Slenderman is just what he sounds like - a tall, slender man with no facial features. He usually appears in a black suit. Thankfully, Slenderman is a fictional character (or is he?) created in 2009 by Eric Knudson in the Something Awful forums. Slenderman now appears on the Creepypasta site, as well as numerous Reddits, and even in real-life news stories, as two girls blamed him for their assault on a third. Other appearances by Slenderman include several episodes of crime-solving television shows, a documentary called Beware the Slenderman, and, of course in fiction, like the stories here. You may not want to read them at night.
Redditor IncredibleFalk1 told this tale:
I had just gotten home from school. It was almost 5:00 pm. I was alone, just like almost every time I get home from school. I usually let my dogs out of their crates, let them go to the backyard to do their business, and let them back in. There is a small wasp nest on the front porch of my house, which I decided to spray with RAID, and I immediately ran back into the safety of my living room (I absolutely cannot stand having to walk out of my house in fear of getting stung every morning).
After school I usually go to my garage where my drink fridge is. It's full of Pepsi, Gatorade, water bottles, Red Bull, and delicious Arizona fruit juice cocktails (pretty much every unhealthy drink you can think of lol). I walked out into the gasoline-like smell of the room. It is still pretty hot here in Texas, so the heat didn't help cover up the stink. I had reached into the fridge and gotten hold of an Arizona watermelon cocktail, closed the fridge door, and made my way to the door.
Then I heard it. A growling noise.
It was right behind me.
I almost pissed myself when I turned around. Tall. Long arms. Featureless. Its arms literally touched the floor, even though the figure was standing upright. I'm pretty sure most of you know what Slenderman looks like, so I don't think I need to go on. The only the two didn't share was the suit. It was like I was looking at a naked mannequin with abnormally long arms. Its hands were black, with an inky shine to them. I was frozen with fear.
I let out a shriek, like one you would hear from a Big Sister (from Bioshock 2 haha) and ran near the fridge. And that was the last I saw of it. I burst out of the garage and ran into my room. I stayed there until somebody got home.
I went back into the garage a few days later and went to the fridge. Sure enough, there were two hand prints. Black ones.
A New City, A New Game
MyBudDaVinci contributed this story:
I recently moved to a new town in Ohio. A smaller city then what I'm used to, and with a lot more history. There are many rumors of people seeing the Rake or even Slenderman. Sometimes a creature that is just unexplainable. Phenomena happen almost every day in this town, I'm told. I guess it's my turn to share my experience.
Recently, I've been quite closed-minded. After leaving friends and family many hours behind and being the "new kid in town" during the middle of summer and only doing online school for my last year of high school, I don't get much social time. I spend my days playing Xbox or browsing Reddit, and most of the time working my new job. We moved into a house that has some of the most history, all the way from a father killing his wife and daughter, to teenagers breaking in and being placed face-to-face with The Rake/Slenderman. My room, unfortunately, happens to be one of the most active rooms. During the night the sliding closet doors will slide open slowly, followed by the patter of soft footsteps on the carpet, and then only for me to discover the door is closed and no one is around. This night was different.
Typical night, playing Xbox, talking with friends. The clock nears 2 am. Everyone says their goodbyes and proceeds to get offline, except me. "I have nothing to do tomorrow," I think, "might as well stay up for a while." I put in one of my older games, still fun though, Tom Clancy Splinter Cell Double Agent. I continue playing until 3 am, when I receive a text. Naturally, I just set my controller down and respond. I hear footsteps. "Is someone here?" I say clearly, seeing as I'm alone (parents are out of town).
No response. I look up onto the screen and see my character freely walking around, as if being controlled. Yet my controller is in my lap and the joysticks aren't jammed. Unexpectedly, Sam (the game's character) turns and looks as if he is staring at me, but not at me, through me almost. His face begins to make weird motions, contortions almost. Twisting, morphing. The screen goes black. A loud screeching noise emits from my console, the red rings of death (means the console needs to be repaired) comes on. "Just great." I say under my breath.
The screen turns blue, then the game reappears just as it was before, with only a black screen and a small white light surrounding the character.
