Lauren took the oddly labeled tape from the VCR and set it back on the table, unsure of what to think about what she'd seen. Truthfully, it hadn't revealed very much, only that her friend had been cornered by the Slender Man the night before she'd arrived at her house and had resorted to desperate measures to escape from him, hopefully without hurting herself in the process. Other than that, she hadn't really learned anything new other than the reason for the window being broken, and she had to wonder why her friend had left the tape there for her to find. "Maybe Kate isn't the one who left these here," she pondered. "Could it have been CR… or was it someone else entirely?" There was no way of knowing the answer to that question, not yet anyway. She would have to ask her friend when she finally caught up with her. "Maybe this other tape will be a little more informative," Lauren muttered, picking it up and examining it for a moment before opening the folder it had been sitting on top of, finding that it contained an unsettling, printed-out email.


To: kmilens (a) bserv .adv .co

From: {unknown sender}

Sent: #####{$InvalidTimeStamp}#

Subject: RE: You're not going to believe this

Attachments:

Kate,

I've been doing some digging and came across an old plot of land

that belonged to the Matheson family a ways back. Charles was

known to take his wife, Diane, and his son, Charlie to the old

homestead for family picnics.

I never imagined what I would see there. I think Charlie may have

seen something. Something he… was never meant to see.

Enclosed is a recording of my findings, and some documents I

came across. We're dealing with something dark here, Kate…

something I can't explain.

-CR


"Well, that's ominous," Lauren muttered, unnerved by what she'd just read. She looked at the tape in her hands for a few moments, debating whether or not she really wanted to learn whatever dark secrets it held, before eventually letting out a sigh of defeat. "If someone left this here for you to find, you should probably watch it," she told herself. Nervously, she inserted the tape into the VCR and hit play.

(X)

"The date is September 19th. My name is CR, on-site of the Matheson family farm, continuing my investigation into Charlie's disappearance. Let's see what we can turn up…" Carl Ross couldn't help but grin as the words left his mouth. With the way his life had been going recently, after that terrifying night in Oakside Park and the mental breakdown he'd suffered shortly after, this was the first time in a long time that he'd truly felt like himself. He stood next to his dirty, beat-up old car with an empty backpack slung over his shoulders, the camcorder in his hand pointing at the decrepit shell of a once comfortable farmhouse. Fiery orange and hazy red cascaded across the heavens like spilled paint on a canvas, accompanying the eventide glow over the desolate homestead. It was early autumn, meaning the air was crisp and the trees were turning various shades of red, yellow, and orange. Carl hadn't planned on visiting the farm so close to sundown, but he was more than familiar with nighttime investigations so he wasn't too bothered by the prospect of one. He just hoped that it wouldn't get too dark since he hadn't brought a flashlight with him. After surveying the property for a few minutes, he decided to investigate the nearby farmhouse first, and as he expected, the place was in complete disarray. A rugged cobblestone wall that nearly came up to Carl's chest worked in tandem with an old wooden fence to create an enclosed pathway to the front door, but both of the barriers had seen better days. A fallen tree blocked the path's actual entrance, but another one had been made by a huge hole in the western section of the wall. The rest of the structure was crumbling as well, and the battered fence barely managed to keep the path separate from the backyard anymore. Every window on the weathered, stone brick house was boarded up, and the grass had grown so wild that even the few blades that stuck up through the path's sunbaked dirt practically came up to his knees.

Carl wasn't sure what he expected to uncover with this investigation, but the farm was the only lead he had, and he intended to pursue it. He glanced at an old, dried-up well in the backyard as he approached the front door, an eerie creak ringing out as he pushed it open, revealing ruined furniture, peeling wallpaper, and layers of dirt and dust coating everything. The dim rays of sunlight shining through gaps in the boarded-up windows did little to illuminate the two-story building, and the light that the now-open door was letting in didn't help much either. As Carl took a moment to stop and observe his surroundings, he found himself impressed by how well the house had held up over the years; The Matheson Farm had been abandoned for over a century according to his research, but despite the age of the building and how trashed its interior was, none of the walls had collapsed, the ceiling hadn't caved in, and the floor was surprisingly sturdy to walk on. Nevertheless, the building was incredibly unnerving, and he couldn't shake the thought of it suddenly crashing down on top of him. Snapping back to his senses, he noticed that the doorway to his right was boarded up, making straight ahead the only way to go. As he made his way through a bathroom and down a short hallway, he realized how small the house actually was, and he couldn't help but notice a distinct lack of bedrooms. "Maybe they're on the second floor?" he mused, turning another corner and hitting a dead end.

The room he stood in contained little more than ruined furniture and a stone fireplace overflowing with ancient ashes. To his right was the barricade that he'd initially run into upon entering the building, and to the left was a boarded-up door that sealed off another section of the house. "I bet there's a staircase behind that one," he mumbled, walking over to the other door and attempting to pry off one of the boards, but it was to no avail. "Maybe I can find another way around, there might be something important on the second floor… Not much else to see in here right now though." It was as he was about to leave that he noticed something peculiar; a crumpled ball of paper sitting at the back of the fireplace. He reached in and grabbed it, trying not to imagine something dropping down on him from the chimney, and opened it up. It was yellowed with age, stained with ash and soot, and partially charred, as if whoever had thrown it in had barely missed the flames. Even so, the message it carried was still legible, albeit difficult to read.


Rose,

We're going into the cellar tonight for

another game of Hide and Seek! Father

won't return from his errand to Red Deer

until the morning and Norm says he found

a lantern so he can take us there after dark

if we all meet by the chapel after tonight's

dinner. I know you hate the rancid smell of

petrol down there, but it'll be fun!

I promise!

~Maggie

P.S. Don't tell Patty. She'll tell on us.


"Of course there's a cellar. Why wouldn't there be?" he complained, stuffing the note in his backpack. "Nothing good ever happens in those things." Finding that there was nothing left for him to see in the house, he retraced his steps and made his way back to the front yard, gazing across the vast, desolate landscape. Barbed wire fences spanned the property and divided it into separate sections, something that Carl found rather irritating, as it limited where he could go without having to risk slicing himself up on the serrated barriers. The only thing he could easily get to was a nearby barn, and so he headed that way, talking to the camera as he walked; "I don't know why Charles ever would've wanted to bring his family to this dump, especially for family picnics," he said, looking over at a small wooden building with two massive silos built into it that stood a short distance away from the barn.

If the farmhouse was the ghost of its former self, then the barn was a worm-eaten corpse. Decayed boards and corroded metal littered the ground, threatening to drive a nail or jagged edge through a foot with one misplaced step. Century-old equipment was scattered about, some of it half-buried in the dirt. The only remaining equipment that appeared even remotely intact consisted of several wooden barrels, the remains of a horse-drawn wagon, and a wooden lift that was stocked with crates and hooked up to a pulley system. Carl was amazed that the barn was even standing; At least half of the structure had rotted away or been destroyed by the elements, and all that remained was a wooden skeleton that was barely holding itself together. It seemed as if every other board had vanished from the building, and entire sections of wall were missing near the ceiling, leaving plenty of open space for sunlight to shine through. It was then that he noticed that the barn's only other exit, which led to the other side of the fence, was blocked by the lift, but Carl wasn't ready to give up just yet. Taking a closer look at the lift's pulley system, he saw that it was connected to a rusted chain that snaked up to the ceiling and then ran through the rafters and into another room. He noticed an empty doorframe below the chain's terminus and stepped through into a small, disheveled side room with a staircase leading up to a second floor. Aside from a cluster of broken junk near the back of the room, there was nothing noteworthy on the first floor, so he made his way upstairs and took a look around the loft that he now stood in.

The room contained little more than a crate and a couple of barrels, and the only thing worth acknowledging was the hand crank that the chain was being fed through. Carl set his camera down and made his way over to the crank, gripping the handle with both hands and turning it with all of his might to raise the blockade up to the rafters. After fighting against the lift's crushing weight for a few moments, a sharp click rang out as it locked into place, finally leaving the exhausted man with a proper exit. Panting heavily and wiping sweat from his brow, he picked his camcorder back up and stumbled down the stairs, making his way under the lift and out the door just in time; The sheer weight of the lift and its cargo proved to be too much for the corroded chain, causing it to snap and drop the lethal mass right behind the man who'd moved it. "Fucking hell!" Carl shouted, jumping from the loud crash. His stomach churned when he turned around and saw what had nearly killed him. "That was way too close… definitely shouldn't have trusted something that old," he gasped, physically shaking from his brush with death. He regained his composure after a few minutes, only to realize that he was now trapped, for the wreckage behind him was blocking the only way back to his car that didn't involve getting shredded on a barbed-wire fence… He was going to have to find another way out.

