Part Forty-Six (May 5, 1972)

Present:

Hello, everyone. I would like to take the time to address some things that seem to be common concerns. As the writer of this blog, I often decide to analyze my traffic-sources. Unsurprisingly, some of these sites are forums. On these forums, people voice their opinions on the way in which this blog is progressing, which may manifest as constructive criticism. I am quite tolerant of such things, and am willing to respond to them, if the need may arise. So, I will address three issues.

Format:

This actually did not come from a forum thread, but I feel that it needs to be addressed. I feel that it can be difficult to read sections of this blog, as I occasionally discuss the present. Prior to this point, there were no clear markers that indicated a dichotomy between these two periods of time. As such, I have chosen to more clearly label these passages, as seen above. I will not be editing my older tangents of this sort, however, as I think that it's interesting to see the progression of my work.

Children's Diction:

Sometimes, readers will find that, as children, my friends and I occasionally used words that a child would not typically use. This is especially prevalent in the earlier entries, but I've recently taken note of it. There are two main reasons for this 

1. Due to the fact that I am recollecting the happenings of my past, some of my quotes are somewhat paraphrased. As I have a tendency to use large words, they sometimes appear in dialog. I have made an effort to avoid such things, and you may find that we children have been speaking in an increasingly childlike manner. However, I do intentionally insert larger words, at times, which brings me to my second point.

2. Charlie and I (and, to a lesser extent, Tommy and Jeremy) used to read a ridiculous number of books, which dramatically increased our vocabulary. There was a point when our parents had even considered skipping us up to the next grade, but they had ultimately decided against it. Basically, we were rather precocious, but we did still have a tendency to talk like kids.

Plausibility:

Due to environmental distortion, as well as other bizarre events, some elements of my story may be slightly difficult to believe. But that is okay. I have yet to understand some of these occurrences, myself, but the important thing is that they happened. When one is found in strange circumstances, one has little time to think about things like plausibility.

Anyway, I hope that I have answered some of my readers' questions. If there should be more, I'd be glad to answer them. However, I'd prefer not to do so in bulk, as it distracts from the story.

Past:

School was boring, as it always had been. Hours passed by, as we twiddled our thumbs, in anticipation of our next meeting. When it was finally time for lunch, I let out a long sigh of relief.

When we had each gotten our food, we sat down at the table which we had unofficially designated as our discussion-spot, beginning our conversation with a quick mockery of  the fact that Cinco de Mayo had been Westernized as a festival for white drunkards. Soon after, we got to business.

"Tomorrow," I said, "Charlie and I will try to get into a nightclub, 'cuz we have to talk to someone. I want you guys to look at some of that research, while we're gone."

"And why can't we go with you?" Jeremy asked.

"They had to make fake IDs." Tommy explained, "They only made enough for themselves."

"But…" Jeremy said, "I'm not that great with research."

"You have Tommy with you." Charlie noted, "The kid gets straight A's."

Tommy smiled. Jeremy looked at him, considering the prospect. "Alright." He said, "But bring us back some drinks."

"Sorry…" Chalie said, "I promised my cousin that we wouldn't do anything stupid.." I opened my mouth, to add on, but Charlie stopped me. "I know what you're thinking about saying." He said, "And, if you ever want kids, I suggest that you don't say it."

I smirked. "As if that matters…" I said, "I haven't even gone through puberty."

"Then, you won't even have a chance with her, anyway." Charlie pointed out. I punched him in his arm.

"Guys, could we backtrack?" Tommy redirected, "How are you even gonna get into this nightclub?"

I thought about this. "It's a long-shot." I admitted, "But we have to try."

Part Forty-Five (May 5, 1972)

We woke up, the next day, groaning as Charlie let the light into the room. After I showered and ate, I went to find Jeremy. I discovered him in my room, playing with a yo-yo. "About time…" He said.

"Sorry," I replied, "I eat slowly. Where're Charlie and Tom?"

"Tommy's getting ready, and Charlie offered to mow the lawn for your folks. Are you ready?"

I nodded, and we took the box downstairs. I told my parents that we were leaving early for school, so that we could throw away some old comics. They were okay with that.

When we were about halfway to the school, we stopped. We found a nice open field, a bit away from the road. "Okay, Lyle." Jeremy said, "Are you going to do this? I'll support whichever decision that you make. If you're not ready, then that's okay."

I briefly looked into the box, before hesitantly setting it down. "I don't know if I'm ready." I said, "But it needs to be done. Hand me the match."

He did so, and I lit the box. I watched it, as it slowly crumbled away. Jeremy out his arm on my shoulder. "Any regrets?" He asked.

"Nah," I said.

"Are you sure? Even though it's twisted and weird, you're still technically losing porn."

"Yeah," I said, "But, in my delirium, I somehow had the common sense to destroy the crappy stuff. I'll be okay."

We both laughed, for a couple of minutes, before I decided to change the subject. "Last night, you talked about your dad." I said, "If you don't mind my asking, what did he do to you, exactly?"

Jeremy was silent, carefully choosing his words. "My dad was once in the military." He said, "But he was discharged for instability and public drunkenness. After he came home, for about a year, he would savagely beat me and my mother, for no real reason. Then, when I was about eight, Mom had had enough. She tried to leave, but Pops wouldn't have it. He picked up a steak knife, and he stabbed her, ten times. I watched in terror, as my mother was murdered. I tried to run, but my dad managed to stab me in the side. I escaped to my closet, which I barricaded, and waited until it was calm enough for me to pick up the phone. I called the police, Pops was canned, and I was sent to the hospital for surgery. Ever since then, I've been living in a foster home, where I have very few friends. Because of that, I'm cold and bitter, which is why I've always been hostile to you guys."

"I'm sorry." I said, "I'd had no idea."

"No one ever does. I never say much about it. But, anyway, I know your secret, add you know mine."

We stood there, until the box became little more than ashes. We then took turns, urinating on the flames. It was in this moment, as we both walked to school, that I truly became friends with Jeremy Maxwell.

Part Forty-Four (May 4, 1972)

Naturally, I was ashamed and frightened, as I didn't expect that I'd ever have to find myself in a situation in which I'd need to explain this. When I had finally gained the courage to speak, I said, "When I did that, I wasn't myself."

"What do you mean?" Jeremy asked.

"I had been having nightmares. I don't even remember cutting up the porn. When I woke up, I just… found it, all over my bed. I didn't know what to do, so I just put it in another box."

"Was Charlie here?"

"No," I said, "I think that he was on a road trip. I was alone; I had no one to talk to about this. This was before we'd even found Tommy."

"Would you like me to get him up here?" Jeremy suggested, "He'd understand."

"Tommy, or Charlie?"

"Tommy."

"No." I said, "He's calling his folks… This is pretty disturbing isn't it?"

Jeremy answered honestly. "Yeah." He said, "It's deeply disturbing. But you went through a traumatic experience. So, while this is screwed up, I'm not entirely surprised."

"Did anyone fill you in? Do you fully understand what this is all about?"

"Yeah, Charlie gave me the basics. 'Slender Man', right?" I nodded, and he continued, "I didn't really believe him, at first. But, after what happened in that old amusement park, I'm starting to get what he meant."

"Charlie tries." I commented, "But he doesn't really grasp the terror that I felt. He knows what happened to me, and what happened to Tommy, but he doesn't have any true connection. Neither do you, really, but I sense that something happened to you. You might get it."

Jeremy sat up, putting down the altered porn. "You haven't really told me what happened to you guys." He said.

Tommy's story isn't really mine to tell." I said, "But here's mine."

He listened intently, as I told him what happened. He seemed frightened and confused, at times, but he said nothing. He waited until I had finished.