"What the heck is going on?" I say. That's when it struck me. This is no longer the character from the game being shown. It's the Slenderman. Staring right at me through my screen. He begins to slowly crawl through my TV, coming for me. I get up to try and run, but my body is frozen in fear. His face comes a mere two inches from mine. Chills are sent up my spine. The hairs on my neck stand up.
I awake in a cold sweat. "Crap, I passed out," I thought. I must've stayed up too late, because I fell asleep in my gaming chair with the Xbox still on. I look at the clock. 4:30 am. I look around my room in a panic, hoping nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The closet door is open. My bedroom window is open, and so is the balcony door in the living room. Maybe someone came in and robbed us. Maybe I got up to let the dog out mid-sleep and passed back out before letting him in. I check the house: nothing missing. I go back into my room, the clock reads 2:16 am.
"What the hell?" I exclaim in a panic. I rush over to the clock to see what is wrong, and it's unplugged. I get the eerie feeling I'm being watched. I slowly turn my head towards my closet, just to catch a glimpse of the door sliding shut.
Needless to say I left my house and took my dog with me (yes, he's okay) and didn't return until day time. It's 3:50 pm now, and I fear for what will happen tonight, if anything at all. I will update.
I Think He's Stalking Me
I've seen him.
It started as dreams, but now, now he's showing up in random areas, at random times, and even though he's terrifying, I feel a sense of calm when he's around.
The first time I saw him was at my boyfriend's house, in his room. I woke up from a nightmare and sat up, and there he was in the corner, just watching, stalking. I couldn't believe it was him, and shrugged it off as me being tired and still shaken from the nightmare I had just had.
The second time, I was at my boyfriend's again, and we were in his room. We were in bed - he was sleeping and I got up to use the bathroom. I looked out his window, and there he was again. Unusually tall, extremely thin, wearing that stupid black suit, just staring. I kept looking away and looking back, and he was still there. I quickly ran to the bathroom, and ran back to bed avoiding the window.
The third time was two weekends ago, once again at my boyfriend's, and there he was again, same spot as the first time! I couldn't believe it. And I began to feel that overwhelming feeling of calmness.
He never shows his faceless face at my house. Only at my boyfriend's. But I know he's near when I'm home, because my cable glitches, my TV signal goes in and out, my phone acts strange... I know that's him showing himself in a different way. And I know I'm not helping myself because my fascination continues to grow, and I keep researching.
The thought of Slenderman is terrifying. But whenever I see him, I'm calm, and just amazed at his presence. He stares, I stare, and I feel okay. I don't know what it is, but when he's near, I'm not scared.
The Fairdale Kids Stay Inside
A contribution from Redditor fbis-most-unwanted;
We called them fallen angels. They were strung up by their ankles and suspended from trees. There was always barbed wire. Wrapped all around the body. Sliced the skin and ripped the tissue, and it was worse if they struggled. Ideally, they would die of dehydration. But this mercy was extended to only a very fortunate few. Most of the time, they would dangle from the branches for hours as the barbs tore their flesh and the pressure built in their heads. When upright, the heart doesn’t have to pump blood that hard to circulate through the brain. Gravity does most of the work to get it back down. Consequently, the blood vessels up there are smaller and thinner than in the rest of the body.
I’d rather be hanged, personally. I would much prefer the struggling for breath and kicking the air and the white hot agony of my vertebrae coming apart than waiting for the blood to pool in my head, clot, and eventually burst the veins and feel the warm, sticky liquid drip out of my eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. A noose would be kinder, and suffocation gentler.
“There’s somethin’ in there,” my brother would tell me from the porch, pointing his cigarette toward the trees. “It watches people. Then strings up the ones it doesn’t like.”
As paranoid as he was, I agreed with him. He spent a lot of time on that porch. I don’t let him smoke in the house. He sat out there, cigarette in one hand, gun in the other, just watching the woods and waiting for something to come out. One night, I heard him yelling, frantically trying to get my attention. Gunshot after gunshot exploded through the air and intermingled with his crazed screaming.
I ran out onto the porch to find my brother in a panic that was slowly turning to rage. “Guns don’t do anything.”
