bursts to life and I watch it die again and again, only to burst to life once more.
From my world of shadows that I peer at them from.
And the song she sings sometimes cuts me deep, even though the words are lost to me. I can understand sometimes. She sings of pain and heartache. I have no heart.
I don't know,
I don't know,
No, I don't know a thing.
I must have been human once. I lost everything. It was so long ago. The six trillion years that past in a moment. That I lived for so long is this trance, and killed those who disturbed me. I was saved once, but I killed that person to. I know nothing. I am nothing.
They call me a killer, they call me evil. That is what I am.
But those few, they look at me and feel fear, yes. But they also see there must be a reason. And that one, that girl, reaches out to me with her mind. As if to say that she understands.