"Geez," he remarked, "I didn't know that it was that bad. I'm sorry." He stopped, for a moment, to collect himself. Then, he resumed speaking. "Why didn't you burn these?" He asked, "I'd hate to have those under my bed."

"I guess that I'm kind of fascinated by them, in a way. I stare at them, trying to figure out what was in my head, when I altered them. It helps to remind me to never return to that state."

"I don't think that they help you." Jeremy pointed out, "I think that they screw you up. They make you hollow."

I raised an eyebrow. "How'd you know?" I questioned.

"Because the same thing happened to me, when I kept the pictures of my father." At that moment, we put away the box, as the others were entering the room.

Part Forty-Three (May 4,1972)

While I was tidying up the living room, and while Charlie was waiting in line for the phone, Jeremy entered the room. As he did so, Charlie instantly requested that he retrieve the porn from his backpack, and put it away, as he didn't have time to personally take care of it. Since we were in the presence of my parents, he euphemistically referred to it as, "the book that [he] was borrowing from Lyle". Jeremy reluctantly agreed, and headed upstairs.

After a minute or so, I decided to help him, as he didn't know how to properly sort my magazines. As I entered the room, I noticed that he couldn't resist the urge to dig into my other box. "What are you doing?" I screamed.

"Lyle," Jeremy stated, "I think that we need to talk about this."

I sat beside him, trying to figure out what to say, as Jeremy flipped through the pages of the magazines that I had forbidden him from reading. Unsure of my excuse, I merely watched him turn through them.

To his horror, he had discovered that every face of every model had been systematically cut out with a pair of scissors, and that each face had been crossed out with a Sharpie. Some of the women were even given tentacles. And, on the last page, I had drawn a crude representation of Slender Man, accompanied by the words, "I disapprove." I had done this to every last magazine in the box.

Part Forty-Two (May 4, 1972)

For a moment, we gazed into the pit, desperately attempting to process what had just happened. After some time, we returned to our senses, entering the small research building. "Grab what you can." I said, "Stuff it into your backpacks. We're not coming back."

Following my orders, my friends gathered up any documents that they could. Between the four of us, we managed to get everything. That included hundreds of documents, photos, and newspapers. Our trip was worth the trouble.

As we left, I laid a single sheet of blank paper on the marked ground, figuring that it would bust into flames. It did, but it caused only a small fire. So, I went into the building, and came out with more blank paper, making a trail of parchment. Digging around, I found some old gasoline, which I print poured onto the fire. When that was done, we left.

The walk home was silent. We'd all had too much on our minds, and there wasn't much room for banter. Charlie couldn't even get out the magazine, due to the paper in his bag.

Soon, we reached my place. After dinner and dishes, we immediately unpacked. When that was done, everyone called their parents.

Part Forty-One (May 4, 1972)

"My son is not missing." Bruce pointed out, "He's dead. He died on the day when he was taken from me, as did I."

"I'm sorry." I said.

"No." Bruce growled, "You're not. You cannot possibly understand what is like to lose a child. You have no children. Hell, you are a child. Every day, for the last several years,  I've been visiting the place of Sam's disappearance. Every day, I gather research on the Beast, hoping that it will somehow ease the pain. But it doesn't. Nothing does."

He stepped outside, taking in the strange landscape that he had been staring at for two decades. He appeared to be most in thought. Then, he said, "I can't do this, anymore. That's why I passed on that message to you, Charlie. That's why I was so adamant to help John out, after he began receiving those letters. I needed a replacement."

"Wait…" I said, "You wrote the letters?"

Bruce chuckled. "No." He said, "That was someone else, though I don't know whom. But, anyway, I just found the letters to be a convenience. I needed someone to to fulfill my work, so I played along, leaving John unaware of my true identity. I didn't want to worry him."

"I don't mean to make things worse." Tommy said, "But John's dead. He committed suicide."

"No, he didn't." Bruce said, tearfully, "I killed him."

"What?"

"He was my dear friend." Bruce said, "I didn't want him to continue delving into this. If he would have found this place, it would have ruined him. So, to ease his inevitable pain, I forced his pills down his throat."

"You didn't have to do that." Jeremy said, "You could have just told him to stay away."

"I know…" Bruce said, "But one cannot change the past." He paused, for a moment, and added, "But you can change other things."

"What do you mean?" I puzzled.

Bruce breathed deeply. "Once you've been in this place for long enough," he began, "You learn to manipulate it." With that, he outstetched his arm, and telekinetically collapsed a rollercoaster. Then, he proceeded to destroy the remainder of the structures, leaving nothing but the small building that was behind him. As everything began to fall into the chasms, he slowly drew three bars toward himself. When they neared him, he uttered his final words.

"Forgive me, John." He said, "My research has been passed on."

With his purpose fulfilled, he allowed the metal to puncture his abdomen, and tumbled into the abyss.

Part Forty (May 4, 1972)

It took a few minutes to sidestep all of the debris, but we eventually reached the other side. When we arrived, we were bewildered.

Everything was distorted. The rides were twisted into odd shapes, and several buildings were floating. Parts of the ground were lifted above others, and there were several large chasms. A nearby stream was pushed upward, into vertical columns.

The distortion wasn't even the strangest element. In certain areas, the ground was covered with bizarre symbols. They appeared to be burned into the dirt, but the lines were too perfect and complex to have been created by any generic person with a matchstick.

Tommy kneeled onto the ground, investigating the symbols. However, once he made physical contact with the engravings, his arm burst into flames. In panic, he lept up. Once he had vacated the marked area of the ground, he was instantly healed, as if he had never been injured. "What… is this place?" He asked, fearfully.

"I call it a 'pocket world'." A voice called out, "When the Beast makes repeated contact in an area,  the landscape can begin to change form."

"Who are you?" Tommy asked.

Before the man even had a chance to reply, Charlie called out, "Bruce!" Apparently, this was the friend of Professor John.

"Hello." Bruce said, "You're that boy that I met. John told me that you had sought him out."

"Yes, I'm Charlie. And these are my friends."

We all introduced ourselves, and we followed Bruce to a small building that he'd been staying in. "I use this place for research". He said.

"No Kidding…" I responded, staring at the plethora of notes and documents that were strewn across the walls. After quickly analyzing some of them, I noticed that a percentage of them were newspaper articles, many of which were about the disappearance at the carnival.

I gazed at the man, in shock, and said, "You're the father of that missing boy."

Part Thirty-Nine (May 4, 1972)

The four of us marched into the old amusement park, unsure of what we were to find. Even Jeremy didn't know. But, apparently, he knew where to look. While I still didn't truly trust him, he had warmed up to the group, even over the last few hours. So, we were somewhat inclined to follow him.

He dragged us through a labyrinth of old roller coasters and Ferris wheels, before arriving at his destination. When he had done so, we glared at him.

"This is what we were supposed to see?" Charlie asked, looking at a giant pile of rubble and crumbled fairground rides, which stood against a rocky cliff.

"No." Jeremy replied, "You're supposed to see whatever's on the other side. This carnival's only been closed for about twenty years. Rides usually don't collapse that quickly. Look at the rest of the fairground; it's still relatively intact. What does that tell you?"

I thought about this, and said, "This junk is here for a purpose."

Jeremy nodded. "There's a cave, behind the junk. I think that it once led to the other part of the park, but it's hard to get through, with all of the stuff in the way."

Tommy paced around, looking for a way in. Within minutes, he found one. "Look," he said, "Someone cleared a path. We're not the only ones who want to see this thing."

We were about to go through, when Jeremy stopped. "What's wrong, Charlie asked. Are you scared?"