“I saw them. Their eyes were just peering out from the trees, f*ckin’ watching me. They almost glowed.” He emphatically pointed to the woods behind our house, trying to show me the eyes that weren’t there.
“That’s no reason to wake up the whole neighborhood.”
My brother had this habit of keeping his cigarette between his teeth when he talked. It didn’t matter how important what he said was. I could only see the glowing end of the cigarette bobbing up and down as the words fell out. It was f*cking infuriating, and it was one of those trivial things that finds its way under your skin and stays there, tapping at the inside of your skull. I had expressed my displeasure several times, but he didn’t seem to care much. I must have been giving him a look this time, because he yanked the cigarette out of his mouth and let it limply dangle in his fingers.
“I will not be strung up in those woods." He spit his final words at me before stomping out his remaining half cigarette and storming inside.
I wasn’t worried that the neighbors would call the police. They knew my brother, and they knew the woods. It was amazing, the things you could get away with in this town. Everybody here was afraid, but more than that, they were constantly on edge, as if their whole body seethed with anticipation. The paranoia that was so ingrained into these people could only be borne out of desperation. It seemed that they had tried everything, guns, knives, brute force – sh*t, one time somebody tried to light the whole forest on fire.
The kids played in the street or, preferably, if they had friends from the next subdivision, in the backyards the next neighborhood over. When they grabbed their flashlights in the middle of the night, they would tell stories about the woods. They never talked about Bloody Mary or Slenderman because in Fairdale, the real horror lived ten feet behind their homes.
I don’t think anyone in that town had seen the creatures in the woods, but we all knew what they looked like. The descriptions were spread in passing whispers and hushed voices, out of fear that they were listening. All the children spoke softly but emphatically about their gray skin, six-inch fingers, and hollow, infinite sockets carved deep into their skull. They seemed almost human, and maybe they once were.
Once, that I can remember, a kid went into the forest. A bunch of others dared him to. They waited in the shadows between houses, hearts pounding even though they weren’t the ones going in. In silence, they watched him glance back, hoping they would call the whole thing off, and reluctantly submerge himself into the trees. There was the snapping of twigs and then, abruptly, stillness. The group did not take their eyes of the woods, yet they could see the fear among their friends. They waited for a minute surprisingly before cautiously taking a few steps backward, then turning and sprinting away.
The boy was gone. The very next day, a group of police officers, most of whom resigned that same day, were sent in after him. Let me tell you, he struggled. The wire tore through the skin of his abdomen, leaving his internal organs to spill out and hang from his body. After that day, no children went into the woods. They didn’t even have to be told not to.
After the paper ran that story, Fairdale lost its mind. Sure, bodies turned up every other week, but it was never a child. That kind of death was somehow more than murder. It was a disaster, a tragedy.
I lived right on the edge of the woods, and that incident stuck with me. It somehow made the whole thing real. These things were here, right behind my house.
My last night in Fairdale was hopefully the worst of my life. My brother was outside smoking, and I was on the couch, mostly asleep. I’m not a heavy sleeper, so I was glad when the small noises around me seemed to quiet down, but just as I was about to drift off, my brother fired that godd*mn gun about three thousand times, ran inside, and slammed the door behind him, his cigarette, still lit, clamped fiercely between his teeth.
I shot up, dazed and unsure of what was happening. Hands trembling, my brother ran to all the doors and windows, making sure they were locked.
“What the f*ck, man?” I rubbed my eyes, wishing that I was sleeping.
He sat on the coffee table inches away from me, voice raspy and frightened, “I saw them. They came out.” His eyes were crazed. As his mouth was running faster than his head, he inadvertently blew smoke from his lips with every rushed word and forced breath. “I didn’t even know you could see them.”
My mouth opened, but before I could speak, I heard something tapping on the sliding glass door. My jaw hung ajar, and my brother and I froze instinctively. It was too soft to be a knock, but too hard to be the wind. A moment later, it came again.
“They’re comin’ to get me,” my brother whispered. His eyes were wild, darting across the room as if he was afraid to leave them in one place for too long. “They don’t like me.”
“You sure you saw them?” my voice was barely audible. Somehow, I knew that they could hear me anyway.
