The Slender Man (17 page)

“What can protect me at all?” I ask.

“You have to listen to me Alyssa,
give these men the information they want. Even if it’s just a wild goose chase,
it will give them something to go on, and then we’ll figure something out,” she
explains. I admire her wisdom and nod my head.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes.” She exits the room, and
almost immediately after her departure, Doctor Filbert reenters. This time he
is holding a bottle of Sprite. He waves the bottle, nonverbally asking if I
want it. I could use a soda, at least if I’m going to be dealing with this guy.

He sits back in the chair opposite and doesn’t even wait for
me to finish opening the Sprite before he starts talking. He doesn’t repeat his
first questions, instead he moves on. He asks a lot of redundant ‘how am I
feeling, what am I thinking about right now’ questions that make me think he’s
not really the best doctor to have out here. Eventually he does try to figure
out exactly what I was doing.

 It’s mutually understood between Bubbe and me that I can’t
just tell him that I ventured into the woods trying to rescue Shana from an
entity, but I do have to give him a story that adds up. I’m not able to just
think up a lie, not with my current state, but I do manage to leave essential
parts out to make a linear story. It seems like his whole inquiry will answer
the questions the police may have too.

“So let me get this straight, you were distraught about the
loss of your friend. So you proceeded to steal a woodcutting axe to take your
anger out on a tree that always bothered you when you ran by it?” he asks.

I nod, hoping that doesn’t ‘prove’ to him that I’m mentally
insane.

“While venting on this tree, you cut one of the branches
off, but then you hear something. You chase after it and find Shana lying on
the ground in the woods. She didn’t appear to have been attacked or raped, but
looked like she had just run from something and was too exhausted to push
further?” he continues.

I nod again. “You try and help her to her feet and while she
is leaning against you, you hear a noise and think it might be whoever
kidnapped her coming to take her back, so you pick her up and run as fast as
you can in a panic?” he asks.

I nod for a third time. “And you managed to get away from
him- if he was chasing you in the first place, and that’s where the police
found you?”

“That’s correct,” I say.

“Alright, so that answers that. Now you said you were
feeling anguished at the loss of your friend, which is what led you to attack
the tree. Tell me, have you ever had any sort of destructive thoughts towards
another person? For instance, people you don’t like, or maybe yourself?”

“You’re asking if I want to hurt people because of what
happened to Shana?” I ask a little miffed.

“Or yourself,” he corrects. I shake my head.

“No, I didn’t even have too much of a problem with the tree.
I just, don’t have a diary or punching bag and it’s creepy anyway, it felt like
it would help,” I explain, hoping he isn’t about to say I’m a danger to those
around me.

He gives me a little nod before speaking again in his
squeaky voice. “Alright, so I can understand how you’re feeling. I’ve met a lot
of people who take their emotions out in worse ways, but a lot of their actions
start out like this, and then they sink into depression. I am going to suggest
you do something to help with your emotions. You should maybe invest in keeping
a diary, maybe get a stress ball, anything to help you vent without being
destructive. I’m also going to give you a little medication to help with your
feelings until things aren’t so overwhelming for you.”

“Medicine? I’m just sad I don’t think I really need any type
of medication,” I protest.

“Alyssa, you’re stealing, sneaking out of your house at
night and venting your anger in destructive ways. It is my job to set up some
precautions to help make sure that these unhealthy behaviors don’t escalate.
This medicine will help, but I need your commitment. Do you have any ideas on
how you’re going to handle your emotions from now on?” he asks.

I draw a blank. I don’t have too many hobbies and normally
I’d vent all of my problems to Shana, but now she’s dead.

“Do you have something you enjoy doing with your spare time?
Do you like to read, or write? Maybe some art?” he suggests.

“I play guitar?” I answer.

He nods. “Well, why don’t you practice writing some new
songs on your guitar when you’re feeling down?”

“I- I’ll give it a shot,” I answer.

He writes some things down. “Alright, I’m going to hand this
prescription over to your parents, and I’m going to give you my card. I hear
you’re going to Michigan, but I will need you to call and follow up with me
every week okay?” he asks. I nod. He gets up and leaves the room.

As the door opens I can hear a hysterical woman. It’s Mrs.
Hawthorn. I put my hands to my face, listening to her cries. She’s begging the
police to find out who did this to Shana. As her pain radiates out, I can feel
it. She’s lost both of her children, all her family has worked for. Her dream
was to raise her kids, send them off to college, and then retire with her
husband. Now she has no children, and wants whoever is responsible- the fiend,
to pay. I can’t blame her, but as her cries hit me, I feel his presence. It’s
here to either stalk me or revel in her pain- probably both.