"Kinda…" Jeremy admitted, "If somebody took the time to block this off, I'm not sure if we should be going in there."

I thought that he had a valid point, but that didn't matter. We had to go through, so I said nothing. So, after some convincing, which mostly consisted of Charlie making disparaging remarks about his manhood, Jeremy agreed to enter.

Part Thirty-Eight (May 4, 1972)

"To the carnival!", I shouted, in my best imitation of an English accent, once we had walked out the door. The quality of the imitation was poor, of course, but no one minded.

"Right-o, old chap!" Charlie returned, with an even hammier accent. Naturally, I felt inclined to point this out.

"Dude," I said, "I'm pretty sure that English people don't talk like that."

"Oh, yeah?" Charlie challenged, "Hey, Tom. Whose accent was better?"

"I think that you already know the answer to that question, Charlie." Tommy snickered.

Charlie squinted. "Go to Hell." He said.

Tommy smiled. "I can't." He confessed, "I've already been there."

At this point, Jeremy cut in. "Guys," He said, "Quit with the accents. And don't use your traumatic experiences against other people, Tommy. It's screwed up."

"I apologize for using such dark humor as a comeback. But he deserved it." Tommy said, in a surprisingly subtle accent. On that note, Charlie punched him in the shoulder, and pulled out my magazine.

Tommy looked over at it, and grinned. I did the same. For the next several minutes, we passed the porn back and forth, pointing out women that we thought we especially attractive. Then, Jeremy chose to comment on it.

"You know, this is kind of pointless." He said, "None of us are ever going to get girls like that."

Charlie turned to face him, and said, "A boy can dream, right?"

"Could you just do us all a favor?" Jeremy replied, "'Dream' in the woods. We'll wait for you."

"Oh, shut up." Charlie said, putting the magazine back in his bag. To replace it, he took out his baseball, proceeding to toss it in the air. Following suit, I began playing with a yo-yo.

This lasted for about five minutes, until Jeremy spoke. "Put away your toys, lads." He said, "We're here."

Part Thirty-Seven (May 4, 1972)

After school, we converged at my house, in preparation for our journey. It took quite a bit of convincing, to get my parents to accept yet another house guest. But, when I told them that we going to go exploring, and that we'd only be in the house for dinner and sleep, they eventually agreed. They expressed disdain over my frequent excursions, but they seemed to enjoy the fact that I was being so social. As long as we returned before five, and helped with the housework, they'd be okay with it. They were becoming progressively less strict, for some reason. They did have one more request, however. Next time, I'd have to spend the night at Charlie's.

We walked to my room, gathering all that we might need for our trip. This mostly amounted to food entertainment items, as we didn't expect to be gone for long. Once our backpacks were stuffed, I turned to Charlie, and I asked, "So, have you chosen wisely?"

"Oh, yeah." He said, "This should last me for a while." He grinned, pulling out the best magazine of the bunch, and I nodded in approval.

Jeremy dropped his jaw. "Whoa, you have porn?" He exclaimed.

"Yep." I said, "Look under the bed." Jeremy did so, seeing a large, cardboard box of sensual pleasure. Beside it was another box, which was duct-taped shut.

"What's this box?" The boy asked, pointing to the other container. "Is it more porn?"

"No!" I screamed, "Don't touch that one!" With that, I frantically kicked it farther back.

Jeremy looked confused. "What's worse than porn?" He asked.

"It doesn't matter." I said, "Just don't touch it." Jeremy furrowed his brows. Tommy put his arm around me, assuming this to be a coping mechanism. Charlie merely shrugged, however. Apparently, he was getting used to my strange behavior. He knew not to ask questions.

Part Thirty-Six (May 4, 1972)

At that point, the three of us leaned in, privately conversing. When we had finished, I told Jeremy our verdict. "Okay," I decided, "But, if you cross us, you're out."

Jeremy smiled. "Thank you." He said, "I hope that you will come to see me as an asset, rather than an inconvenience."

"So do we," Charlie mumbled. Jeremy could hear him, but he acted as if he could not. I scowled at my friend, only to be answered with a shrug.

We continued eating. For several minutes, no one spoke. We were all attempting to process the fact that we were now forced to work with those with whom we normally did not associate. It was a somewhat bizarre situation, and the majority of us questioned Jeremy's motives. I wasn't quite sure that he even knew what he wanted. Yet, there he was, and there we were; none of us could change that, even if we wanted to. He claimed to have something to offer, and we had no choice but to believe him, for he seemed to be sincere. Time would determine the nature of his character; we were not fit to judge such things. We were children, after all. And, much like adults, children often find their loyalties tested. The only difference is age.  Therefore, regardless of our personal feelings on the matter, that table now housed a group of four.

Part Thirty-Five (May 4, 1972)

After the awkwardness had subsided, we went to school. When it hit lunchtime, we ran into Jeremy Maxwell. He had been directly behind us in line, and he had chosen to sit at our table.

"What do you want?" Charlie challenged.

Jeremy donned an expression of bewilderment. "Whoa." He said, "I come in peace. Can't a kid just sit at a table?"

I pondered on this. "Yes," I said, "I suppose that you can. Let's all hear what you have to say."

"Thank you." He said, "You're reasonable." I nodded, and he continued. "I've been hearing you three talk, for the last couple of days. Usually , I'll hear mundane things, like about homework. But, occasionally, I'll catch things about an abandoned carnival. If I'm thinking of the right carnivsl, then I think that I could be useful to you."

"Disregarding your eaves-dropping, what could you do for us?" I asked.

Jeremy smirked, locking his underlined eyes on my face. "I've been there." He established, "I live close to the place, so I'll sometimes explore it. I know that there's something there, and I know where to look."

Tonmmy eyed him skeptically. "Have you seen it?" He asked.

"No." Jeremy clarified, "But I know where it's at."

Part Thirty-Four (May 4, 1972)

I woke up, preparing to go to school. My friends had spent the night. Predictably, Charlie was already awake, thumbing through my magazines. I chuckled, waking Tommy. "Getting an early start?" I asked.

Charlie smiled. "I need to do something to entertain myself, don't I? It's being, when you two are asleep. Besides, I need time to pick the perfect provision for our journey."

Tommy rubbed his eyes. "By the way, Lyle." He commented, "How did you get so many dirty magazines? You're ten."

I gave him a very grim expression, and I said, "There are things which you must never know." With that, he shut up.

Part Thirty-Three (May 3, 1972)

I really need to stop procrastinating, as I'm running out of excuses. That's a small matter, though, since I'm fairly certain that my readership now expects irregular updates. Let's just call it a stylistic thing, and move on.

By the way, I have recently turned 51, but I won't be changing my profile description, for I believe that it lessens the impact of the statement. For the curious, my birthdate is October 27th. I don't expect any belated birthday messages, due to the fact that hardly anyone actually reads this, but feel free to leave one, regardless. I appreciate sentiments such as that, even if they're insincere.

Okay, now that that's covered, let's go back in time:

It had been three days since John's suicide, and we had been too terrified to follow his words. In fact, we had mostly given up on the case. Because the three of us were unified by our traumatic experiences, we continued to spend time with each other, but we effectively did nothing.

That day, we were in a local park, playing a casual game of catch. We went a few rounds, before Tommy reservedly took off his mitt. Casting it aside, he knelt on the ground.

Confused, we immediately stopped what we were doing, and sat beside our friend. "What's wrong?" I asked.

Tommy lowered his brows. "I don't understand why we're doing this." He stated.

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked, puzzled.