A sense of nervousness began to creep over him as he walked away from the barn; He was roughly ten minutes into his investigation and had already come face-to-face with death, so he wasn't looking forward to whatever other surprises the farm had in store for him. Carl soon found himself approaching the building with the silos and saw that an old, heavily rusted generator stood beside it in the grass, next to an empty doorframe. The barbed wire fence brushed up against both ends of the building, forming another blockade that was only interrupted by a small wooden shack further down the fence line. As he was inspecting the peculiar building, he noticed an old poster nailed to the wall just inside the doorway, the dying light of the setting sun barely illuminating it.


REMINDER

All wheat and barley

should be stored in a

sub-terrain cellar for

cold storage.

~Wheat can be stored up to nine months
pending moisture.

~Dry grain should be taken to the
cellar immediately for winter storage.

~Cooling the grain ensures insects remain
dormant and minimizes mold grow.


"This building must be a granary…" Carl muttered, reading the poster from just outside of the door. Cautiously, he poked his head into the building, seeing that beyond the few rays of sunlight that shone through the empty doorframe, the granary's interior was pitch black. He instantly regretted not bringing a flashlight with him, knowing that he wouldn't stand a chance of navigating this impenetrable darkness without one, but it was then that he remembered Maggie's letter to Rose and how it had mentioned the cellar smelling like gasoline. "If there's still some gas in the cellar, I can use it to get that generator up and running… assuming it still works," Carl said, eying the inactive lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. "It's a bit of a long shot, but it's also my only shot if I want to go in there." It wasn't lost on him that there was a whole fenced-in area behind the granary as well, an area that he would likely only be able to access by going through the building; If he wanted to be thorough with his investigation, he would have no choice but to adhere to this new plan. Suddenly, an unsettling noise came from deep within the granary and snapped him out of his thoughts, a noise that almost sounded like a low growl. "What the hell was that?" Carl asked aloud, backing away from the door. "Is there an animal living in there?" He listened intently for a few more moments but heard nothing else, only the sound of the wind sweeping through the grass. "I don't know what that sound was, but I don't like it," he said. "Maybe it was just the building groaning in the wind… Yeah, that has to be it. I don't know what kind of animal could make a sound like that." Truthfully, he wasn't entirely convinced, but he couldn't think of a better explanation, so he decided to go with that one instead of freaking himself out over what was probably nothing. "Worst case scenario, there is an animal in there, and turning the power on scares it off," he told himself, leaving the granary behind for the time being and making his way toward the wooden shack he'd spotted a few minutes prior.

Upon reaching his destination, he discovered that the structure had once been a large tool shed, one that appeared to act as a makeshift gate between the section of the farm he stood in and an overgrown field of crops. Broken shelves littered the ground, rusty chains dangled from the ceiling, and the few tools that remained were either outright broken or corroded beyond repair; Ultimately, the decayed building contained nothing of interest. As he exited the shed and passed by an old scarecrow, he found himself following a rugged dirt path that wound its way through the wall of vegetation that the crop field had become; The wheat and barley had grown so wild over the years that the plants towered over the man standing in their midst, and even the invasive weeds participated in obscuring his vision to the point where he could only see the sky, the distant mountains, and a couple of prominent landmarks. Far to the left and beyond the serrated fence, an old wooden windmill sat atop a hill, still creaking and turning in the wind, shrouded in the shadows cast by the setting sun. A ways to the right, the top of a small building rose just high enough to see over the crops, and a strange monument stood tall on a small hill not far from it. Before Carl could do so much as wonder what the two structures were, the harsh sound of rustling weeds hit his ears. His gaze immediately snapped over to the direction it had come from, but nothing out of the ordinary was present. After a few moments of looking for the disturbance's source, Carl took a deep breath and let out a sigh. "This place is already getting to me," he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "It was probably just a rabbit or something." Now recovered from his most recent scare, he returned to following the trail through the field, eventually reaching a three-way intersection.

A tall wooden post stood at the center of the crossroads, adorned with three arrow-shaped signs that were nailed in place. Each one pointed down a different branch of the path, and all three were labeled with faded white paint. The one pointing in the direction he'd come from simply said Granary, while the one pointing to the right was labeled Chapel. However, it was the word Cellar on the sign pointing to the left that made his heart beat a little faster. "You know what… No. Not yet," he muttered, taking the path on the right instead. "There could be something important in the chapel too," he said to the camera, not wanting to admit that the idea of venturing into the cellar scared him. Eventually, the trail he'd chosen broadened at the base of a small incline, parting the tangled mass of weeds and revealing a spiked metal gate that stood tall between two sections of the barbed fence. It was remarkably sturdy and in fairly decent condition considering how old it was. The trail ran under the gate and through an old boneyard, diverging near the base of a small hill and leading up to its peak, where the monument that Carl had seen earlier stood ominously; a tall tombstone with a triangular tip pointed at the heavens, the stone it was carved from faded and cracked with age. Curiously, that particular grave had been made far away from all of the others, and he couldn't help but wonder why. The original path led to an eerie chapel that loomed over the graveyard, a building that had fallen into ruin just like everything else on the Matheson Farm. The entire area was choked with weeds, most of which were dead or dying, and the grass in the cemetery was just as overgrown as it was everywhere else on the farm. He approached the gate almost eagerly, relieved that he had an excuse to avoid the cellar for a little while longer, but groaned in frustration when he noticed the rusted padlock holding it shut. Like the gate it was chained to, the padlock appeared to be remarkably sturdy, and Carl knew just by looking at it that it wasn't going to be broken or forced open.

"I'd probably impale myself trying to climb over this," he said, looking at the wicked spikes atop the gate. "I guess I'm out of options… and excuses." Reluctantly, he made his way back to the signpost and followed the path to the cellar. "I think it's safe to say that I won't be getting into that graveyard," Carl narrated. "The gate key is probably long gone by now, and I don't have anything to cut the chain with." The more he thought about it, the more disappointed he was that he wouldn't be able to investigate the homestead as thoroughly as he'd wanted to. Sure, there was always the option of leaving the farm and coming back with a blowtorch or a pair of bolt cutters, but he wasn't sure if it would even be necessary considering how little he'd actually found so far. There was only one thing left for him to do, and that was to swallow his fear, retrieve what he needed from the cellar, and investigate the granary and the yard behind it, hopefully finding a way to leave the farm in the process. The glare from the setting sun shone in his eyes as he reached the end of the path, passing through a wooden gate that separated the field from a grassy stretch of land. The old windmill was much closer now, and unlike before, its rotting boards and rusted nails could be seen clearly. Its remaining blades rotated slowly in the wind, groaning like they were one strong gust away from falling off. The sounds it made did little to soothe Carl's growing sense of uneasiness as he hiked up the area's gradual incline, his heart thumping a little louder when he finally reached the wide-open cellar door and gazed into the darkness below. After a few moments of hesitation, he took slow, nervous steps down the creaky stairs.

By the time he reached the final step, the foul aroma of mildew was already making it difficult to breathe. The damp cellar reeked of decay, and the entire place was flooded with murky heel-deep water. The floor, ceiling, and most of the walls were made of concrete, but some had been constructed with cobblestone. Rust and scum crept down the walls, and black mold grew on the wooden support beams. The place was eerily silent except for the sound of dripping water echoing throughout the network of dark halls that branched off from the small room he stood in. He hadn't expected the cellar to be so large, and just as he was wondering how he would ever explore it without a source of light, he caught sight of a breaker panel on the wall to his left, bronze in color and sporting minimal rust. "There's no way it's that easy," he muttered, nervously stepping forward. He grimaced as cold water began soaking into his shoes and whispered a silent plea to not be electrocuted as he reached out for the breaker, then made the only choice he had and flipped the switch. With a low hum, the cellar sprang to life for the first time in over a century, somehow still able to do so. Gradually, the light bulbs hanging from the ceiling began to activate, their dim, milky white glow flickering at irregular intervals and struggling to illuminate the cramped halls. Sometimes they'd stay on for only a moment, other times for quite a while. One minute Carl would be able to see clearly, and the next he'd be engulfed in darkness, fearful that they'd turned off for good. "It's better than nothing," he thought, trying to ignore the growing sense of dread within him.