“Just go away. You’ve done enough damage. Just leave us
alone,” I mutter under my breath, so quietly that I can barely hear my own
voice.

Sheriff Fraser enters.

“Time to go,” he says.

I look at him. “Go?” I ask.

“You’re free to go.” I slowly rise to my feet and begin to
walk out.

As I approach him, he gives me a sincere look. “I’m sorry
for your loss. We are doing everything we can to put an end to this. I want to
thank you. You’ve given us some hope that the rest of the missing children may
be alive. We aren’t going to stop looking until we find each and every one of
them, and put the crook behind bars. I need you to stay strong, and be
careful.”

His words ring in my ears. How many times have people tried
to comfort me? There’s Bubbe, the doctor, my mom… It’s like everyone is
counting on me, but no matter what the police do, the only way they’ll get the
children back is to pull them from the shadow world. The only reason I was able
to get Shana back was because I hacked off that totem-branch and then pulled
her out myself. Maybe if that tree gets cut down they’ll stop other kids from being
kidnapped, but I doubt that would bring the ones already taken back. Even when
I removed the branch I still had to manually pull Shana from the shadow world.
The sheriff is wasting his time.

I strum a few notes on my guitar. I’m sitting on my bed,
waiting. I’m at least humoring Doctor Filbert by trying my guitar, though I
don’t know what good it will do seeing as he doesn’t know the truth of the
story. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, maybe I’m just trying to pass the
time.

We aren’t going to make it to Michigan today. After what
happened my parents are trying to help the Hawthorns. I’m not sure what they
plan on doing to help, aside from keeping them company by sitting shivah with
them, but they’re worried that with the confirmed death of their last daughter,
that they might just give up and end their own lives. That’s why they didn’t
let Adam or me go with them…they figured there is no need to flaunt their two
still-present children in the Hawthorns’ faces.

When that thought plays through my head I pluck another
note. I feel the loss of Shana too though. I play another. I feel the static
presence, but refuse to look around for it. I guess he’s playing the waiting
game too.

What’s he waiting for though? Is he waiting for me to fall
asleep, does he just want to watch me, or am I still releasing enough pain for
it feed on? I play a third note. I can imagine what he’s doing to the others he
has captive right now. He’s probably causing them pain so he can feed off of
them. I hardly care about Jason and Leanne. Call me hateful, but there are
people I actually do have reason to worry about, like the five year old Lionel.
Can he even comprehend what’s going on?

I play the first note again, and realize that the three
notes make a tune I recognize, but I can’t name it. I keep playing, one note at
a time. Each note seems dark, and hangs in the air, not even having fully
played out before the next note. I know this song, but why can’t I name it?
It’s very common. The pain has blocked out some of my memories and I’m having
trouble pulling them out of my head. I keep playing each now with every ounce
of concentration I can muster.

I can still sense the static in the background, but I ignore
it. He can sit there and wait all he wants, I’m playing music. Maybe this is
what the doctor meant. As I play this tune, I feel apathetic about the shadow’s
presence, and I’m so focused on playing the music that my thoughts are not even
lingering on Shana. I still feel hurt, heartbroken, and scared, but with this
guitar, I can push it all behind me. If only I can remember the name of it!

“Moonlight Sonata,” says a voice. I look up and see Bubbe
standing in the doorway. “It’s been years since I’ve heard that song,” she says.

“Moonlight Sonata,” I repeat. It’s one of the first songs I
successfully learned. Why couldn’t I remember it?

Bubbe sits on the bed next to me. She has a bottle of pills
in her hand.

 “Your Mom asked me to remind you to take these,” she says.
I look at the bottle.

“Prozac,” I say aloud. I look her in the eye, asking if I
should even bother taking them with a single gaze.

“I’ve never taken it before, but it might help you. If it’s
supposed to help with depression, then maybe it will help with your loss for a
while, make it harder for him to get to you?” she suggests.

“My guitar is doing that right now,” I say, resuming the
song.

“Then maybe you should take these only when you are going to
sleep…or when you’re about to be a hero again?” she says. I chuckle a bit.

“Shana is the only one of them I’d ever do th-” I stop the
sentence, listening to how cruel and selfish I sound. It may not be selfish to
use that reasoning to refuse from going through the peril of the shadow world,
but saying it aloud, when there are little kids suffering from his grasp just
makes me sound evil.