"Why did I even agree to help you guys, if all we're going to do is toss around a baseball?" Tommy sneered, "I don't know about you, but I want to find a way to get rid of this thing. For three days, we've been doing nothing but sitting on our asses, just because some old man offed himself. Why don't we just do what he said, and see what's at this carnival? If there's something, in this place, that can help us, then let's find it. I'm tired of being afraid, and I'm done with grieving some guy that I've never met. The police are doing nothing, the other during victims are doing nothing, and no one what knows anything. Whether we like it, or not, we may have the power to stop this thing. I didn't get rescued from those woods to simply play catch, or to read Lyle's stash of porno mags. As much as I like boobs, this is more important."

I bowed my head, in shame. "You're right." I said, "We'll head out, tomorrow."

Before Tommy could speak, Charlie cut in. "We can still take a Playboy for the road, though, right?" He grinned.

I nodded. "Just one," I said.

Part Thirty-Two (April 31, 1972)

Yes, I'm still alive. The Beast is not yet done with me. Anyway, my readers are probably looking for an excuse. I do have one, but it's minimal. These past several months have been mostly dedicated to therapy visits, with occasional research. In short, I thought that it might be therapeutic, to get away from the blog, but it hasn't been improving things. So, my psychiatrist has suggested that I return to writing it.

Yes, she knows that I have a blog. Don't worry, though. She has no idea of its contents.  If she did, she'd probably peg me as a paranoid schizophrenic. But I digress. She's suggested that I add more about myself, because my blog seems to lack some personal elements. So, I'll often start detailing my every-day life.

Okay, so I currently live in downtown Seattle, in a little house-boat. I don't have an official job, other than selling fish that I catch in the sound. I'm single, but occasionally date, and I have no time for Facebook. Okay, enough of that…

Now, back to the seventies:

Nothing of interest happened, during the previous few days, ago I'll skip ahead. On the last day of April, we went to get Tommy, as we'd assumed that he had returned to a slightly manageable state. Thankfully, we were right.

After convincing his mother that it was okay for him to hang out with friends, we took him to see Professor John, in Auburn. Tommy was intrigued, after all that we had told him, so he ran to the door.

He knocked three times, without receiving an answer, so he turned around, shrugging. Eventually, we reached the mutual conclusion that we should simply go inside. Once we had entered the living room, though, we regretted turning the knob.

Professor John sat on a chair, lifeless. At first, we'd assumed that he suffered a heart attack, but the bottle of pills told a different story. There, on the arm of the chair, was a note. It read, "Go to the carnival. Don't be afraid."

Figuring that we had little time to grieve, we left.

Part Thirty-One (April 25, 1972)

Charlie sipped his tea. "I wonder if you can trust this guy." He said.

"He certainly is a bit odd." Professor John replied, "But I don't think that he's malevolent. And, currently, he's the only lead that we have."

"Yes, but something about those letters just... makes me uneasy." Charlie explained.

Suddenly, something occurred to me. My thoughts had little connection to what Charlie had just said, but I voiced them, anyway. "What if this guy is the same person who placed that body behind that tree?"

My companions were confounded by that prospect. However, it also intrigued them. It certainly brought them a sense of understanding, whether or not it was false. They needed that feeling, in light of recent events, and so did I. In fact, I probably needed it more than they did. Something in me was slipping; I had felt it, inside of myself.

The weight of my words was so profound that no one quite knew how to respond. So, the conversation kind of just died. We wished John luck, and we returned home.

Part Thirty (April 25, 1972)

The next day, after school was over, we called Professor John. We told him that we were heading over, to review the situation with the letter. We left quickly, as soon as my chores were done. In case you were wondering, yes, we did come up with another pathetic excuse. It was something involving a science project, or something. I don't remember all of the details, but it doesn't really matter.

Anyway, we knocked on the door, and he let us in. We sat on the couch, and he poured us some tea. I think that it was green tea; nothing special. He said nothing. He just passed us an envelope. It wasn't anything elaborate, this time. It was simply a plain, white envelope. There was no address or stamp.

I opened it, and held it out for Charlie to see. It was written in the same style as the last note, except that it was a bit shorter. It read:

"To John:

I saw the piece of paper that you left me. I'm glad that you came through. I was beginning to worry that you wouldn't. Some people are put off by the unusual nature of my methods.You, however, seem to have the rare capability to overcome that skepticism.

I had promised you information, and you will receive it. But, first, I must decide where to begin. There's so much to tell you. It excites me. You're the first person to truly accept me as a direct ally.

Okay, so there's this abandoned carnival. You'll know where it's at. Years ago, a boy disappeared there. Before he was taken, he had reported to his father about a creepy, faceless gentleman, or so the man had told. No one ever believed him. It has been said that it was one of the first 'modern' appearances of the beast.

Anyway, shortly after, the carnies shut the place down, ostensibly due to a lack of funds. People can still easily get in there. There are no guards or cameras, and it's hardly been touched in years. If you haven't yet guessed, I'd like you to take a look around. There are things, in that place, that are more readily understood when seen with one's own eyes.

Once you have done this, return to the coffee shop. I will leave you a note, taped to the fourth table from the back, that will contain further instructions.

With luck,
A friend."

"We read about the carnival incident." I said, looking up from the page. "What do you think that you'll find?"

John stroked the thick, white mustache that lay under his chin. "I don't know." He said, "But it can't be good."

Part Twenty-Nine (April 24, 1972)

Charlie's cousin opened her freezer, and threw me a bag of ice, which I promptly held against the front of my pants. Then, she turned to my friend. "So," she said, "What can I do for you?"

"We need fake IDs." Charlie responded.

The girl laughed. "Trying to get into a bar, now, are we?"

"No, it's a nightclub." Charlie clarified, "But it's not to score booze. We're on business."

She chuckled, once more. "What business could a couple of kids have at a nightclub, that doesn't involve alcohol?"

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you." I said, still clutching myself.

"Wouldn't I?" She asked, suddenly intrigued. "Very well," she added, "I'll do this for you, if you promise me that you won't drink at all."

"Thanks, Amanda." Charlie said, "We promise." He took a moment, to think, and then asked, "So, what's the damage?"

Amanda considered this, for a time, and said, "Well, usually, it'd set you back quite a bit. But, since you're my cousin, and since Lyle's in pain, I'll do it for free." Charlie thanked her, again.

She had us walk into a little makeshift studio that she'd set up in the living room, and took our pictures. After having us write down our basic personal information, she said, "Okay, I'll have these done in about two weeks."

"Um," Charlie protested, "We were kinda hoping for them to be done by tomorrow."

Amanda laughed. "It's that urgent, huh? Well, I'm sorry, but that's impossible. Give me two weeks."

After reluctantly agreeing to her time period, we walked home. After about ten minutes, I removed the bag of ice from my love-zone, and used it to slug Charlie in the arm. He hit me back, and we continued on our way.

Part Twenty-Eight (April 24, 1972)

The rest of the school day was rather normal, with the exception of the teacher being somewhat concerned over the decline in the quality of my work, as well as my general melancholy behavior. That discussion was long and boring, and it mostly amounted to my having to tell her that I was alright, and that I just hadn't been feeling well, and all of the other crap that she needed to hear, so that she didn't think that I was being abused, or that my nonexistent dog got squished by a passing truck. Anyway, it was kind of a stupid conversation, so I'm not gonna continue talking about it.

When school was over, I did my homework, and then told my parents that we were off to meet Charlie's cousin, which was, at the surface, true. They were okay with that, so we walked to the other end of town. Once there, we knocked on the door. I didn't really know what to expect, since I had never met this person, but I eagerly awaited the moment when I did.