The cold, musty air hadn't been helping his nerves to begin with, but now there was the constant threat of being stranded in the dark to pick away at his bravery too. Slowly, he made his way deeper into the cellar, listening to the hum of the breaker grow faint. Carl crept through the narrow halls as quietly as he could, doing his best to ignore the eerie sights and sounds all around him. He stayed close to the wall on his right, hoping dearly that it was actually possible to navigate a maze that way. Every step he took echoed throughout the underground labyrinth, and the constant buzzing and flickering of the lights struck at his nerves with each passing second. He moved when the lights turned on and froze when they flickered off, terrified of what he might see when they came back on. It made the whole process take much longer than he would've liked, but it was better than staggering around in the dark. After turning a few corners, he reached a crossroads; A hallway that branched off to the left led deeper into the darkness, whereas the smell of gasoline was wafting from the path directly ahead. He immediately made his way toward the smell; a smell that grew more intense as he got closer to the source. Soon enough, he stumbled across a small side room on the right, and a nervous smile appeared on his face when he stepped inside. Positioned neatly throughout the room were dozens of rusted metal gas canisters, most of which still held all of their contents. For a moment, he was excited to have found what he was looking for so easily, but it was when he walked over to a full, rectangular can and lifted it from a rotting shelf that he heard something that turned his blood to ice; the giggle of a small child.

His breath caught in his throat and he listened intently, trying to figure out if his ears were playing tricks on him. A few seconds passed, and then those seconds became minutes, and when Carl finally convinced himself that it had only been in his head, he forced himself to walk back out into the corridors. However, when he approached the empty doorframe, the lights violently flickered as a dark, twisted figure ran by, headed in the direction he'd come from. He immediately froze in place, exhaling sharply as a jolt of terror surged through him. Carl wasn't sure what he'd just seen, but he knew that it hadn't been a trick of the lights or his senses betraying him. Every molecule in his body was telling him not to venture out into the maze again, to hide in a forgotten corner of the room and hope that whatever he'd just seen wouldn't find him, but to do so would be a grave mistake, and he knew it. "What have you gotten yourself into, Carl," he stammered, his body quivering with fear. As scared as he was, he knew that he couldn't stay there, so cautiously, quietly, he exited the room, heading in the direction opposite the figure he'd seen. Timing his steps with the unreliable lights, Carl continued making his way through the flooded corridors, taking great care to move as stealthily as he could. A few uneventful minutes passed as he navigated the labyrinth, but it wasn't long before another giggle hit his ears and sent goosebumps down his arms. The lights were beginning to flicker more and more, signifying that they wouldn't last much longer. Then, he turned a corner and froze in his tracks, for an abomination was waiting for him at the end of the hall.

The ghoul stood motionless in the shadows with its head crooked to the side, watching… waiting. Its pale skin was tinted a sickening shade of light blue and was stretched so tight over the remaining muscle that the creature was nearly skeletal. Its rib cage, femur, and several other bones were clearly visible under its malnourished physique, and its bloated stomach looked as though it was ready to burst. A tattered loincloth, or perhaps the decayed shreds of pants, hung around its waist, but it wore no other clothing. The creature's arms bent at odd angles, and its bony fingers looked as if they were made for tearing flesh. Its thick, mangy, black hair hung down over its twisted face, and its eyes had been violently gouged out, leaving only dark, gaping sockets. Its lower mandible was completely missing and its tongue had been removed, leaving only an old, nasty wound, along with rotting teeth that adorned a lipless upper jaw. The thing might have been human once, but that time was long ago, and this creature was long dead… or perhaps undead was a better word for it. Whoever this person had once been was gone, and all that remained was the decaying husk of what once was. Each breath it took sounded agonized, and the putrid smell of dried blood and rotting flesh it gave off mingled horribly with the damp, musty air of the cellar. Carl stood as still as a statue, paralyzed with fear as he locked eyes with the monster, and it did the same, standing motionless as it studied the man who was intruding on its territory. His breathing turned raspy and his body began to shake as terror coursed through his heart, and it was then that the cellar lights suddenly went out, and all was silent.

What only lasted for a few agonizing moments felt like hours of pure, unfettered horror. He wanted to scream, to call out for help, but he knew that no help would come, and his cries would undoubtedly bring the creature's wrath down on him. Suddenly, the lights flashed brighter than they ever had before, and Carl jumped back in terror when he saw the ghoul standing almost nose to nose with him, slamming into the wall behind him and falling to the flooded floor. Panicking, scrambling to stand back up, he sucked in deep breaths of air as the lights flickered again, the monster's eerie, childlike laugh echoing throughout the cellar as if had just played a hilarious joke on the terrified investigator. When the lights flickered back on, the creature was gone, but so was Carl's will to continue his investigation; He realized then and there that he'd bitten off far more than he could chew this time around. He slowly stood back up, taking deep, ragged breaths to steady himself. He shivered in the cold air of the cellar, for his clothes had been soaked when he'd fallen into the water, but thankfully his camcorder was waterproof. As much as he wanted to head back the way he'd come from, he knew that to try it would be foolish. The monster had been guarding that exit, and likely still was, so the only way out was forward. He knew that the cellar had another exit, for he'd caught sight of a second door before descending into the abyss. He just prayed that it wasn't being guarded as well.

A thousand thoughts and even more questions were rattling around in his head, but the time to stop and think about the horror he'd just witnessed would come later; Right now he could only afford to worry about his own survival. Every step was agony, but Carl crept down the hall to where the monster had stood only moments ago, discovering another side room nearby. He would've disregarded it entirely had he not noticed something peculiar; a worn leather-bound book resting on a crate.


Granny Richter's

Big Book of Stories

Volume 1


The pasty white inscription on the book's cover was chipped and faded but still legible. Maybe it was a hunch that the book contained vital knowledge, or some semblance of determination to finish what he'd started, but something inside of him that he couldn't quite explain compelled him to take it. Carl set the gas can down and snatched the book off of the shelf, cramming it into his backpack without so much as glancing at its contents. It was when he picked the canister back up and turned to leave the room that he noticed a child's drawings plastering one of the walls. The artwork had been sketched using different colors of chalk and consisted of several stick figures, the sun, and a few random scribbles. An overwhelming sense of sadness washed over Carl as he stared at the drawings; The thought of a child wasting away in this terrible place was bad enough on its own, but the addition of a mutilated zombie toying with them in the maze made it all the more horrifying. He prayed that he wouldn't find human remains anywhere in the cellar, for that would surely be his breaking point. Snapping back to reality, he hesitantly made his way out into the hallway, and fortunately, no ambush awaited him. He continued to navigate the underground labyrinth, mostly without incident, but every now and then he'd catch a glimpse of the gruesome figure watching him from the shadows, often appearing much closer to him than he was comfortable with. It was eerie how it simply stood there and observed his movements, its raspy breathing mingling with the sound of dripping water, its childish laughter ringing out more and more the longer he stayed in the cellar. Eerier still was how it would appear and disappear with the flickering of the lights, making it impossible to tell when and where it would show up next.

Still keeping to the right, Carl eventually stumbled across another side room. Looking into it from the hallway, he saw that, unlike the others, this one contained nothing of importance; only baskets, a chair, and more shelves. Suddenly, he heard the sound of water splashing behind him, a sound that was rapidly getting closer. He ducked into the room just in time, catching a glimpse of the gaunt entity running by… heading in the same direction that he was. He realized with horror that his undead stalker was intentionally blocking his path, trying to drive him back into the depths of the maze, like it was a demented game of tag or hide-and-seek. He knew that to turn back now would certainly mean death, as he'd either get lost or endlessly run into the same situation until the creature grew tired of him and ended the game, so he mustered all of the courage he had left and continued on his way, fully expecting his next step to be his last, but that never happened. As he made his way through the final expanse of hallways, the creature never made another appearance. Not even its breathing was audible anymore, which worried him that his adversary had grown bored of him and was closing in for the kill. However, before his fears had the chance to come true, he turned the final corner and at long last spotted the second staircase, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of daylight shining into the flooded tomb.

