AN: *clears throat* ahem...

I don't own Slender,

And I love to see reviews,

They make me smile.

...and that was my little haiku from the poetry corner. You can start reading the story now.

Chapter 8

I am running through the grass. The grass feels soft, like a lush green carpet. There's nothing visible in sight, only fog in the distance. I look behind me to see that where I stepped, there are roses, some scarlet red ones. I continue my journey in the unknown, not knowing anything except the grass and the roses. And the fog, too. Grass, roses, fog. But now I see something far away. Sprinting, I go there in a rush, wanting desperately to know what it is. It's a tiny house that looks just like mine. Except it's yellow, the same shade as Heather's house. Hey, this is Heather's house, isn't it.

I'm right in front of the house now. I can see faint light coming under the door. The windows are closed, so I decide to try the door. I turn the doorknob and find it unlocked. I open the door, making it squeak slightly. I see a light bulb first, hanging on a wire. It shines dimly, but enough to see the walls. The thing is, there's only one room with a concrete floor and concrete walls. I thought that this was Heather's house? But the walls. It's the walls that give me a surprise.

It's printed all over the walls. In the dim light, I can't quite see the color. I want to say that it's black, but something in the back of my head is telling me it's a dark shade of red, the same color as blood. But it's covering up every inch of the walls. No, not only the walls, now that my eyes got used to the dark setting. It's on the ceiling, and on the floor. The same thing over and over again. The Operator Symbol.

I just noticed I entered the strange and terrifying room because of my shadow stretching across the floor. There's suddenly a sound that makes me jump as it startles me. I hear the concrete crack, like if something was breaking through. I quickly turn around, only to sigh a little in relief. The roses are very determined to follow my steps to the point of breaking through the hard floor. I feel comforted by the roses, probable because of the pretty flowers they are.

"Andrea."

I turn my head quickly to see my smiling parents. My mother is wearing a simple white dress and my father is wearing a white dress shirt with some black dress pants. He has a black tie on; its silkiness is reflecting the light. It's the same black as his hair. That's right, there's not a single gray hair. Though what scares me most is their smiles. They could be smiling because of happiness, but it could also be because of the mysterious, possibly evil, intention. I shiver a bit.

"Andrea," my mother coos, "did something happen? You look shaken up, sugarplum."

Sugarplum?

"Love," my father coos as well, "Why don't you give your daddy a hug, pumpkin?"

Pumpkin?

They open their arms wide, expecting me to be that little girl in the past that always ran into their arms. They may be stuck in the past, but I'm not. I look back at the roses only to find out that they had wilted, dropping their petals and only leaving their thorny stalks behind, which strangely look healthier than the rest of the dying flower. Looking at my parent's creepy grins again, I take a step back, then another. No roses this time covering my steps. Only their thorny stalks break through, curling in the air. I make a split-second decision. Fight or Flight. Flight is the best. I speed out of there, running back outside, reaching for the fog that may give me cover. I feel a strong heat behind me, and reluctantly, I glance behind me. Shock covers my face when I see that the house is on fire. Smoke is pouring through the now open windows. And out of it come out what I figure to be demons that look like my parents. They aren't my parents, no way, no how.

I panic when I see the orange flames reach for the grass and light it on fire. It's spreading now, burning the once verdant ground into a crisp. But now, the fire has turned green. That reminds me of an experiment I saw online. The chemistry of fireworks. Copper makes the flame green. I thought that it was the coolest thing ever. But not anymore now that the furious green fire is closing in on me. I dash into the fog, frantic to get away from the flames. I can smell the smoke and hear its wicked crackling…

I gasp loudly as I sit up quickly. It takes a while to calm my heart rate and to slow my breaths. After I finally get back to normal, I take note of my surroundings. It looks like I'm in some sort of log cabin. I still hear a fire crackling and I look in the general direction of the sound. It's a fireplace with glowing orange flames this time. Its warmth extends throughout the room, including me. Besides that, I have a fuzzy brown blanket over me, keeping me toasty. I'm sweating a lot, because of the heat or because of my nightmare, I don't know.

Feeling well rested, I get up and stretch my arms. I twist around, cracking my back. I look around in this area for any windows, and finding one, walk up to it. Outside are the woods, and the sky is dark. I see the moon and the stars, gleaming down. I'm in the woods? When did I get here? My mind is disoriented, not providing me with anything.