After a minute, the door opened. Behind it was a tall, skinny woman of about twenty years. Her legs were long, and her breasts were some of the biggest that I'd ever seen. Being the ten-year-old that I was, upon seeing all of this, I immediately blurted out, "Whoa, Charlie. I didn't know that your cousin was a girl. Damn, she's hot."

As soon as I said it, I regretted it. And, as soon as I began regretting it, Charlie made me regret it more, by punching me in the balls. As I was writhing on the ground, he turned to his kinswoman, and said, "Sorry, Lyle doesn't have much of a filter, when it comes to the ladies."

"It's alright," she said, helping me up, "Let's come inside. I'll get you some ice for those. You're probably gonna want to be able to produce your own horny ten-year-olds, someday. God forbid that Charlie takes that away from you..." With that, we walked into her kitchen.

Part Twenty-Seven (April 24, 1972)

"What'll happen if we refuse?" Charlie challenged.

Jeremy grinned, and said, "I'll tell your parents that you're involving yourself in a dangerous police case. They'll send you to therapy, or boarding school, or some other Hell-on-Earth. You'll sit there, alone, separated from your best friend, and, in the cold darkness, you'll quietly whimper, 'Why didn't I let Jeremy in?'"

"Here's another idea." I said, "How about we tell your parents about some of the stuff that you've been doing?" I kept it vague, but I held a serious expression, to allow him to fill in the blanks. We, of course, had no idea what the blanks were, or even if there were any, but it was worth a shot. There was a high chance of failure, but there was always room for improvisation.

It worked. His eyes widened, in grim anticipation. We expected him to retort, but he did not. Whatever he imagined must have been terrible, for he simply got up, and exclaimed, "This will not end." As he walked off, the bell rang.

Part Twenty-Six (April 24, 1972)

We got to school a bit early, so we had some free time on our hands. There were some basketball hoops, on the playground, and there wasn't a lot else to do, so we played a game of Horse. Charlie won, by a small margin, but my head was elsewhere, so I didn't care much.

We went inside, and sat on a lunch table. Soon after, we were joined by someone whom we both somewhat dreaded. It was Jeremy Maxwell. He was just an average kid, a year ahead of us in school, but, for whatever reason, he declared himself to be our personal enemy. We felt no animosity toward him, ourselves, but he just hated us. Or, he acted like it. We were never quite sure if it was real, or just an act. He didn't even really count as a bully; he was just insane. Scratch that. We weren't even sure of that.

Anyway, he sat down beside us, and turned to talk to me. The room's dim lighting made the dark circles under his eyes all the more disconcerting. They weren't the result of tiredness, or anything, either. As far as we knew, his eyes were just naturally like that. The stringy black hair, that haphazardly fell before his face, did not help matters, either. He looked like a child of Satan.

After a moment, he opened his mouth, and asked me, "Why are you so depressed?"

"What are you talking about?" I questioned.

"Don't even try to deny it." He said, "Have you seen yourself for the past couple of days? You look like you've been lost in a desert, and you escaped, just before the vultures picked the guts from your body. You haven't really talked much, either. What's wrong? Has Daddy been giving you the belt?"

We ignored him, and he was quiet for a time. Then, suddenly, he spoke again. "No," he said "That's not it. This is about those disappearances, isn't it; Tommy getting lost in the woods? Yeah, I know that you found him. I hear things. Ma's been keeping him at home, like a little lost puppy. And you... You saved him. You should be happy, but you're not. Whatever happened to him in there, it happened to you, too. Didn't it?" He smirked.

"What do you want?" Charlie cut in.

"I want information," he said, "And, if you two are looking into all of this, I want in."

Part Twenty-Five (April 24, 1972)

I woke up, that morning, without any real desire to get out of bed. I had awoken, several times, in the middle of the night, and my heart was racing. I kept having this dream... Slender Man was chasing me through an empty town. Right when I thought that I was going to get away, I tripped, and he caught up to me. Suddenly, the nightmare switched to a third-person perspective, and I got the displeasure of watching the results. I was forced to lie there, stuck in my own dream, while the creature tore my entrails from the bizarre projection of my own body that had been formulated by my subconsciousness. The worst part was that, during this, my dream-self was fully awake, but too weak to scream, as the beast continued ripping open my chest. The best that I could manage was widening my eyes in an expression of pure panic. Then, right when Slender Man delivered the final blow, I woke up.

Every time that I awoke, I would get increasingly desperate to make it stop. I tried everything, from reading a book, to dunking my face in the bathroom sink, but it was to no avail. If that wasn't enough, when I finally gave up on forcing myself to stay awake, it happened again. Whenever I closed my eyes,  the dream would begin anew.  Eventually, I had to tie myself to my bed, with sheets, to keep my fits of terror from causing my to fall off.

In the morning, I got Charlie to untie me. He looked confused, but he asked no questions. He couldn't really understand what was happening to me, but he did his best to help me. Anyway, when that was done, I immediately called Tommy. I didn't even wait until I was dressed. I just walked over to the phone, in my underwear, and dialed the number. Admittedly, I could've done it later, but I figured that updating him on the latest happenings would give me a degree of catharsis. It did not.

After informing Tommy, I told him that we'd probably come to see him in about a week, provided that he felt up to it. He agreed, finding that to be reasonable. With that, I said, "Goodbye," hung up, took a quick shower, and put on some clothes.

Understandably, I did not want to go to school. Of course, my parents didn't understand my crippling depression, so I still had to attend. As far as they were concerned, I was just being "difficult". It's not as if I had much room to protest, though. It would be extremely difficult to explain any of this to them.

Part Twenty-Four (April 23, 1972)

"How long do you have?"  I asked, after some thought.

"Two days," John said. He took a pause, as if he was uncertain, and then said, "Yeah, it would have been on Tuesday, if I remember right, so I have two days."

"Are you gonna do it?" Charlie asked.

"Yes, and I trust that the two of you are not going to heed my words, and stay out of this." John said. We grinned, and he began scrawling on a tiny scrap of parchment. "Here," he said, "Call me at this number, two days from now."

We graciously accepted the number, thanked the man, and began walking out the door. Then, suddenly, John shouted for us to wait. "Do you two have a ride home?" He asked.

"No," Charlie said, "But we can take the bus." John nodded.

On that note, we headed home. We spent the rest of the night there. We decided not to call Tommy until morning, assuming that his mother wasn't sending him to school. It was a lot of information, and we were still stressed out from yesterday's events, so we figured that it could wait.

Part Twenty-Three (April 23, 1972)

That question was left unanswered, but we kept it in our minds. We were both too young to develop any real conclusion about it, other than half-realized assumptions about some sort of immunity to supernatural charm, and Professor John was too well-versed in mythology to narrow it down to one possibility. So, we just moved on.

"So," Charlie asked John, "What else do think?"

 "I think that two kids, like yourselves, should probably think to stop digging into these matters, before they cause further psychological damage."

"Wait, what?" I asked, "But you wanted to talk to someone that you could trust. You have us for that."

"Yes, but I don't want you to get hurt." John said, "You should forget about all of this; live out your childhoods. Don't go chasing some adventure that's far beyond your experience."

"But," Charlie said, "Bruce told me that you knew something, and you promised us that you'd tell us your theories about Slender Man. You owe us those two things, at least."

John looked like he was considering this. Then, he said, "Okay, I suppose that I did promise you. Very well, I'll tell you those two things. Then, you can make your own decisions about whether you wish to keep this up."