Without a moment's hesitation, he raced up the old wooden steps and threw the gas canister to the ground, charging toward the barbed wire fence. He didn't care about any wounds that could result from it anymore, he was leaving the farm right then and there. However, his escape attempt was cut short as soon as he tried to slip through the barbed wire; An overwhelming wave of nausea came over him and his vision went blurry, his ears ringing loudly as his blood turned to ice. Carl trembled violently and collapsed in the grass, dry heaving as whatever mysterious ailment had come over him ran its course through his body. He lay there for a few minutes, recuperating from whatever it was that had just happened. He knew full well that the sudden surge of sickness hadn't been natural; Something was keeping him within the farm's borders. As he lay on his back trying to breathe, he noticed something strange as he stared up at the sky; No longer did a beautiful sunset reign dominant, for an eerie mixture of light purple and deep blue now stained the heavens with an unsettling aura. The mountains far off in the distance no longer glimmered golden-red in the evening sun but instead loomed dark and ominous against the horizon, and a full moon was beginning to emerge from behind the clouds. Despite the condition he was in, he found himself wondering how long he'd been in the cellar.

Carl thought about a lot of things as he recovered; How his life had led up to this point, how foolish he'd been to come to this place, how different things would've been if he'd never started investigating Charlie's disappearance. His life had been less than normal before coming to the farm, and he'd seen a lot of strange things, but this… this was something else entirely. What he'd witnessed down in that cellar shouldn't have been possible, it couldn't have been, and yet there were no doubts in his mind about what he'd seen. Even after all of his years of going on so-called ghost hunts, after all of the unexplainable events that had occurred in his life, he still hadn't truly believed in the supernatural… not until now. "What the hell was that thing?" he asked aloud. He didn't know the answer to that question, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. All he cared about now was staying far, far away from it, something that wasn't being made very easy between the ghoul following him around and whatever unearthly force was keeping him from jumping the fence. "I have to get out of here," he said, managing to stand back up. The camcorder in his hand was still recording, but he didn't care about the investigation anymore. Whatever he'd stumbled upon, it was something far more sinister than what he'd initially been looking into, and he wanted nothing to do with it. However, he didn't have much of a choice in the matter; If he wanted to leave this place, he couldn't do it by slipping through the fences. He would have to delve deeper into the darkness to find the light at the end of the tunnel.

Hoping that the undead creature would stay in the cellar, he picked the gas can back up and groggily began his trek back to the granary, realizing that something was amiss as he passed by the wooden gate. A low sound hit his ears, one similar to the buzzing of cicadas, but much more… artificial. The noise steadily increased in volume, drowning out all others as it became absolutely deafening. Upon reaching the signpost, Carl caught sight of a patch of weeds rustling as something within them rapidly approached his location. Unable to hear anything other than the incessant buzzing, panic shot through him and he sprinted toward the granary like a madman, somehow managing to avoid stumbling on the stringy roots sticking out of the dirt path. The makeshift cicada song was so loud that it felt like it was rattling his brain, and it took every ounce of willpower he had to not drop to the ground and cover his ears. He took a moment to peer over his shoulder and search for his unseen assailant, and when he saw the thick net of crops beginning to part just behind him, he charged forward faster than he'd ever run before. Then, the mass of crops and weeds finally opened up to reveal a familiar old shed, and he bolted through the empty doorframe and hid behind a decrepit wall, standing as still as a statue as the earsplitting buzzing finally subsided.

"So much for it staying in the cellar," he panted, struggling to catch his breath. After waiting for a few minutes, Carl took a cautious look back at the field, a shiver running down his spine when he saw the decaying ghoul's mangled face glaring back at him, but that was all it did. It made no attempt to pursue, threaten, or even respond to his presence. No, this was a warning, one final chance to leave its home and never return. Knowing that the intruder understood its message, the creature slunk back into the thick vegetation, disappearing from sight, but what it didn't realize was that Carl was trapped, having already tried and failed to leave. He thought about trying to bargain with it, to convince the ghoul that he would leave if it cleared a path for him, but he had a feeling that attempting to communicate with it would only make things worse. Carl let out the breath that he hadn't even realized he'd been holding and left the shed, heading toward the granary while keeping an eye on the field in case the beast changed its mind. He didn't understand why it was hesitating to hurt him or why it was giving him a chance to leave, but he wasn't about to go back to the crop field and ask it to explain. It was a monster that wanted him either gone or dead, and that was all he needed to know until he was out of harm's way. As he headed toward the generator with the gas can in hand, he found himself looking back on how he'd gotten wrapped up in all of this, how he hadn't taken Charlie's disappearance as seriously as he should have.

The potential connection between the strange symptoms that Charles Matheson had suffered from and the symptoms that he and Kate were dealing with was only a small part of why Carl had gotten so invested in all of this. When he'd first found out about the mystery, he'd been excited to delve into it, likening it to the ghost hunts he'd gone on with Kate when they were kids. He'd expected it to be fun, as if an innocent boy hadn't been missing for so long that he was most likely dead, as if his grieving father wouldn't be bothered by a nosy stranger stopping by his house to ask him about his lost child, as if he had any right to pester a broken man whom he had no real connection to. Even after Charles died in that house fire, it took longer than it should've for the gravity of the situation to register with Carl. It was only after digging up more information on the family and discovering how much the Mathesons had suffered after Charlie's disappearance that he started taking things seriously. It was around that time that he started blaming himself for the death of Charles; It was never confirmed, but it was a generally accepted theory that he'd been the cause of the arson, lighting his own house on fire while still inside as an act of suicide, and because of that, Carl often found himself wondering if Charles would still be alive had he not been so insistent on making him relive bad memories. That was why he'd come to this accursed farm in the first place; Not for a sense of adventure, for glory, or even for a good old-fashioned ghost hunt, but out of a sense of responsibility that he now carried. He was going to find out what had happened to Charles' son one way or another, that was how he would repay his debt to the man he'd helped put in the ground. Even so, he hadn't really expected to find anything important by coming to the Matheson Farm. As unsettling as the place was, he'd never expected it to be hiding such terrible secrets, and he never would've imagined having to fight to survive after venturing onto the property. "Karma's a bitch," he sighed, emptying the contents of the gas can into the ancient generator.

Dropping the empty canister in the grass, he stood there and looked at the generator for a moment, still doubting that it was capable of even starting up. "Just try it, jackass," he told himself, holding his breath in anticipation and flipping a switch. With a low metallic whir, the ancient machine sprang to life, vibrating and rumbling where it sat. The lights inside of the granary slowly flickered on, banishing the darkness from the old building. To Carl's relief, the lights in the granary didn't flicker constantly or suddenly die out for long periods of time like the ones in the cellar had; Instead, a constant dim glow offered a sense of security. "That shouldn't be possible…" he mused, but decided not to question it; After all, the generator still working made the most sense out of all of the weird things he'd seen at the farm so far. It was then that the sound of bare feet hitting cement rang out as the creature inhabiting the granary fled the scene. Of course, Carl knew by now that the growling he'd previously heard in the building had come from the cellar ghoul, so he was thankful that it was among the things that the lights had purged from the building. "How did it get back in there without me seeing it though?" he wondered. Almost immediately, his question was answered by the sound of barbed wire rattling, bringing him to the conclusion that the creature was exempt from the homestead's no-fence-jumping rule.

Eager to finish this investigation from Hell and go home, Carl entered the granary at long last, immediately noticing the constant creaking and groaning that the ancient structure emitted. The passage he found himself navigating was cluttered with ancient farming supplies, forcing him to waste time weaving through the obstacles. Even though the generator's activation had been a success, he wasn't too fond of the idea of it running out of fuel before he was done investigating the building and the area beyond it, so he moved as quickly as he could. Eventually, he turned a corner and came upon a more open room where both silos stood partially enveloped within the granary. It was hard to tell if they'd been constructed with the intent of making movement around them easier, or if they were simply so deteriorated that a passage had opened up directly through the center of the structures. Dim evening light shone in through the cracked top of the silo at the center of the building, but it wasn't nearly enough to light up the place as efficiently as the generator. The other silo stood half embedded in the leftmost side of the building with no natural or artificial light managing to reach its dark interior. It was because of this that Carl failed to notice the tall stick figure drawn on the cement floor of the dark silo, one that wore a suit and tie and lacked any facial features.

