He didn't move. All that he did was stand there, looking at me, although he had no eyes to speak of. For a moment, I wondered how he could see at all.
How was this even possible? When I read that those people saw a man with no face, I thought that they were on drugs. But, since I had never used drugs, and since I had no reason to hallucinate, I knew that this was real. However, in my experience, it was impossible for someone to not have a face. And I vehemently denounced all things supernatural, so he couldn't have been an alien. Charlie, of course, would disagree with me.
Anyway, he just kept standing there. That was perhaps the scariest part. He did nothing. I expected him to chase me, or walk over and slash me open, but he did nothing.
In my understanding, there are three basic types of fear. The most obvious is shock. You turn around, and you see someone behind you with a knife, or you see a pile of gore. Maybe your wife hung herself in the living room. Whatever the case, it's suddenly there, and you don't like it.
The second type is dread. This is something that you know will happen, but you don't want to occur. Or, perhaps, you don't know what the outcome will be, so you expect it to be something terrible. We're afraid of death. We're afraid of life. We're afraid of waking up in the morning and going in to interview for that new job. These things are common place, but they frighten us. Or, perhaps, they scare us because they're so mundane.
The last, and the single most terrifying of all, is static. This is rooted in uncertainty. There's nothing behind you. It's relatively mundane, but this isn't why you fear it. Something is "just not right". You're in an empty room, it's dark. Nothing's happening. You keep telling yourself that it's all going to be alright, but you can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. You get paranoid. You act rashly. You are consumed by fear.
That third type was the one that I was experiencing, and it was hitting me at full power. My body was shaking, and I couldn't move. My thoughts were scattered. I had a thousand questions in my head. Why was he here? Why wasn't he attacking me? What did he want? Would he kill me?
Suddenly, I started coughing. I couldn't stop. Then, the coughing began to produce blood. At the point, I wondered if that was a reaction to fear, or something else entirely. Could Slender Man be doing this? Was he supernatural, after all?
My nose then decided that it was jealous of my throat, and joined in the bleeding. The red liquid ran down my lips and splattered on the ground. A bit of it missed the target, and ended up in my mouth. I gagged.
I felt nauseous. Whether it was from the taste of blood, or part of the general illness that had taken hold of me, I was unsure. I was sure of one thing, though. I was tired of this.
"Come at me!" I yelled, "Is this all that you're gonna do, make me sick? Get over here and kill me! Show me something interesting! Rip my chest open. Slash my throat. Give me a reason to be scared! DO SOMETHING!"
Slender man suddenly sprouted multiple arms. Or, they were something similar to arms. I wasn't sure what to call them, but they were long and tentacle-like. They were only arms in appearance.
He then started walking. I took a gulp as I realized that he listened to me. What was I thinking?
He was getting closer. I wanted to run, but my body wouldn't allow it. I was forced to endure my fate.
My legs were trembling. My heart was pounding in my chest. Sweat was pouring down my face. Slender Man was standing before me, his face inches from my own. I grimaced in preparation for the inevitable. After another moment of inaction, he finally made contact. He wrapped one of his bizarre tentacle-arms around my neck.
He squeezed harder and harder. I was losing air. I struggled to get free, but it made it worse. When scarcely had any breath left in me, and I lost all hope for survival, he let go.
I was stunned. I looked around to see if anybody else saw any of this, but no one was there. When I turned back to look at Slender Man, he was gone. I was left to wonder why he didn't kill me.
With no reason left to appear tough, I let the tears stream down my face. There was no one there to comfort me, and the only person that I could talk to about any of this was away with his parents. I was a mile away from home, but I had no reason to leave. The only parental figure that was anywhere nearby was an overpayed babysitter. I had nothing left.
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