We nodded, and he continued. "Firstly," he began, "I'll tell you my theory. As a former professor of folklore, it is quite easy for me to conclude that this is supernatural in origin, as I have thrown out most 'earthly' alternatives. That being said, it is fairly reasonable to say that this 'Slender Man' is a legendary creature, likely of the child-stealing variety. Many cultures have beings such as that. America has several types of 'bogeymen', for example, most of which are ill-defined. And Spanish-speaking countries have 'El Coco', who devours misbehaving children, only he can change shape. Celtic culture presented us with all manner of beings that we would call 'fairies' or 'Fair Folk'. They referred to them as 'aos sí', and they came in both good and evil forms. The more malevolent ones were often known for killing, or snatching away, young children. These creatures came from a strange place called the 'Otherworld', which existed alongside our realm. It seems to me that some some of these creatures may have been reinterpretations of this beast that you call 'Slender Man', but don't tell that to anyone who does not need to know. It sounds certifiably loony, and it's only a theory."

We tried to wrap our minds around this. We had little idea of what he was rambling on about, other than the fact that we had a certain familiarity with the bogeyman. We had never heard of fairies being called "aos sí", which the man pronounced like "ease she", and we had little care for Latin-American shape-shifters. Therefore, we just nodded, acting like we understood.

"Okay," Charlie said, after a while, "So, what's the other thing?"

"About a week ago," the gentleman orated, "I went to open my mailbox. Inside, I found a little brass box, circular in shape. There was no address on it, and there was no form of identification. Curious, I opened it. Inside the box, there was a makeshift inscription... You know what? It'll just be easier to show you."

He left for a moment, bringing back that item that he had just described. He dropped it into our hands, and we opened it. On the interior of the top lid, it read, "Swiftly entangled, the branches are gathered." Then, in smaller print, there were only three words. "Unfold the note."

I grabbed the remainder of the container, and I removed a folded piece of lined paper. Upon opening it, I discovered that the note had been written in bold italics, probably as a means of masking penmanship. It read:

"To John:

 I am aware that you have been gathering information on the missing persons' case. Do not be alarmed. I frequent the same café at which you have been reading the paper, for the past week. I appreciate your taste in lattes, by the way. You drink pumpkin-spice in the spring. That shows that you are willing to forgo tradition, in favor of your own ideals. This could be interesting...

Anyway, on the first day that you visited the establishment, I was sitting two tables to your right. (I like that spot. It gets decent sunlight.) After a while, I had walked up to the counter, because I had needed some more sugar. At that point, you came behind me. You went to order another drink. Glancing over, I had happened to notice that your paper's cover-story was about the disappearances. I had also noticed that you are on friendly terms with the cashier, since he had addressed you by name, but that's not important. What is important is that, for seven days, you had carried the same type of newspaper. Normally, this wouldn't interest me, but each issue of that paper had happened to contain an update about the case, and you had spent an unusual amount of time, glaring at the same article.

For each of those seven days, I sat at a different table, and I wore a simple disguise, to avoid detection. Each day, you would continue to stare at that one particular kind of article. (Obviously, you've invested a lot of time to this case.) After some time, I began to buy the same paper, so that I could find out exactly what you were learning. It was shortly after, when I'd decided that I could trust you.

You see, I am deeply involved in the same case, more so than I am at liberty to discuss. On a related note, I dedicate quite a bit of my time to spreading information to those who would hear it. I do not go to the police, for they are not inclined to do much, which is the same reason why I would advise you to not show them this letter. You will be tempted to do so, as this is likely to come off as profoundly creepy, but I would avoid it. Have faith in me.

Anyway, whether or not you trust me, I trust you. So, I will give you this fair bit of information, to help you in your quest for truth: There is a way to stop this. I realize that that statement is extremely vague, but it must be left that way. If you choose to believe me, I will send you further intelligence. To show that you believe me, draw an 'X', on a piece of paper, and slip it under the fourth table from the back. (It does not matter what time you choose to do so, provided that you do it in one week's time.) If you do this, then things will gradually become clear. If you do not, however, no ill fortune will befall you. I wish you the best of luck in your investigation. On this, the eighth day, you have my support.

Sincerely,
A friend."

Part Twenty-Two (April 23, 1972)

Sorry, guys. I had another schedule slip. My home Wi-Fi was down, for an absurdly long period of time. When my internet was finally working, again, I lost all motivation. There didn't seem to be any point in any of this. I hardly have any readers, and it's not like this is even going to help anyone. He'll still come for you.

I know... I've got to stop using that excuse, but it can be difficult. I've talked to a therapist about some of this. Of course, I had to sugar-coat it, and mask it as a generic kidnapping case, but it seems as if it might help. The doc says that it's too early to tell, but I seem to have some signs of PTSD, along with a healthy dose of clinical depression. I don't really know what to make of that, but I guess that it's good to know. I'll see how it goes, in later sessions. Anyway, I'm gonna try to be more consistent about all of this. It pains me to continue telling this story, but I'd prefer to finish what I start. So, even if it causes me to go catatonic, I will do my best to carry on.

Now, give me a couple of minutes, to figure out where I was at. I haven't been here, for a while, so bear with me. It's getting hard to remember what I have, or have not, written.

Right, Professor John... Okay, so we told him everything that had occurred since we'd found that body. We went into a good amount of detail, too. He needed to understand the sheer terror that we faced, so nothing was brushed over. The description of the attacks, in particular, covered a decent percentage of our story.

John listened intently, hanging on every word. Sometimes, he would lean forward in his chair, as if he was watching a monster movie. After we had finished talking, he was quiet for a while, like he was gathering his thoughts. Then, he spoke.

"Hmm..." He said, "Out of that whole account, one thing struck me as odd. This other boy was tricked into following the creature, correct? It presented itself as helpful, and later assaulted him. That also seems consistent with some of the other stories. But you, Lyle, were forced to directly challenge it. It was only observing you, until you reacted in fear. So, the big question is this: What made you different?"

Part Twenty-One (April 23, 1972)

So, we went into the guy's house, which our parents would have freaked out about, because, you know, all older people are perverts who rape children for sport. They weren't here to complain, though, so it didn't matter. Then, of course, the man had to pose the obligatory question, regarding where, exactly, our parents were. He laughed when we told him that we ditched them.

"So," he said when that was all cleared up, "We haven't been properly introduced. My name's John."

"Nice to meet you," I said, "I'm Lyle, and that's Charlie."

"Nice to meet you, too, " he began, "Now, to business... I am a former professor of mythology, folklore, and religion. I retired last year. I haven't had a lot to do, lately, so I've been reading up on these missing children. At first, it appeared to be just a standard kidnapping story. It was sad, and it was an interesting read, but it was frustrating that I could do nothing about it. So, I put it down. Soon, though, my boredom was renewed, so I bought another paper. The next day, I did the same. Then, as I got further into my studies, I began to notice reports of a man without a face. That struck me as odd, so I kept looking. I found more and more of these stories, until I could only reach one conclusion. This thing, whatever it is, is not human."

"Yeah, we came to the same conclusion." I said, "We call him Slender Man."

"Slender Man..." He contemplated, "That's a clever name."

"So," Charlie asked, "Do you have any ideas as to what he really is? You were a mythology professor. You might be able to tell us something important."

"Yes," Professor John said, "I have my theories. But, first, I'd like to know what you know."

Part Twenty (April 23, 1972)

So, Charlie came up with some crappy excuse for our trip; we were allegedly helping a friend move, or something, and that friend lived over in Auburn, so we needed a ride to a bus stop. They questioned why we didn't want them to drive us the whole way, and we just told them that we didn't want to take away from their busy day. For whatever reason, they bought that, and they took us to the bus stop.

We soon arrived at the man's house, which, incidentally, actually was in Auburn. We didn't really know what to expect, once we got in, but we rang the doorbell nonetheless.

We were greeted by an elderly man of about seventy years. He looked down at us in surprise. Obviously, his friend hadn't told him that we were coming.

