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.