Carl soon stepped out of the granary and into the grassy, uneven area beyond, taking a good look at his new surroundings. There wasn't much to be seen in the fenced-in yard; Aside from a handful of trees, one of which held a battered old treehouse, there wasn't much more than a decayed horse-drawn wagon, a small run-down shed, and the scorched remains of a small barn. Wordlessly, he made his way around the yard, inspecting the ancient landmarks and finding nothing of any real importance. Even so, the ruins of the barn had piqued his interest; The structure's only remnants were scorched portions of the building's frame, consisting of several burned boards sticking out of the ground and a handful of plywood panels and wood scraps that lay in the dirt, but nothing more. The rain had washed away the soot and ashes long ago, leaving behind only the cold hard ground. Despite the building's insignificance, Carl found himself wondering why only the barn had been destroyed entirely, whereas the rest of the structures on the farm were still standing, more or less. Soon enough, all that was left to investigate was the old shed with its creaky door hanging open and blowing gently in the wind. However, he was more concerned with the fact that throughout all of his exploration, he still hadn't found a viable way to escape the farm. The yard he stood in was completely surrounded by the barbed wire fence, and even more frustrating was how the fence also bordered the graveyard, leaving only a layer of serrated wire standing between him and an area that he could now see had a path leading back to the farmhouse; the only area that had been sealed off entirely. Knowing that he was playing with fire, Carl cautiously reached a hand toward the fence but quickly pulled back when a dull buzzing hit his ears and an icy chill spread across his skin. "Alright, I get it!" he spat, stepping away from the fence.

"How the hell am I supposed to get out of this place?" he asked as he made his way back to the old shed, the only thing in the yard that he hadn't inspected yet. "It's not like I can get into the graveyard through the gate. Even if it wasn't locked, that thing is still out there patrolling the field," he said, shuddering at the thought of facing it again. Truthfully, Carl wasn't sure if the farm would let him leave even if he found a legitimate exit, but it was the only hope he had. He reached the old shed and pulled the door the rest of the way open, letting the dim evening sunlight flood into the dark structure. Most of the room was taken up by two wooden shelves that were cluttered with broken tools and other junk, and not wanting to leave any stone unturned, Carl set his camcorder on top of the back shelf and began rummaging through the clutter, the device pointing at the open door behind him. A few minutes of turning up nothing ticked by, and he was starting to think that he wasn't going to find anything important, but that changed when he unearthed something peculiar that had been buried under all of the other odds and ends; an old black and white family portrait. He gingerly picked the picture up and blew the dust off of it, not wanting to risk damaging the artifact, before taking a closer look at it. Everybody in the photo was dressed formally and appeared to be standing on a staircase outside of a church, and at the bottom of the portrait was a list of their names.

In the back row stood a woman and two men; Georgia, Franklin, and James Matheson. The middle row was taken up by two more women, Elizabeth and Frieda Matheson, the latter of whom appeared to be somewhat elderly, and beside them stood a young man named Clarence Matheson. Then there was the bottom row, which was entirely made up of kids; The only two teenagers were a pair of girls named Maggie and Rose Matheson, and the others consisted of a girl and a boy no older than ten; Patricia and Walter Matheson. However, three other people stood in that picture alongside the Mathesons, three that Carl was especially intrigued by. In the middle row, beside the three Mathesons, stood a middle-aged woman and her husband; Ada and Henry Hayes. Adding to the revelation was the presence of a boy in the bottom row named Norman Hayes, who was clearly the child of Ada and Henry. "Holy shit…" Carl said, staring at the picture in amazement. "Hayes was Beth's last name. These people are related to Kate." He considered for a moment that it could've been a different family with the same last name, but Hayes was a rare surname in Oakside; These were Kate's relatives, he was sure of it. "I don't know what this means for her," he said to the camera, unsure of what to think about this development. "But she's connected to this place, even if it's only through long-lost relatives." As he processed this revelation, he scanned over the picture once more to verify what he was seeing, but discovered something that he hadn't noticed before; Standing inside of the church and barely visible through a window was an abnormally tall man wearing a suit and tie. Oddly enough, the man wasn't listed below with all of the others, and the poor quality of the photograph made it look like his face was missing.

Carl wanted to shrug it off as unimportant, correctly guessing that the man wasn't supposed to be in the picture, but after everything he'd seen that day, he couldn't dismiss the man's strange appearance as a trick of the light as easily as he once would've. The image reminded him of something, a story he'd heard a long time ago, but he couldn't quite remember it. He also couldn't shake the feeling that this suited figure had a deeper connection to the Mathson and Hayes families, but he had no way of proving it. With a bad feeling lingering inside of him, he held the photograph up to the camera to document his findings, taking up most of the shot with it. However, it was when he stooped down to store the picture in his backpack that the camera picked up something else, something that he was completely unaware of; Towering over the crop field far behind him was a tall, dark figure that was watching his every move. It stood there motionlessly, a swarm of black tendrils hanging in the air around it like tentacles in water. Carl never noticed the faint static sound that his camcorder was emitting or the sudden drop in video quality, nor did he notice when the figure suddenly vanished into thin air, only to appear just outside of the door behind him. By the time Carl slipped his backpack back on, picked his camera up, and turned around to face the door, it was gone without a trace, and with the camera functioning normally again he was none the wiser. "I need to talk to Kate about this when I get the chance," he muttered.

Suddenly, he caught sight of something he wouldn't have expected to see in a million years; Dangling from a rusted hook right beside the door was an old, ornate black key, one that matched the size and fit of the padlock on the cemetery gate. "Huh…" he muttered, taking it off of the hook and looking at it in surprise. While old and covered in dust, the artifact still retained most of its original luster. Its bow consisted of three rings arranged roughly in the shape of a triangle, and its craftsmanship was something to be admired even after all of those years of neglect. Aside from some minor discoloration, the key was in near-perfect condition, something that had Carl feeling both grateful and fearful at the same time. Even though he'd somehow found the key, he would still have to make his way back through the field in order to get the gate open, and considering that it was now openly hostile territory, he wasn't looking forward to it. He weighed his options for a few moments, well aware that getting to the chapel was necessary if he wanted to make it back to the farmhouse. Begrudgingly, he stuffed the key in his pocket as he made his way back toward the granary, a light fog setting in over the farm as darkness took the land. When he reached the other side of the granary, he stepped outside to see the full moon shining bright in the star-speckled night sky, casting an eerie glow on the foggy homestead. The distant mountains had been reduced to ominous silhouettes, and if not for the light of the full moon, Carl would have been blind in the darkness. He could hear owls hooting and crickets chirping, but other than that, everything was dead silent. There was no wind, no movement… nothing. It was as if the entire world was standing still in anticipation.

Reluctantly, he started making his way toward the field, and soon enough, he passed through the tool shed once again and approached the overgrown trail. He stood there for a moment, staring out over the field; All was quiet, all was still, as if the world itself was waiting for him to make his next move. "You've got one shot at this, don't screw it up or you're a dead man," he coached himself. Then, after taking a few deep breaths, he took off sprinting down the path. The artificial cicada song began again, this time accompanied by a sound that could only be described as a deep, distorted clicking. Dark clouds moved in to cover the moon as a deep blue haze enveloped the field, creeping through the weeds and blotting out the sky. The blue mist was choking and acrid, breathing it in felt like inhaling fire, and it was through watery eyes that Carl saw the undead abomination charging at him head-on from further down the path, the remaining pieces of its rotting mouth twisted into a silent snarl. Terror pierced his heart and without thinking he instinctively ducked into the weeds for cover, hoping that they would conceal him from the creature. He did his best to keep the cemetery gate in sight as he crashed through the overgrown mass of crops, but the sheer height of the vegetation was making it difficult to see anything. The furious monster was hot on his heels, and the earsplitting ambiance grew louder and louder as it gained on him. The blue haze thickened with every step he took, making it impossible for Carl to see more than a few feet in front of himself. He could barely even breathe through the suffocating mist anymore, and he could feel fatigue setting in from carving his way through the wall of crops. He realized with horror that he was beginning to slow down as the sound of the monster crashing through the weeds behind him grew louder and louder. Plants whipped him in the face, stringy roots threatened to trip him up, and the unnatural noises ringing in his ears had become outright deafening.