"Who are you?" He asked, "Are you boy scouts? If you are, I'm sorry, but I can't buy any chocolates. I gave up sweets, a long time ago."

"No," Charlie said, chuckling a little, "Your friend told me to come find you. I know about the disappearances."

"You must mean Bruce." He mused, "I instructed him to find somebody who knew something, like you said. I expected them to arrive soon... Forgive me, but I was expecting someone a little older. That's not a bad thing. I just don't normally find myself talking to children. But Bruce did his job, and you're here, so I guess that it's of no matter."

He was quiet for a moment, then he said, "May I ask why there are two of you?"

"Lyle knows just as much as I do." Charlie began, "And he was... er..."

"I was attacked." I grunted, "I was almost killed. You don't have to put it lightly." Charlie sighed at me, outstretching his arms in exasperation.

The older fellow could not stop himself from giggling a little, in spite of the circumstances. After a minute or so, he started talking. "You two have a sort of turbulent friendship." He noted. We looked at him, a bit startled.

"Don't worry," He said with a smile, "That's the best kind. You keep each other in check. Plus, it's just more fun." He paused for a minute, then said, "Do come in. We have much to talk about."

Part Nineteen (April 23, 1972)

After we woke up, the two of us headed down to Tommy's place. We were basically obligated to see how he was doing, after we essentially rescued him. And he was our only other friend who knew anything, so we figured that we should rope him into our group. We wouldn't be able to take him with us to see Charlie's contact, though. He just got back. His mom would be too worried. It took convincing to get her to even let us see him. But since she could do nothing else to properly thank us, she felt that she owed us at least a visit. But she told us that, after this time, we wouldn't be able to see him again until he fully recovered.

When we got there, Mrs. Mason offered us breakfast, which we graciously accepted. Tommy was at the table with us, but topics of discussion had to be limited, with his mom watching. The only thing that she really knew about her boy's disappearance was that he had been lost in the woods. So, we kept the conversation limited to what homework he'd missed while he'd been gone, and how unearthly delicious his mother's pancakes were.

When breakfast was over, and we were finally free to talk, we entered Tommy's bedroom. We sat on the foot of his bed, and began our discussion.

"You didn't tell the cops everything, did you?" I asked, "I don't want you ending up in a mad house."

"Don't worry. I kept it vague." He said, "And I left a lot out." We both nodded in approval.

I nudged Charlie in the shoulder. He cringed a little in pain, and then said, "What, Lyle?"

"You know," I said, "The thing that we talked about earlier."

"Eh, right. That." He replied. He glanced over at Tommy, then. He said, "Tom, how'd you like to join our little investigation into Slender Man and the disappearances?"

He looked uncertain. He furrowed his eyebrows, and itched at his arm, nervously. "I don't know," he said, "That attack scared the crap out of me. I can't sleep at night."

"Lyle's still in," Charlie reassured, "And he's in deep trauma from what happened to him. In fact, I'll bet that it makes him even more determined to learn the truth."

"Well, in that case..." Tommy responded, a little relived, "I guess that I'm in, too."

"Alright," I said, "Charlie and me are gonna go visit this guy who knows some stuff. Your mom says that you can't come, because she's worried about you, but we'll call you when we get some information."

"Okay," Tommy said, even more relieved, "Sounds like a plan."

Part Eighteen (April 22, 1972)

"Slender Man...?" Tommy asked in confusion, "That's what you call him? That man... er, that thing attacked you, too?"

I shuddered, and I started crying a little. Charlie answered for me. "Lyle was," he said, "And he hasn't really been the same since." Tommy nodded, and tried to comfort me, only to join me in my weeping. Charlie attempted to help, but he couldn't fully understand what we were going through. We appreciated the thought, but it just didn't work.

When we had calmed ourselves a little, Charlie got up. He looked down at us, and he said, "Well, Tommy, I think that we need to get you home. Your parents will be worried about you, and you're gonna need to clear things up for the police; let them know that they don't have to send out a search party. We'll stop by your house tomorrow to talk."

On that note, we reluctantly stood up, and we left the park. Tommy's place was a few miles away, so we took a bus. The other passengers gave us a few looks, because of his torn clothing and tangled hair, but it was nothing that we couldn't handle. We got off fifteen minutes later, and walked the rest of the way to his house. Tommy's mother opened the door to us in surprise. She didn't see Tommy at first, because he was behind us. "Hello," she said, "If you're looking for Tommy, he's not here. I don't know where he is." She started sobbing.

"We do." I said. I moved aside to let her see her son.

Part Seventeen (April, 22 1972)

"Tommy?" I asked in amazement.

"Lyle, Charlie? Is that you guys?" He returned.

"Yeah," Charlie said, "It's us. What are you doing here? You've been missing since Wednesday. What happened?" He played with a strand of his dirty blond hair.

"Come here," Tommy said, "And I'll tell you."

We approached him slowly, and sat down beside him. I looked him in the eyes, waiting patiently for him to begin his story. With a deep breath, he told us.

"I was just explorin' in the woods. I knew where I was, or I thought so, but, when I tried to go back, I got lost. It almost looked like I was in an entirely different part of the woods than I had been when I went in. I know that it makes no sense, but it was like it switched on me."

Tommy stopped for a moment, to catch his breath, and then continued. "I wandered around for a long time, but I got nowhere. So, I kinda just gave up. It started to rain after a while, so I built myself a fort out of some trees and branches. I tried my best to keep it sturdy. Luckily, I'm a boy scout, so I figured it out pretty quickly. I stayed under until the storm stopped, then just walked around for a bit. I didn't really have any reason, other than being bored.

"Later, I saw this deer, and I got hungry, so I went after it. I didn't have any weapons, and I had no idea what I was doing, but I needed food. So, I just chased it through the forest. It got away, but I followed its tracks. I wanted to see if it would bring me to other deer. I walked for hours, but the tracks led me in a circle. I then got really desperate, and took some berries from a bush. I didn't really know if they were poisonous or not, but I figured that I had nothing left to lose.

"I grabbed a bunch of them, until I felt comfortably full, which took a really long time. After that, I got tired. I looked for that shelter that I built, but I couldn't find it. I was too exhausted to make a new one, so I just piled up some leaves to make a bed. When I got up, there was this weird, tall guy standing there. He didn't look like he had a face, but I chalked it up to just being that hungry. That would've freaked me out, but I got very little sleep, so I didn't care much. Anyway, he didn't say anything, but he kind of gestured to follow him. It looked like he was trying to help me.

"When we got far enough, we suddenly stopped. Then, he randomly started attacking me. I somehow got away, but I don't remember how. I just started running. When I was sure that i was away, I built another fort, just so I could have something else to focus on. The rest of the day went a lot like the day before, except that I couldn't sleep at all. Later on, this morning, I thought that I saw him again, so I took off. I'm not sure how long I ran for, but it seemed like forever. My legs were sore, and I was out of breath, so I sat in front of this tree. That's when I saw you two come through."

We wanted to respond, but he left us with so many questions that we had no real starting point. We were all silent for a while, until I decided to speak.

"So much for taking my mind off of Slender Man, Charlie..." I whined. With that, my depression began anew.

Part Sixteen (April 22, 1972)

Charlie spent the remainder of the day trying to take my mind off of my experience. The first thing we did was go to the park. It seemed like a boring way to start off a day of adventure, I'll admit, but it soon turned out to be much more exciting then I had expected.

It all began with us skipping stones in a little stream at the end of the park. When that got boring, it eventually became a bit of a contest to see which one of us get our rocks the farthest down the stream. Charlie went first. He chucked his pebble about thirty feet down. Next, I threw mine. It landed in almost exactly the same spot. As you might expect, this turned into a huge argument about whose made it farther.