“That’s a smart thing though,” she says. I look at her.

“Only risk your life to help the people you can’t live
without, like your family. You may mourn the loss of your classmates, but it’s
not worth subjecting yourself to him just out of compassion for them,” she
explains. I nod, she’s right. I couldn’t live without at least trying to help
Shana, but as much as it sickens me to say this, I can live without Lionel
Willow.

Bubbe and I sit here quietly while I play Moonlight Sonata.
As sad and dark as the song sounds, it actually feels like it’s alleviating the
pain. I feel like all the sorrow that is inside of me, making me feel like I’m
crawling out of my skin is just flowing out of me. Doctor Filbert is creepy and
annoying, but he knows a little about letting go of pain and anger-without
destroying things.

I can’t believe how long it’s been since I picked up my
guitar. I missed it.

“So, when we go to Michigan, what happens then? Do we just
stay there until he leaves?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We might have to move,” she answers.

 “I don’t know if he ever truly leaves one of his totems.”

“But you said that there was a tree like it in Poland.”

“There is, or at least there was. That doesn’t mean he only
has one feeding ground. He can probably go anywhere he pleases, but once he
establishes a totem in an area, he has a permanent gateway there so he’s
probably going to drain that place dry and then keep watch.”

I bow my head, thinking of another song to play. The thought
that this- my home, now belongs to some fiend sickens me. Is there no way to
defeat him? He’s not of this world, that’s for sure, but there’s got to be
something that will at least drive him away. I feel the static pulse. It’s as
if he can hear my thoughts, and is laughing at them. I play the first guitar
chord that comes into mind and drown it out. Now I’m playing Denise’s favorite
song ‘Complicated.’

“I always hated this song,” says Bubbe.

I stop playing it and look at her with surprise. “I love
Avril Lavigne!” I object.

“Oh, I just think this generation has better music is all.”
She looks up and around my various posters.

“Jimmy Eat World. That’s a nice name. It’s odd but nice,”
she says. I laugh at her a bit, and then I realize what she’s doing. She’s
cheering me up, much like my parents are trying to do with the Hawthorns. Is
Bubbe worried that I’m suicidal, or is she worried that I will do something
stupid?

I play music all afternoon, ignoring the ominous presence of
the entity. Sometimes I end up crying- or at least feel tears threatening to
spill over, but as I do, I feel like I’m getting stronger. I feel like the pain
is leaving. The thought that Shana is at peace instead of being tortured both
hurts and helps me. I think maybe I accepted that I wasn’t getting Shana back
when she first disappeared, and that helped to dull the lingering pain of when
she died. I’d already mourned her once. It didn’t help with the shock of seeing
her die though. That feeling of near triumph, only to fail, it’s like I really
did get dragged back to defeat at the edge of freedom, only not in the way I
expected.

Our parents return, but even when they do, the house is
quiet except for my music. I can’t believe how long I’ve been able to keep this
up. By the time I smell dinner, the joints of my fingers feel as if they’re
about to crack and my fingertips burn with wear. I still feel stronger though.
It’s as if every hour I play music the fiend’s grip weakens.

 
Will I be able to keep this up tomorrow?
No,
tomorrow I should be even stronger. I should paint my nails, bleach my hair,
and try to be normal. I’ll look like a normal happy teenager ready to conquer
the universe when I arrive in Michigan. Shana would want me to.

A smile crosses my lips as I head downstairs for dinner,
which is very quiet today. There’s a lot to talk about, but no one is really up
to it. Bubbe and I have already said what we need to say, and I can sense mixed
feelings about my actions coming from my parents. For one, they are horrified
that I would venture off into the woods when there’s a kidnapper on the loose,
and yet I found Shana. I did something that all of the policemen and volunteers
couldn’t. I feel like I’ve downed at least three pounds of the spaghetti Mom
has made before finally, she speaks up.

“The next flight isn’t until nine P.M tomorrow so you’ll be
arriving in Michigan pretty late.”

I’ve got more than twenty-four hours to wait before we get
to safety? That blows. I guess maybe I’ll try to sleep in. I wonder if Prozac
will make me sleepy. 

“Not planning on running off tonight are you?” she asks,
half-jokingly.

I shake my head.

“Of course not,” but I’m dead serious. The monster is
probably waiting until I fall asleep so he can suck me back into his world.
He’ll probably try to lure me out with Shana or Lionel or something, but I
won’t let him. No, from now until nine tomorrow night I don’t plan on setting
foot out of this house. I don’t care if he sits on the bed next to me.