Just when he thought he was done for, the blue mist lifted, the clouds moved away from the moon, the noises ceased, and the monster retreated back into the field. Wheezing and gasping for air, Carl wiped his watering eyes with his hand before looking around, confused as to what had saved his life. Perhaps the only pleasant surprise he'd receive that night was the fact that somehow, miraculously, he'd made it to the cemetery gate. Wasting no time, he jammed the key into the padlock and turned it, letting the chains fall to the ground as the ancient lock released its hold. The gate let out an eerie creak as it slid open, gliding across the ground before embedding itself deep in the dirt, as if it was unwilling to be closed again. What followed was something that sounded like a long, drawn-out, unearthly wail, as if a tortured soul was crying out in anguish. As he stepped forward, he heard an eerie ambiance coming from all around him; an unintelligible noise that sounded like a combination of whimpering, crying, and groaning. However, none of it sounded human, and even quieter than that was a faint whispering, as if some disembodied presence was watching him with unseen eyes, trying to communicate. It chilled him to the bone, and goosebumps ran down Carl's arms as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He looked over his shoulder to see if there was anything moving in the field, but there was nothing. "Calm down, you can handle this," he told himself. "You've already been through worse than a haunted graveyard." Struggling to keep his nerves under control, he examined the headstones, unsurprised by what he found. Among the dead were a few names he recognized from the old family portrait, several of whom had died young.


Maggie Matheson: 1890-1905

Elizabeth Matheson: 1868-1905

Clarence Matheson: 1866-1901

James Matheson: 1854-1903

Henry Hayes: 1824-1902

Norman Hayes: 1894-1905

Rose Matheson: 1891-1905

Georgia Matheson: 1870-1900

Ada Hayes: 1872-1905


"What happened between 1900 and 1905 that killed all of them?" he wondered. The majority of the people from the picture were buried beside one another, but no matter how hard he looked, Carl was unable to locate the graves of Patricia, Franklin, and Walter Matheson. He even checked a group of older headstones that were located in a secluded area a little ways away, the eldest of which dated back to 1812, but no results were yielded from that effort either. "I think it's safe to say that a few people escaped whatever went down here, considering there's a few members of the Matheson and Hayes families alive today," Carl pondered, before suddenly snapping back to his senses. "What am I doing wandering around this graveyard? I'm so close to the farmhouse, I could get out of here right-" he began, stopping mid-sentence when he saw something disturbing out of the corner of his eye. After a moment of hesitation, his curiosity got the best of him, and he found himself approaching something that was lying in the grass near the chapel. "Jesus Christ, what is wrong with this place?" he stammered, for he'd found himself looking upon a wide circle of large, round stones. Even after so many years, the earth inside of the ring was completely devoid of vegetation, as if some dark ritual had burned away all traces of life within it. Feeling lightheaded, Carl turned away from the ritual circle and headed back toward the graves, doing his best to focus on something else. Thankfully, he caught sight of that familiar, triangular tombstone he'd seen earlier and hurried toward it, wanting to get as far away from the ring of stones as possible. Once he reached the grave, however, he had to crouch down to get a much closer look at it than he would've liked in order to read the eroded inscription.


Frieda Matheson

1820-1905

May you be blessed for eternity


"Now what did you do to earn yourself a spot all the way over here and away from everybody else?" he wondered aloud, trying not to imagine a rotten hand bursting out of the ground to drag him down below. He studied the old grave for a few minutes, but eventually, with nothing more to learn from it, he left it behind and approached the chapel. The dark building had eroded white siding, rickety wooden stairs, boarded-up windows, and a crumbling stone fence that partially surrounded it. It wasn't very big, but it was more intimidating than most of the other places he'd visited so far. Carl didn't want to go inside, but he knew he had no choice. The barbed fence stood between him and the road back to the house, and the chapel was the only thing that connected both of those areas. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the building and looked around, getting a good view of the rows of collapsed, decaying pews that faced a raised section of the floor at the other end of the room. Another door stood to the right, just before the platform, but it was shut tight unlike the one he'd entered through. A lectern still stood at the front of the raised platform along with two pews that brushed against the wall behind it, and a large wooden cross was fastened to the wall between them. The chapel's peeling gray wallpaper was accompanied by a grimy wooden floor, and an empty doorframe on the left side of the building led to a hallway that connected the ground floor to the raised platform. At first glance, the chapel didn't seem to contain much more than that, so Carl entered the hallway to see if there was anything noteworthy in there, only to find that it was completely empty. However, instead of turning around, he made his way up to the platform and finally found something of interest; Placed atop the lectern was a wooden picture frame containing the portrait of a little boy. The child was dressed in formal attire and sitting on a leather chair, and words were engraved at the bottom of the frame.


Walter Matheson

May the angels guide you home


"This is one of the kids who didn't have a grave," Carl noted, looking over the picture for a moment before stuffing it in his backpack, more interested in the yellowed sheet of paper that it had been standing on top of. As he picked it up and read what was scrawled on the ancient document, a sinking feeling emerged in the pit of his stomach, for he finally knew the disturbing truth of the Matheson Farm.


I seek only salvation for myself and my family from

that demon sent to torment my life. I brought the

devil's wrath upon my family. I did this, I went

searching for this demon. I brought him into our

lives. I invoked his arrival. How could I have been so

blind as to manifest such evil? Why could I not let old

legends die? I alone should bear this burden! Why must

my grandchildren suffer for my imprudence? They

will never come home. That archfiend has them now.

We all must bear this burden. We must all repent for

our ignorance and rid this world of this demon for

good. None shall ever confront this evil again! It

dies with us!

May the fire cleanse our souls and burn our sins.

~Frieda Matheson


Quietly, Carl folded up the paper and stuck it in his backpack, processing this new information. He now understood why Frieda was buried so far away from all of the other graves; She was the one who'd brought about the downfall of the farm, the one who'd infected this place with an unholy plague. It was Frieda who was responsible for the burning of the barn behind the granary, for she had locked herself in there with her family and burned it to the ground, believing that their deaths would banish the evil she'd conjured with that ritual circle outside of the chapel, but she'd been wrong, horribly wrong. Finally, he knew the cause of the farm's abandonment, and why so many of those graves were marked with the year 1905; Most of the people who once lived here had been burned alive, both literally and metaphorically, and they'd all burned together. "I never should have come here…" Carl muttered. Much like Frieda Matheson, he'd willingly put himself in a situation that he was woefully unprepared for, and now he was reaping the consequences of that decision. He hoped with everything he had that the darkness that had consumed the Matheson Farm was trapped within the confines of the property, because if it wasn't, if it was capable of spreading, then that meant he'd brought the very same curse down on himself.

Suddenly, the air turned frigid as an ominous shadow swallowed the entire room, sending a horribly familiar sense of dread coursing through his veins. He let out a yelp when he heard the door violently slam shut on the opposite end of the chapel, finding himself frozen in place when he looked over and saw what was standing in front of it; Staring back at him from across the room was the tall man who'd been lurking in the background of the family portrait, the one whose likeness branded the granary's floor, the one who Carl had been hearing stories about for all of his life, thinking of them as nothing more than local myths. The Slender Man's suit was as black as night, his tie as red as blood, and his clammy skin as pale as a corpse. Standing completely motionless, the demon towered over him even from its lower position in the room, its head nearly touching the ceiling and its unnaturally long arms hanging stiffly at its sides. Its horrible, featureless face showed no emotion, unlike the terrified man it had set its sights on, who could only gaze back at it with a look of horror. In less than a second, it vanished into thin air and reappeared further up the aisle between the pews, then again, and again, slowly approaching Carl. The longer he looked at the creature, the closer it got to him, the more it felt like his brain was trying to crawl out of his skull. Blood trickled from his nose and ears as his breathing became strained and raspy, his lungs struggling to function properly as his heart pounded in his chest. His legs gave out and he dropped his camera, falling off of the platform and hitting the ground hard as an intense wave of nausea overtook him, black splotches obscuring his blurred vision as a high-pitched frequency rang in his ears. His blood ran cold and his eyes started watering as he tried desperately to stand back up, fighting as hard as he could to stay conscious through the intense pain. Gritting his teeth and squinting through the tears, he clutched the sides of his head and let out a groan of agony. The sickness he felt now was like the sickness he'd felt when trying to escape through the fence, only much, much worse; It felt like his entire body was tearing itself apart.