 "I won." Charlie said, smirking.

"Are you nuts?" I mocked, "Mine went two inches farther."

"No," Charlie insisted, "They landed in almost the same spot. Mine hit about an inch away from yours."

"Yeah, an inch before mine..."

"No," My friend grumbled, "It clearly landed an inch farther."

"Dude," I stated firmly, "Your splash was there. Mine was over there. Therefore, my rock landed over there."

Charlie tackled me, and we both fell into the water. We rolled around for a few minutes, punching each other wildly. After a while, we got up. With bloody faces and soaked clothing, we agreed that fighting over rocks was stupid. So, we grabbed larger rocks, to make it more obvious whose went the farthest. We both threw at the same time.

We followed the stream to see where the stones fell. We found them laying side-by-side. Calling a truce, we turned to go back. We then heard an abrupt noise coming from the woods that were beside the stream. This made me jump in fear, causing me to fall backward into a tree. Charlie, who normally would have laughed, said nothing, for he knew why I was startled. Instead, he grabbed my arm, and gently pulled me to my feet.

Carefully, we went to locate the source of the sound. At first, we found nothing. Then, about a hundred feet in, we found someone.

It was a boy who was around our age. He was sitting on the ground, and leaning against the trunk of a tree. He was breathing heavily, as if he had been running for a long distance. He wore normal street clothes, but they looked as if he had been wearing them for a while; they were covered in dirt and forest debris. This was weird, in itself, but it became even stranger once I realized that I knew him.

His name was Tommy Mason. He'd been missing since Wednesday, which naturally made us jump to conclusions. Yet, here he was.

Part Fifteen (April 22, 1972)

"Okay," I shrugged, "That's pretty weird, but I guess that we can have my parents drive us up there later. We'd just need a good excuse. Got any?"

Charlie lowered his brow. "No, but I can come up with one when we need it."

I smiled a little. "Good," I said.

My buddy playfully elbowed me in the arm. "So, what dirt do you have?"

I froze. Charlie waved his hand in front of my face, to get my attention, but it failed. Then, a few small tears ran down my face. Charlie looked at me nervously. When I finally built up some courage, I spoke.

With all of the will I could muster, I whimpered, "I... saw Slender Man." He looked shocked, but he seemed to recognize the truth of my words. As far as I was aware, he had never seen me in this much despair. There had to be a reason for it, and this was the one that made the most sense. It was weird, though, because, if I had said it any other time before, he would have thought me crazy.

He spent a few moments comforting me, until I felt okay enough to continue the story. I told hm the whole thing, from my discovery of the college graduate, Howard Grady, to my confrontation with Slender Man. He listened intently, asking a couple of questions along the way. When I had finished, he put his hand on my shoulder.

He was quiet for a while, taking time to mull everything over. A minute or two later, he started speaking. "Okay," he said, "Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna take a day off, to let you calm your nerves a little. I know that you're probably never gonna get over that. I don't blame you. But a day should be okay to lessen the impact a little. When that's over, tomorrow, we're gonna head over to talk to that guy that I saw. On Monday, after school, we'll chat with the dude at the night club. That'll be harder to get around, but I've got a cousin who can make some fake IDs. Sound good?"

I nodded hesitantly.

Part Fourteen (April 22, 1972)

It was about eleven in the morning. I groggily rose from bed, after Charlie slugged me in the face with a pillow, at full force. He laughed hysterically while I growled at him. You see, Charlie was an early waker, which seemed extremely contradictory to his personality. As a result of getting up before me, he often got really bored. So, after a while, I compromised with him, and decided that I would get up between eight and nine, every time he spent the night. This time, though, I slept in. It was a little strange, considering how utterly terrified I had been for the last two days, but I suppose that I was just so fatigued from the previous night that I just drifted off.

Anyway, after I screamed at him for smashing my face in, and after he gave a halfhearted apology for it, I started my morning. One shower and two bowls full of cereal later, we started our conversation.

I was the first to talk. "So," I said, "Learn anything on that road trip?"

"Weirdly enough," he began, "I did."

"Yeah...?" I asked, between bites of toast that I had prepared for myself, "What was it?"

"I was in this convenience store, in the bathroom. I was just drying my hands when this old, creepy guy came up to me. He looked at me for a minute, and then said something like, 'Have you been hearing about those people who've been disappearing around these parts?' I turned to him for a second, and then I nodded. Then, the dude gave me this really serious look. He went, 'You look like you're someone who I can trust. I have a friend, about a block to the east. He knows something, but he won't tell the police about it.'"

Charlie stopped for a moment, then began again. "I went and asked him, 'Why me?' So, the old man said, 'He'll only talk to those who know something. You do, don't you? I can see it in your expression. You look like you saw something that you shouldn't have seen.' I nodded, and he told me the guy's address. Then, he just walked away."

"And did you talk to the dude?" I asked.

"No," my friend said, "I didn't get the chance. My folks were in a rush."

Part Thirteen (April 21, 1972)

Friday... It had been one week since this all began, and I was no closer to understanding how this all fit together. I had more knowledge than I did when I started out, but I still had no clue what it all meant. But I wanted to know. I was scared, exhausted, and discouraged, but I needed to find out. It was like a hunger. I don't know if I just wanted to know the truth, or if I sought closure, but I needed information. Unfortunately, I had none.

Charlie was back, but I didn't get much of a chance to talk to him. He made one little offhand comment about our teacher, and she gave us both detention. If you're wondering why I got it, too, it was because I had the unfortunate impulse to add on to Charlie's joke. We would've used our time in captivity to discuss recent happenings, but the old woman decided that she wanted to keep personal watch on us, so we weren't allowed to say anything. It was nothing but silence for three hours, and it was after school, so we were pretty much forced to do homework. There was nothing better to do, with the teacher glaring down at us from her desk.

When we were done, we both just went back to my house. We were too tired to discuss anything, so we just ate dinner, watched some TV, and went to bed. We promised one another that we would talk in the morning.

Part Twelve (April 20th, 1972)

I realize that I have not updated this blog in nearly two months. I apologize for this, but there is a reason for it. People generally find it hard to write while suffering from seemingly endless, crippling depression. All of this focus on my past has dredged up things that I would prefer not to think about. The dreams are too much. I can't... concentrate. Every time I type, I keep seeing that empty face. It haunts me. WHEN WILL IT END?

No... I need to pull myself together. I can't let these flashbacks get to me. My story needs to be told. I need solace. I need hope. Moreover, I want the world to know; to understand. There has to be a way to beat this thing. Even if the horror never stops, somebody has to know.

Okay, so I'll continue. I didn't really want to leave that bench, but it was getting late. I didn't want to give my babysitter any reason to contact my parents, provided that she grew competent enough to do so, which, admittedly, wasn't completely unlikely.

I walked home, trying to stave off the breeze by stuffing my hands into the pockets of my light jacket, and shivering wildly upon noticing that it didn't work. I opened the door to a partially unexpected rant from the night's pseudo-parent. I shrugged it off, only to be uncomfortably consoled for my rather obvious anguish. I made some stupid comment about how I wouldn't be so depressed if I had a babysitter who would get off of her lazy ass enough to talk to me every once in a while, and went to bed without a word. The sound of her retorts echoed down the hall as I struggled to ignore her.

I was extremely tired, but I couldn't sleep. Suddenly, it came to my attention that I never ate my candy. I must have been so frightened that I forgot about them. So, having nothing else to do, I nibbled idly on a Mars bar, and stared up at the ceiling for the remainder of the night.