“I first noticed them in the corner of my eye, just one at first, but more came.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Tall, my god they were tall. Until they started moving, I thought they were trees. They’re arms hang at their sides and are as gangly as branches. What gave them away was the skin. Looked just like ash.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. While the sounds did not increase in volume, they came to new places. I heard them still from the door, but now they were also at the windows, sides of the house, and most disturbingly, the roof.
“They don’t have faces. I mean, they’ve got eyes, but not really. They’ve just got these holes,” my brother made circles with his pointer finger and thumb and held them up over his own eyes. “And the holes have this black stuff comin’ out of them, just dripping down their heads.”
“I think they could have been human, if they wanted to be.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My palms were clammy, and I broke out in a cold sweat. I could picture their long, bony fingers rapping on the house, their not-eyes inches from the window, waiting for us to draw back the curtain and meet their gaze. Until that moment, I don’t think I have ever been truly afraid.
Tap. Tap. Tap. It echoed all around us.
We knew we couldn’t leave, and even if we called someone, what good would it do? I didn’t think that anything could save us. Our only option was to wait and hope that we had not received a death sentence.
Tap. Tap. Tap. I now could hear it coming from beneath the house. These things were everywhere. It scared me that they didn’t just burst in, that they were waiting for something, and it scared me more that I didn’t know what. I couldn’t do anything but wait. This isn’t how I wanted to die. My brother and I sat on the floor between the couch and coffee table and hoped it would end.
“What do you think they are?” I asked. We had all heard the stories, but these creatures had no name. They simply existed. They were always here, and we did everything we could to leave them alone, to live without them, and for the most part, they let us. They took some people, I supposed, to make an example. It was a constant reminder of the fear, and maybe it kept this town in line.
My brother’s head was bowed, and his eyes would not meet mine. He lit his fourth cigarette of the night, taking a long drag and holding it deep in his lungs before releasing it. With his eyes still fixed at the floor, he said the only words that have ever struck real fear into my core. “Jimmy, I think they’re God.”
I could only hear the tapping and feel them staring into me from all directions. Despite the emptiness of the house, we knew that they were, in some way, both inside and outside. I forced my eyes shut, and in the darkness, I was only able to picture their elongated limbs hanging at their sides, their shoulders hunched to fit under our low ceilings. God, I could feel the inky ooze dripping onto my hair. I refused to open my eyes because if I did, they might have been there. If they remained closed, it was easier to pretend.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My brother promised me that he would stay awake all night. He swore. Grabbing a pillow from the couch, he handed it to me and insisted that I slept. I argued, but I was so tired. Eventually, I did fall asleep, albeit against my will.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It had to be noon when I awoke. I was alone. I checked the whole house, and even mustered up the nerve to step onto the porch, but I was alone.
Dead or alive, I had to find my brother. I went into the woods. I think that was the biggest screw up of my entire life. After a deep breath, I stepped into the tree line. The sun was high in the afternoon sky, but it was impossibly dark inside that forest and even more unbelievably silent. I was the only thing that disturbed the stillness.
I’ll be honest here and say that I didn’t have a plan. I had no idea where to look for my brother, and I didn’t know how I would react if I found him in the branches. When I stopped in a small clearing to look around, the blurs at the corners of my vision began to move. I knew what it was. I froze, and I think that even my heart stopped beating. Maybe they wouldn’t see me. Maybe they’d leave. Maybe I was losing my mind.
They got closer to me, close enough to see. If they didn’t move, they could be the trees, but if they did, they were something that shouldn’t have been allowed to exist. I shut my eyes and ran blindly through the forest, running into trees and scraping my arms on low-hanging branches. Miraculously, I made it out. I didn’t stop running until I threw myself in my car. I sped down the highway and checked into a motel. Though it took me an extra hour to fall asleep that night, I kept the TV turned up, just in case they came tapping.
I never saw my brother or Fairdale again. I am no genius, but I knew when to get the heck out of that town. I moved to a new state, this time making sure I lived in the city, away from the woods.
Even though years and miles have passed since that night, every so often I hear the tapping again. With the knowledge that I can never escape my hometown, I am left with nothing else to do but wait until it’s my turn and hope I dehydrate.