He doesn't exist... It's a myth... Only a game... Your imagination...
That's what they all said. That's what they still say now. After this though, they'll never say it again.
I turn around, to look at my two friends. They gesture forward, telling me to go on, signaling that nothing bad is going to happen. I sigh, put on a false look of desperation, turn around, and walk towards the fence. As my fingers wrap around the chain-link, I hear an unnatural-sounding gust of wind, and I turn around for one final look at my friends, but they've disappeared, soundlessly, without a trace.
If only I had known.
I turn once more, and begin climbing. At the top of the fence, my gaze sweeps the horizon. Big place. I think to myself. I turn back to where my friends were, hoping that I'd see them crouched behind some bush or something, but there's nothing. The area is quiet, save for the wind sighing through the trees, the soft whisper of the leaves. I push off and, for the split second that it had lasted, revel in the sensation of falling. I'm jolted out of my imagination though, as my feet hit the ground, and I fumble for my flashlight, the area suddenly seeming much darker than it did just seconds before.
My hand reaches for the satchel at my waist, and squeezes the pouch gently. I feel the little cylinders inside, counting. Six. I didn't think I'd need that many batteries, when I left for the forest, but now, it seems, I haven't brought enough.
The sky is clear, and the night warm, but for some reason, my knees begin to ache, the way they used to on cold winter nights, or on evenings before thunderstorms. The pain makes it difficult to walk fast, but I have no curfew, not since my parents were killed. My heart begins pounding, hard. I suppose it's only instincts, though. Long buried intentions of survival, to be weary of the night, of the darkness, the trees, rise once more, every one of my senses on high alert. I hear a rumbling, like thunder, or the footstep of some gargantuan beast. A second of silence, then it comes again.
I shake my head in dismay, knowing what that noise could have come from. My schizophrenia must be acting up. It hasn't bothered me for two years, though! How could it be doing this to me now? It's not real. I tell myself. It's just your imagination. My wayward train of thought wanders back to the things my friends were telling earlier this week, about the Slenderman, and how I kept assuring myself of the same things.
Now, though, it seems their stories are becoming all too real, like I can almost feel the Slenderman staring at me. The hair on the back of my neck prickles, and a cold sweat break across my forehead, where locks of golden blonde hair fall in thick curtains. I toss my head, sending the curls flying, and see something out of the corner of my eye, something almost human-like in appearance. I turn my head to put the figure in direct line of sight, but a curl passes over my eyes, and it's gone.
Just your imagination.
I start to feel a little sick, and begin to get a headache, but the sensations pass. I look straight ahead, at the three-way split in the dirt pathway, and decide to head left.
I hear a soft hissing behind me, and ignore it, remembering rule number 1 of Slenderman:
Never look behind you.