The demon stood over him and shifted its gaze downward, looking its helpless victim in the eyes as if it were staring directly into his soul, and an even more intense wave of pain shot through his head. Carl could no longer think, could no longer feel anything other than total agony, and he couldn't do anything other than vomit a combination of bile and blood, continuing for several minutes until he could retch no more. He prayed for anything to make it stop, to ease his suffering, and when his vision finally returned to him, he was surprised to see that the faceless demon was gone, having disappeared as abruptly as it arrived. Trembling violently and drenched in cold sweat, Carl fought through the pain, retrieved his camera, and made his way to the closest door, only to find that it was locked. He grunted an obscenity and turned back toward the pews, avoiding the spilled contents of his stomach as he made his way back to the door he'd come through, but that one was locked too. Letting out a sigh of defeat, he wiped the blood and tears from his face and slumped down on one of the more stable pews, cradling his head in his hands. The nosebleed had stopped entirely, as well as everything other than the migraine, which was receding at a much slower pace than he would've liked. Thousands of questions had sprung up in his mind over the course of the last few minutes, most of which he couldn't even begin to answer. He wished that he could've dismissed the whole encounter as a terrible hallucination, but he couldn't, for aside from the fact that he still felt like he'd been hit by a truck, his camcorder had recorded everything.

His head ached as he came to terms with how he now knew the Slender Man to be responsible for the destruction of the Matheson Farm and its inhabitants. From the initial conjuring to the terrible darkness that the homestead still harbored, that monster was at the epicenter of it all, and it was that revelation that made him think back to a disturbing piece of the puzzle, one that he now understood to be little more than an underling; the cellar ghoul. Carl was familiar with the legend of the Slender Man, and he was well aware of what would happen to the especially unfortunate among the monster's victims. The demon would break them, rotting away their humanity and driving them into insanity before making them slaves to his will, a horrible, tortured existence where whoever the victim had once been was erased entirely, replaced with a subservient husk that the stories referred to as a proxy. That was what had happened to the person who'd become the cellar ghoul, they were just another victim of the demon's malice, forced to linger in this godforsaken place acting as a guard dog. Despite all of the terror it had put him through, Carl felt only pity for the ghoul now that he knew the truth. There was no telling how long it had been in that state, and he hoped that nothing remained of its former self, for at least then it wouldn't be able to comprehend its own suffering. "I need to quit thinking so much and get the fuck out of here before the same thing or worse happens to me," he concluded, shakily standing up. He still hadn't discovered the truth of Charlie's disappearance, but he'd unearthed enough Matheson history to last him a lifetime.

He could leave this place satisfied that he'd given it his all, but he still couldn't shake the idea that he'd brought the farm's curse upon himself. He hoped dearly that this would be the last he saw of both the cellar ghoul and the Slender Man, but he couldn't ignore the possibility that his trespassing wouldn't be forgiven so easily, nor could he ignore that he was still locked inside of the chapel. "I'll break the goddamn door down if I have to," Carl said, looking for something that could help him with that process. It was as he was searching around the door by the lectern that he tripped over something small lying on the floor. Cursing to himself, he glanced down at the offending object in annoyance, but his anger went away when he saw what it was; He'd just stepped on one of five segments of a toy train, all lying in a circle around a filthy, threadbare stuffed animal that he somehow hadn't noticed before. He picked it up by a barely attached arm, seeing that it was what remained of a teddy bear, but what made his heart beat a little faster was the barely legible name embroidered on the animal's torso; Charlie. "Maybe I'll find out what happened to the kid after all," he said in disbelief, shocked to find such a blatant clue sitting out in the open. "All of the reports said he had this thing with him when he went missing, but I don't remember hearing anything about a toy train," he said aloud, shoveling all of the new evidence into his backpack. "So he ended up all the way out here after he disappeared, but there's no way he could've gotten that far on his own. That means he was kidnapped… and I bet I know what took him." Before Carl could dwell on that horrible thought any longer, a ghastly shriek rang out from somewhere outside of the chapel. Heavy footsteps thudded closer and closer, and a moment later something was pounding on the door by the lectern, threatening to knock it off its hinges.

He immediately stood up and slipped his backpack back on, quickly sneaking over to the hallway while whatever was out there was occupied with the door. A few tense moments passed before the wooden door burst open, and based on the horrible sounds it was making, he knew that the decaying proxy had just entered the building. He could hear it growling as it stood perched in the doorway, scanning over the room as it attempted to locate its prey. Seeing nothing, it let out a sound somewhere between a shriek and a hiss before lurching forward, gurgling and snarling as it searched behind pews while making its way toward the back of the room, slowly approaching Carl's position. Quickly, quietly, Carl crept down the hall, making his way toward the raised section of the floor as the creature moved further away from it. He had to rely entirely on his hearing to tell where it was, so for once he hoped that the creature wouldn't stop making those awful sounds. His plan was to sneak all the way around to the now open door and leave the chapel undetected while the thing's back was turned, but like many of his plans that day, it didn't go anywhere near as smoothly as he wanted it to. When he dropped down from the platform his foot loudly went through the chapel's rotting floorboards, drawing the creature's attention. It whipped around and locked eyes with him, its expression twisting into a bloodthirsty snarl as it let out an unearthly roar. Cursing to himself, Carl fought to free his foot from the broken boards as the zombie charged at him, screeching at the top of its decaying lungs in a blind fury. Just as it was bearing down on him, he finally wrenched his foot free and stumbled toward the door, slamming it shut behind him and booking it down the path toward the farmhouse. Lost in its rage, the creature screamed and shrieked as it pounded on the door, trying to break through something it could have easily opened if it wanted to.

The more distance he put between himself and the chapel, the quieter the monster's screaming became. The farmhouse was close, very close, and as Carl sprinted up the trail and through the backyard, he nearly shed tears of joy when he realized that the small building was the only thing standing between him and his freedom. However, his joy turned to dismay when he dashed through an open door and into the house, for he was met with a room containing only ruined furniture, some stairs, and the boarded-up door that he hadn't been able to get through earlier. The sound of the chapel's door being knocked off of its hinges suddenly hit his ears, and the deranged, inhuman shrieking coming from behind him rapidly grew louder as the beast approached the house. With nowhere else to go, Carl ran up the stairs as quickly as he could, hoping there would be somewhere to hide, but he stopped in his tracks as soon as he reached the second floor. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to see, but the cryptic scene laid out before him certainly hadn't crossed his mind until now. The walls separating the individual rooms had been torn down long ago, transforming the entirety of the second floor into one big makeshift room that was reminiscent of an attic. Dim rays of moonlight shone through the gaps in the shattered, partially boarded-up windows, barely managing to illuminate the mess of ruined sofas, beds, tables, chairs, bookshelves, and other furniture that littered the room. The floor was covered in debris, most of which was too decayed to tell what it was, and heaps of old, mostly religious books were stacked atop the desks and tables, scattered across the floor, and clumsily crammed onto the few bookshelves that were still intact. Plastered on the stone brick walls and strewn about the filthy wooden floor were ancient masses of paper featuring nonsensical ramblings and scribbles, only a few of which had legible phrases such as "You" or "Come Home Now" written on them.

Accompanying the papers on the walls were huge sketches of trees, circles, x's, and crosses all made with the same black paint that was splattered on a wall in a way that almost made it look like a pair of angel wings. However, the eeriest of the illustrations was a crossed-out depiction of the Slender Man that was painted in white on a wall to the right just above a decaying couch with the phrase "Abandon all hope, for death is only the beginning" scrawled beneath it. For once, Carl felt no fear or apprehension toward the situation in front of him, only curiosity, mainly because the undead proxy's feral screaming had gone silent and the ghoul itself was nowhere to be found, apparently having lost track of him. He hadn't expected to find something like this on the house's second floor, but considering it was the least dangerous surprise he'd encountered that night, he wasn't too bothered by it. Still trying to comprehend what he was looking at, he caught sight of a yellowed page torn from a book, one that was resting on a broken chair near the stairs. Dominating the page was an illustration of a strange, twisted beast lurking behind a frightened woman who was sitting on a stool beneath a window, and scrawled below the image was the word Verzweiflung. "Despair," he translated, somewhat familiar with the German language. "That's the one thing this farm still produces." Pocketing the ominous page, Carl decided to do a little more investigating and started searching the rest of the room, digging through stacks of junk and rubble in an attempt to find something worthwhile.