I see you woke up.

The memorable voice sounds in my head. I don't even have to know who it is, but I do anyways. I see a familiar face, or rather, non-face. If that's even a word. But when I see him, my brain finally recollects itself and a torrent of memories flood my head. I realize that the whole mind-reading thing must have severely exhausted me, making me pass out. I nod to confirm. Looking around the cabin again, I ask a question.

"Where are we?" My voice cracks a bit.

It would seem like we are in a cabin.

I roll my eyes at his sarcastic comment.

"Well, is it yours?"

Yes. It was abandoned, so I claimed it as my own.

"Now we're going somewhere," I state, "So what happened after… you know…"

Andrea, I'm very sorry I wore out your mind. You see, I usually don't do this to someone who is fully conscious.

"That's okay," I reply, but then I notice the second part of his apology. "What do you mean 'usually'? You did this before?"

How are you feeling? Does your head hurt?

Wait a minute. Did he just ignore my question? Oh no, nobody ignores my questions.

"Don't side-step my question like that!" I scold him, "Did you do the whole reading people's memories thing before?"

Yes.

"Did you ask for their permission?"

It is still night. You should get some rest.

First he was paying no attention to my questions, and now, he's suggesting that I should get some rest? What the heck was up with him?

"Woah, woah, woah," I say, a little pissed off now, "Don't you dare suggest that I get some rest. Plus, you avoided my question again."

You don't understand. Sometimes it's necessary.

"You're right, I don't understand!" I raise my volume a notch, "Explain! Believe me, I'll listen to it."

He sighs.

All right, but don't interrupt.

I made the gesture with my hands that my lips are sealed.

Remember when I said that I had to chase people away to preserve the forest?

I nod.

Some of them are quite stubborn. Plus, my appearance doesn't scare them away, and if I take out my tentacles they only stay away for a short while. So I had to use other techniques.

I lean in, curious to know what were these "other techniques".

That includes the mind reading I performed with you. I follow them to their homes and wait until they are asleep. I then mind read to see what their intentions are, and if they're non-threatening, I don't bother them. However, if they really are bad, I won't hesitate to use my techniques.

I lean in the tiniest bit closer.

That's why I don't ask for permission.

I nod, waiting for him to go on.

The end…? What else do you expect me to say?

"What are your other techniques?" I blurt out, "You didn't say them."

That's another story for another day.

I pout, frustrated, but content that not only did he answer my question, but it was a logical answer too.

"But you can't leave me there!" I whined, "I have to know!"

Give me one good reason why.

"Because it's in… wait for it…"

That doesn't count, little one.

"I didn't even say it yet!"

The Rules Of The Universe. I know, child.

"You finally said it right! And yes, that does count!"

It's not a book or any reliable source. They're just rules you make up as you go.

"It will be! The Rules Of The Universe, by Andrea Castillo," I say with confidence, before adding, "Based on a true story."

And who will be your publisher?

He sounds amused.

"Um… how about you!" I suggest, "I'll thank you in that part where authors show their gratitude. 'And I would also like to thank Slenderman, for being my main inspiration.' See?"

I'm you main inspiration? Is that even a compliment?

"Maybe…"

Whatever, little one.

I roll my eyes at his nickname for me. I'm pretty sure I'm a little taller, since when people sleep, their spines relax and they get taller. Something like that. Slenderman must sleep a lot. That is, if he sleeps, of course.

"Hey. I have another question."

Hey. I may have an answer, depending on the question.

"Do you sleep?" I question, ignoring his response.

No. You do though. It is still night. I recommend that you rest.

"I'm fine," I claim, "Stop saying that I should sleep, because I'm wide awake."

Maybe I jinxed it or the fates are just against me, because right after I say that, I yawn.

Oh, sure. You are definitely wide awake.

"That was a fake ya…" I stop in the middle of saying yawn to yawn. Oh the irony.

You need to sleep, Andrea.

"Okay, okay," I grumble, "I get the point."

I crawl on what I was sleeping before, which was a couch. A really long one. Perfect for Slenderman, I think to myself. I pull the fuzzy blanket over me, and slowly, yet eventually, go to sleep. Not before seeing Slenderman disappear into the woods to do whatever it is he does.

What does he do?