Unnatural

Chapter 1: Contact

There was an air of duty as I dressed and geared up. Flashlight, night vision camera, EMF detector… This was my job. I took pride in it, and took it very seriously. My name is Jake Reeves, a cryptozoologist by trade and a traveler by nature. Basically, my job is to travel to unique locations, confirm or debunk the validity behind the paranormal, and discover the truth. And I had an errand.

Since the 1500s, a mysterious figure has appeared in woodcuts, drawings, and paintings the world over. The figure has been known to embody Death, and in its most famous depiction (the Germanic woodcut "Der Ritter"), the creature is seen murdering a German knight using only a grotesquely elongated forearm. In almost all contexts, the figure was inhumanly tall, thin, often had long, thin extra arms or tentacles, and had an iconic blank face. For decades, there had been sightings, footage, disappearances, and many unexplained deaths. And it had taken to wearing a suit and tie.

It was known worldwide as Slenderman.

It seemed to target children, but many adults had become victims as well. At the moment, I was on a plane to Germany, where a recent rash of encounters, centered around the Black Forest, had broken out.

When I arrived, I was escorted to a four-star hotel and had what was very possibly the best room service I have ever had. I didn't know enough German to understand what little was on TV, so I decided to shower and call it a day. I would start my investigation the next day, but for now, rest and relaxation would prepare me for whatever lay ahead.

My night was riddled with countless nightmares. Dark visions of blurry figures moving about in a huge, dank cavern; pine trees silhouetted against the full moon; skeletons innumerable stacked to the ceiling of a cave; and finally, a featureless face.

I woke in a cold sweat. I glanced around the lavish room to make sure I wasn't still dreaming, then looked at the clock. Five in the morning. I rose and dressed, gathered my equipment, and left. In the parking lot outside the front doors sat a brand-new, fully outfitted Jeep. I stood, stupefied, until I noticed a note on the windshield.

"Many thanks to you for your will to help us, Mister Reeves. This was the least we could do. We are forever in your debt. Sincerely, the citizens of the Black Forest community."

These people must be living in complete fear of this thing, I thought. I looked around, and, not seeing anyone to thank, decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. A few minutes later, I was on the road.

I reached the outskirts of the Black Forest within half an hour. The wood was immense; it took me until around midday to reach the approximate center of the forest. I came upon a viable campsite, a sunlit clearing, a couple hundred feet off the main path. Then, after securing a perimeter, I set up camp. I had brought a thermal-control tent, surveillance equipment, a cooler full of nonperishable food, emergency equipment, a survival knife, and a .357 Magnum, just in case. After pitching the tent, I set up cameras on the trees surrounding my camp. I spent the rest of the daylight hours scouting the woods, capturing test footage, and checking the cameras every now and then. Returning to camp, I built a fire; night was falling fast. After a dinner of baked beans, I read a few chapters from a western novel I'd brought. Around nine thirty, I quenched the fire, went inside the tent, and, slowly but surely, fell asleep.

I had slept around four hours when a sound woke me. Having realized the danger of a mountain lion or bear attack, I reached calmly under my pillow and gripped my handgun. The knife was already in a sheath on my belt. I had made a habit of sleeping fully dressed when camping, so I stepped outside the tent, Magnum held high.

A figure crouched beside the ashes of the fire, its back to me. The cooler lay open on its side, and most of the food I'd brought was missing. Most of the figure was indiscernible, but I could just make out a pale-skinned, bald-headed human figure. A lost, disgruntled hiker? Some kind of fugitive, perhaps? In a calm, low voice, I spoke. "Get off my campsite." I leveled the gun, aimed at the head. The man made an odd grunting noise. "I really don't wanna have to use this, mister." I cocked the gun. And the man turned.

There was no face.

Visible veins throbbed beneath translucent, spongy, white flesh. A high-set ribcage heaved above an oddly thin abdomen. Double-jointed legs, much like a dog's, made the creature seem shorter than it was. Three holes, which I guessed were nostrils of some kind, were situated on either side of the thing's jawbone. Defined arms, much longer than they should be, hung to its shins. The creature's four fingers were each adorned with a razor-sharp claw.

It screeched and took a step toward me. I discharged a round, and the .357 slug slammed into the flesh where the creature's heart should've been. It took a few more steps, groaned, and fell backwards, writhing in agony upon the carpet of pine needles. I approached, chambering another bullet, with extreme caution.

The bullet wound formed a deep, gaping hole in the upper chest. The thing was still barely alive; it's heart must've been located elsewhere. Around the bullet hole and quickly gathering around the body was a pool of bluish, oozing fluid. To the left of the wound was a strange insignia, seemingly burned into the skin. It looked something like a perfect circle, about three inches in diameter, with a large "x" scrawled through the middle. Finally, with a deep heave of the chest, the thing drew its last breath. Now, I could take a closer look, and find out just what this was.

An hour later, after a thorough medical examination, I sat, dumbstruck, beside the corpse. Why had I not seen it before? It was obvious; the face, the build, the sound it had made, all pointed to the answer. Here I was, with my goal lying before me.

I had just shot and killed a Slenderman.

I gathered samples, took pictures, and hid the body. I quickly gathered my equipment and tore down the campsite. The others would come for me soon.

As I loaded the Jeep, I wondered: why had the Slenderman not been wearing a suit? Maybe, I guessed, only certain ones did. I knew that those with suits were usually seen stalking or watching their victims, so those were the ones I would I would most likely be avoiding now. Whatever the case, I needed to get out of there. I had all I needed to prove the legends were true. I could send the photos and samples to the lab, return to the States, and collect my pay. But then suddenly, a horrific screech tore through the trees. I quickly finished loading and hopped into the driver's seat, gunning the engine to life. I glanced in the rearview mirror. I could see the shining white of dress shirts beneath jet black shirts, and the reflective red of neckties. They were moving at a fast pace. I slammed on the gas. The all-terrain tires spun and caught, and the Jeep was on its way down the dangerous alpine trail at fifty miles an hour.

I had one hand on the steering wheel and the other cradling my gun. After about six minutes, I hadn't seen any suits since the campsite, and I started to relax a little. Suddenly, something white flashed out of the underbrush and jumped in front of my Jeep, screaming at me. I panicked, flooring the brake and swerving sharply to the right, unwittingly careening off the rim of a huge ravine. I was airborne for a few seconds, but I had just enough time to bail out. I rolled, head over heels, for a few hundred feet, and came to a violent stop, my head making hard contact with a thick tree trunk. I looked up and saw a huge cavern mouth, just as my vision faded to blackness.