Slenderman.Stop.Slenderman.5 years ago in Settings
He might hear you.
I am pressed against the wall. My fingers are spread as wide as they will go as my palms press heavily on the drywall. I take a deep breath. Hold it tight. I feel the air escaping my lungs, my circulation; my blood thinning of oxygen as I hold, one, two, three .
I hear Him slither down the hallway. His movements are languid, snake like, as He comes after me. I can imagine it all in my head: the long, thin arms, coiling around every turn and corner, searching for me. Have you ever noticed His face? His eyesor lack thereof? I have a theory. He doesn't have eyes because He doesn't need them. He hears things. Feels things. Smells things.
I exhale, slowly, hoping not to catch His attention. It's a fruitless thought. He knows where I am. He's only playing with me. A game of cat-and-mouse, where He is the cat, and I am nothing more than a rubber mouse hiding underneath old and rusty furniture. He will
SlendermanSlendermanSlenderman5 years ago in Concrete Poetry
Don't go out into the woods, my child.
For Slenderman lives there, out in the wild
Do not ask why he lives in that place
It is mostly because he has no face.
He has long arms that grab you
And take you to a place that will fill you
With dread, and you will wish that
You were dead