After dinner I help clean up, bathe, and then get into some
pajamas. It’s been a restless day and I’m ready to turn in early, but I decide
I will hold off another hour by cleaning my room a bit. I put all of the
clothes strewn about the floor in the laundry bag. Mom will be horrified, but
hopefully I won’t be here to hear her when she sees it.

I throw CD’s, books, and all of my scattered objects in
places where they belong, just with no particular order. Oh well, I don’t think
I’ll need to dig around for any of these CD’s anytime soon since every one of
these songs are already on my computer and mp3 player. Cleaning up is really
helping to keep my mind off of Shana’s death. It’s going to be sad though,
because unless they find some miraculous reason for me to return in time, I’m
going to miss Shana’s funeral. Me! Her best friend!

It’s only when I’m finally done distracting myself that I
fully take in the thought that even though I’ve saved her, I still miss her,
and I’m always going to. Would it be worth it for me to come back for her
funeral? Surely the Hawthorns will invite me? I shake off the thought. Now is
not the time. Just before I climb in bed I am greeted by a loud static wave
that almost knocks me over. “What was that?” I ask aloud.

I can hear a steady flow of static erupting around the room.
What’s he planning? My heart sinks. No, no he’s just trying to scare me. I
carry on as if nothing happens, except I don’t turn off my light.
He seems
stronger
, I think to myself. He probably
is
going to try and lure me
out tonight, and if that wave is any indication of his persistence, it probably
means I’ll have to deal with terrifying images that will be hard to ignore. I
won’t let him lure me, no matter what.

 I pop two Prozac tablets into my mouth before lying down.
I’m not sure what the proper dosage is for these pills. I think I remember
seeing both one and two on the bottle. Maybe it’s one during the day, two at
night, or was it one tablet, twice a day, not to exceed two tablets in twelve
hours? I’ll live either way. I pull the blanket over my head to block out the
light and slowly, but surely, I drift off.

I dream for a little while before waking up. I listen for
the static, but it’s not present.
Huh
, I think. Maybe I should get up
and check? No, I try and go back to sleep, but that seems to be out of the
question. As if waiting for me, I feel the static slowly creep on me and
impulsively try to jump up before realizing that I can’t move.
The paralysis
again, it’s going to try and pull me into the realm.
I don’t feel the
energy to fight it, but if I don’t resist, then I will be sucked in and have to
run out of his domain.

I hear a scream in the distance. It sounds like- it’s Adam.
I hear Adam screaming. It’s not the same painful, ear-stabbing scream the Shana
gave me when the fiend had her in the first nightmare; it’s the sound of
horrified surprise, like something is jumping out at him. He continues yelling
and then I hear
him
.

“Help! Mom, Dad! Alyssa!” he screams. I feel the static grip
tighten. No! I should have gotten up. He’s going to get Adam. Wait a second,
this is his trick. He’s trying to weaken me by impersonating Adam. It’s what he
did to Shana, Jason, and probably the others. This won’t work on me. I try and
laugh, and although my voice is blocked by his grip, I can still exhale in
rhythm.
‘This won’t work on me. I know what you’re trying to do,’
I
mouth while thinking it, hoping he understands what I’m saying.

“Help! Please!” Adam drags on, but I just laugh. I’m not
falling for it.
I prepared for this. I even took my medicine to help.
Adam’s screams are so real, but as I laugh at them, they get farther and
farther away, and the fiend’s grip weakens.
I’ve beaten you!
I think
triumphantly.

No, I can say it now. Its grip is weak!

“I’ve beaten you. Na na-na na-na-na, you lose,” I mumble
childishly. When his presence fully disperses, I fall asleep with a smile on my
face. A few hours later, I wake up. I feel like the medicine has worn off and
feel a sour taste in my mouth.

“Forgot to brush,” I mumble.

I climb out of bed and head to the bathroom to brush my
teeth. It’s pretty early, but I figure I will go back to sleep for another six
hours or so. As I brush my teeth I remember my little run-in with the entity
earlier. I don’t feel amused this time. Maybe I’m too groggy for it, but I
decide I’ll check in on Adam before I go back to bed. I rinse and then head
over to Adam’s room.

His window is open and so it’s freezing in here, but it’s
almost always open so that’s not what catches my attention. On the floor is the
sling for Adam’s cast. I don’t see him dropping it by himself, and then not
picking it back up. His bed is empty. Did it really get him?

“Adam!” I shout. There’s no way. “Adam!” I scream.

“Adam!”