I guess I'll finally make one now that I actually have art and stories I'd like to show.
Let's start it off with a flash-fiction piece (a story ranging less than 1000 words) I wrote in Fiction Writing class that I wound up turning into a MH-esque story (also related to Slender.) It's written so that an audience who hasn't heard of Slenderman can at least get an idea of what he's about/what he looks like, and those that do know about him should be able to recognize him right away. (I'd be very happy if someone in the class actually recognizes it. I guess we'll find out. ) If it seems too out-of-character that I used Jessica and Brians' names, let me know.
He came at me like a reaper, skinny limbs looping like a steel bolas from a blade-thin torso. Legs hardly touching the grass, as if suspended from invisible strings. Sickly, pale leather skin stretched over his bald skull. Malice without expression, boring into my core with an eyeless stare. I could feel death’s grip closing in on me, squeezing the last breath of hope from my frail body like a sponge, leaving nothing but fear and despair behind. He’s here for me...
And suddenly, I awaken. My head spins for a moment, my breaths are quick and jagged. Weakly I prop myself up on my arm; my hand brushes against broken bits of glass and concrete. I’m in that abandoned schoolhouse again. Did I camp out here for some reason? What on earth would motivate me to come back here again? And why did I feel as if I just had a brush with death? Everything felt fuzzy... yet everything in me was screaming to get out. To run. To escape whatever it was that hunted me. But... what was chasing me?
“Jessica?!” A familiar, frantic male voice approached along with quick footsteps. “Jessie, are you all right?” My friend Brian bolted into the doorway of the empty, desecrated old schoolhouse classroom. He hastily lifted me up by the arm and urged me to leave with him.
“We have to get out of here,” he demanded.
“Why?” ... What did I mean, ‘why’? Of course we had to get out! But everything still felt... fuzzy. Unreal.
“That thing is still here, that’s why! It’s even more persistent than before and I think it’s trying to keep us here!”
“What thing?” I furrowed my brow and tried to recall the nightmare I just had.
“That... That faceless freak! Don’t tell me you forgot again?”
“Brian...What are you talking about?” The remnants of my nightmare were disappearing. As were the strings that held together my memory.
“I don’t know...” Brian shook his head back and forth. “I don’t know, I don’t know! I mean... One minute I remember him, the next I don’t – like when I wake up from having a dream and can’t recall most of it. It’s like he’s trying to make us forget about him. He’s toying with us, Jessie!”
I blinked hard several times, like I was trying to blink away the haze. Brian thrust a piece of paper into my hand.
“I...I tried to draw him.” He pointed to the elongated figure in the center of the dirty notebook leaflet, surrounded by scribbles that resembled the trees in the area. It looked like a sketchy stick figure with a tie; but it looked sinister, somehow.
“Maybe it will help us remember next time. I’ll draw more if I have to. But Jessie...” He grabbed my shoulders and looked me in the eye. “You have to remember. Once you forget him, he’ll kill you. Remember!”
“Remember.” This is phrased in the command form. But we don’t seem to be able to command remembrance anymore. ‘Remember’ is more of a wish, I think. A plea. A prayer.