Over the course of several minutes, he managed to pinpoint three sources of useful information, two of them consisting of journal entries torn from their respective books and placed on desks. Despite his efforts to locate the full journals, they were nowhere to be found, and knowing that it was only a matter of time before either the Slender Man or his proxy caught up with him, he decided against sticking around to search for any longer. "This will just have to be good enough," he stated, beginning to read through the ancient documents. Both journal excerpts consisted of a set of two pages barely held together by aged stitching, the first of which was a diary entry accompanied by an ominous sketch of the Slender Man standing next to a wilting flower outside of the chapel.


Dearest Diary,

Patricia still has yet to come

home.

Mother insists she ran off to

search for wildflowers again,

but I know that's not true.

It was that man, that thing

Grandmother keeps ranting on

about.

I do not think she's mad.

I have seen the man myself, he

watches us as we play.

Patty went to him, I just know it!

If only Mother would listen!

I wonder when she'll come home…

~Rose


The second excerpt was comprised of the ending of one entry and the entirety of another. There were no cryptic pictures to go along with the writing this time, but that didn't make it any less unnerving.


but it's more or less the same as it's

always been. Maybe tomorrow.

~Maggie. June 2nd, 1905.

Father is making us pray again tonight.

It'll do no good. It's bothersome if

anything, and I'd bet anything Patty

and Walt ran away from this miserable

old place, and I don't blame them one bit.

Grandmother and Rose insist on some

batty tale that a strange man took them

away. Am I the only one keeping their

wits around here? Maybe I should run

away too.

~Maggie. June 9th, 1905.


"Well, that explains why some of those kids don't have graves in the cemetery. Slender Man took them before Frieda decided to burn everyone alive," Carl mused. He then began to read over the third document, an aged letter from Frieda Matheson's sister.


Dearest Frieda,

Though my heart still pains for your missing children, I fear

for your health, my sweet sister. You mustn't worry your mind

with those twisted tales of our youth. You know as well as I they

were merely tales to keep us all in good behaviour. If only

Mother knew what those silly legends would do to you. Though I

have no recollection of the one you mention. Was it from one of

Mother's books you took with you?

I wish I were with you now, in your time of need, rather than

whittling my days away alone. I wish you well, an ocean away,

may my thoughts and prayers reach you.

~Franziska


"Was she talking about that book I picked up in the cellar?" Carl wondered, slipping the documents into his backpack. "I'll have to look through it later, once I'm far away from this place." He found himself thinking back to the summoning circle near the chapel, unable to understand why Frieda had tried to summon such evil, regardless of whether she'd believed the legend of the Slender Man to be true or if she was only trying to disprove the twisted tale. Perhaps the answer to his question was as simple as Frieda being too naive to foresee the potential consequences of her actions, but there was no way of knowing for sure. Content with the discoveries he'd made, he was beginning to look for a way out of the house when he noticed one last clue; In a cluttered corner by where he'd found Franziska's letter was what appeared to be some kind of nest, or perhaps a makeshift bed, comprised of shredded cushions and old rags. A pile of papers sat on top of it along with some broken crayons, all of which appeared to be relatively new compared to the other things he'd found on the farm. The papers were all covered in a child's drawings, similar to the ones he'd seen on the wall in the cellar, and once again his curiosity got the better of him. He picked two of them up to take a closer look, his eyes widening as the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. The first was a sketch of the burning barn with a group of stick figures inside of it, and looming over them was the Slender Man. The second drawing was of a family of three having a picnic on the farm, undoubtedly portraying the missing boy and his parents on one of their retreats. Artistically, they weren't much to look at, but it was the signature of Charlie on every one of the drawings that finally made something click in Carl's head.

A wave of shock hit him like a truck as the truth finally sank in. He should've seen it back in the chapel when he'd realized that the faceless demon was responsible for Charlie's disappearance, that it had brought him to this terrible place. He should've understood what it meant when the decaying ghoul had reacted so violently to him taking those old toys, one of which had the missing boy's name sewn into it. He should've realized the irony of such a foul creature sounding like a small child back when he'd first encountered it in the cellar, but he hadn't, because he'd been too focused on staying alive at the time. That ghoul, that wretched, decaying monstrosity that had been hounding him for hours was all that remained of the boy he'd been searching for this entire time. After Charlie Matheson Jr. had been taken by the Slender Man, he'd been twisted and warped beyond recognition and turned into a mindless proxy, one with just enough intelligence to remember his toys and his love of drawing, and perhaps even his own sorrow. Carl could see a vague resemblance between the ghoul and the photos he'd seen of Charlie now if he thought about it hard enough, but something was wrong; Charlie had gone missing when he was only a little boy, and that monster looked like it had been at least a preteen when it had died. However, it was when he glanced across the room and reread the writing on the wall that he understood what was happening. "Abandon all hope, for death is only the beginning" was far more than an ominous quote plastered on the wall of a decaying house; It was the horrible truth of Charlie's condition. Perhaps he had died before his transformation, or perhaps he hadn't, but regardless of how it had happened, he was neither living nor dead anymore. He was trapped in that awful form somewhere between life and death, aging far more slowly than he should've been, doomed to suffer for eternity as a slave to the demon who'd stolen his life and destroyed his family.

"This is too much…" Carl stammered, feeling sick to his stomach. He didn't want to believe that something so horrible had happened to an innocent child, but he knew it to be true. "This whole time I figured Charlie was dead, but he couldn't die even if he wanted to. Not anymore, now that he's some kind of fucked up zombie proxy," Carl said, his voice full of disgust. "I have to get out of here, I can't take any more of this." It was after he pocketed the two drawings he'd picked up that another troubling thought went through his head; "If the Slender Man's been haunting this place ever since Frieda summoned it here, then maybe Charlie first encountered him when Charles brought him and Diane here for a picnic. That would explain why it went after Charlie, and maybe it started haunting Charles later on. That would explain the weird symptoms he had before he died… Wait, the weird things happening to him were the same things that have been happening to me and Kate… Oh. Oh no, please no," Carl whimpered as a horrible realization dawned on him. There was a reason the Slender Man's influence had felt so familiar to him when he'd encountered the demon in the chapel; He'd been feeling it ever since he was a kid, and so had Kate, they just hadn't known what it really was because their memories had been erased. That night in the woods when they were kids made so much sense now; They had run into the monster in Oakside Park, and it had been watching them from the shadows ever since, slowly growing more prominent in their lives and outright attacking them when they'd ventured back out into the woods as adults. "It's been following us the entire time…" he stuttered, putting his hand on a table to steady himself. "All of the weird symptoms, all of the memory loss, all of the strange things happening in our lives… It was the Slender Man. It's always been the Slender Man. He's been stalking us ever since we were kids." His head was spinning, his world had just been turned upside down. He'd been so worried about the curse following him off of the farm, but it had been following him long before he'd ever come to the godforsaken homestead. "I am leaving this place, right now. Kate has to know about this," Carl growled, summoning what little bravery he had left.

With no obvious way out of the house, he began looking around for any possible exit, and it wasn't long before he spotted something that he hadn't noticed during his first visit; an open trap door near the back of the room. Its ladder was missing, but at this point, he didn't care in the slightest. Carl dropped down to the first floor, landing in the room with the fireplace, but as soon as he touched the ground, the boarded-up door that had blocked his progress so many times before burst open. He immediately took off running through the house, only catching a glimpse of the decaying monstrosity that Charlie Matheson Jr. had become as it shrieked at him and began to pursue its escaping prey. Carl burst out of the house with Charlie hot on his heels and bolted down the sun-baked path that he'd walked on only a few short hours ago, shouting an obscenity as he tripped over a loose brick and his camcorder flew from his hand, landing upright in the grass ahead. It recorded Carl running past it, unable to stop and pick it up, for Charlie was following close behind. The last thing the camera recorded was the sound of Charlie's unearthly shrieks mingling with the loud roar of an engine starting up, and then something unseen picked it up and the footage was overtaken by static and distortion as the device shut down entirely.