~Creepypasta x Reader (One shots)~ Completed

Slenderman

Okay update time XD Sorry it took so long but...fuck it's Slenderman. I feel so weird writing this it's not even funny. Literally I think I gave myself a concussion banging my head against the desk to get this thing done. When you read this you'll either feel awkward and run away screaming or like it, I really don't know but I got it posted so there. I'm gonna go wash my eyes out with soap now. Ciao earthlings.

WARNING: THIS ONE SHOT CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION AND SLIGHT GORE

You blink lethargically, the lingering draughts of sleep escaping as you break the cold waking world. Your body feels stiff and achy, every movement sending dull pain singing up your spine. Your head felt as if it were filled with cotton, leaving you woozy and disoriented. Perplexed, you frown and attempt to shake the cobwebs from your memory as you gingerly sit up to absorb your surroundings...

Lofty, broad-girthed trees rose from the black soil in every direction in an endless sea of vegetation. Shadows flickered over the dark dirt, chased by the moonlight as clouds passed over the haunting vision of the full moon above, the sky pitch black to amplify the silver orb. The floor was an assortment of pine needles, bristled cones, dry leaves and twigs that crunched beneath your aching body; the biting chill of night air stroking over your flesh as your body struggled to retain boy heat. Your breath ghosted before you, white smoke unfurling into the atmosphere as uncertainty pounded against your viscera.

You were in the local woods.

How the holy hell did I get here?

Bothered at the thought, you slowly rise to your feet, the cold percolating into your bones to intensify the pain slithering through your baffled system. You attempted to sift through your memory for some reason for the agony your body experienced but came out empty handed, tendrils of recollections slipping from your reaching fingertips before you could fully grasp them.

What happened to me?

Enormously disconcerted by the fact that you hadn't the faintest clue of how to answer the question, you focused on your primary directive: get out of these godforsaken woods.

Glancing around apprehensively, you take a chance and head off in a random direction, trying to block every horror movie that involved creepy woods out of the cavern of your psyche. The tiniest sound had you jumping in fright, whether it was the snap of a twig or the whistle of the wind through skeletal branches. The worst incident being the hoot of an owl that had you jumping out of your skin and launching yourself behind a tree to hug it like a koala bear as you searched for the source. When you spotted the amber-eyed avian creature observing you from a high up branch, you grumbled incoherently under your breath as your cheeks stained with embarrassment.

Stupid mutated pigeon.

Annoyed and disgruntled, you pull back from the tree, dragging a hand through your snarl of (h/c) locks before something odd catches your eye. (e/c) eyes narrowed, you stare in puzzlement at the single square block of paper pinned to the bark. The white surface bore a symbol of a circle with an 'x' through its centre, the ink bright scarlet that shone as if still wet.

You were certain that wasn't there a second ago, you mind backtracking to find any recollection of the note and finding none. Then again, your paranoia was acting up by this remarkable predicament so you could have missed that detail; it could be years old for all you know. But your gut told you otherwise, as did logic as you eyed the wet ink warily.

Biting the inside of your cheek until you tasted the metallic flavour of blood; you retreated from the tree, marching on blindly with quick steps in hopes of finding some sign of civilisation. Your ears began to ring, the walls of your mind throbbing with the beginning of a killer headache as you continued. Nausea rocked your belly, your muscles aching with cold as your vision began to blur.

Something was wrong, terribly wrong but you pushed forward, survival instincts kicking in as you fought this sudden bout of sickness. It was like a kick in the teeth at this point when the world began to spin, your arms clutching the trunk of a nearby tree as wooziness took over.

Breathe. Just goddamn breathe.

You did exactly that, drawing in gulps of the chilly air as the illness momentarily eased off and your bleary eyes refocused. Still, you paused, not wanting to topple over because you were impatient and waited until feeling began trickling back into your limbs. Then something wet splashed onto your forehead.

Great, just great. It's fucking raining.

Growling at the notion, you hastily wiped the liquid of your brow, glancing down at your hand habitually to see if it was indeed rain and not something like owl droppings with your luck.

You froze.

Oh my gods.

Instead of the clear transparent liquid of rainwater, crimson painted your fingers, the sticky constituency dripping down your palm as trepidation coiled in your gut. Slowly, almost sardonically similar to a cheap horror flick, you glanced up above you, trepidation bursting to full-blown terror at the ungodly sight.

There, hanging just a few feet above you was a corpse. The masculine design of a man in dank jeans a fleece shirt visible in the wash of moonlight, his pale skin sheet white with a lack of blood flow. His eyes were wide and unseeing, a fertile green that clashed against the horror of his expression. And the reason was unmistakably clear: he was impaled by the sharp branch of the tree.

The bark-covered limb tore though his abdomen and spine, blood staining the material of his shirt and running down to slick over the branch and drip down to the floor in crimson tears; his body sagging with lifeless defeat.

Your paralysis lifted as panic shocked through your system, sending you scrambling back as recognition hit you. It was Mr. Jenkins, your old neighbour that sank into depression after his wife passed on and fell into the bottle. The man that used to show you random bouts of kindness and offered shelter to you when your mother's parties took a rough turn for the worst, and he was dead.

Before you knew it, you were off and running, feet slapping against the woodland floor as you sprinted away from the revolting scene. You had to get out, you needed to run you repeated like a mantra in your head, only to skid to a halt as another body made itself known to you.

Kelly the packer at the local supermarket who had her heartbroken a few weeks back, her plump body skewered by branches, her grey eyes wide and unseeing. Dead.

You changed direction, hurtling away only to run into the impaled body of Evideen Fisher, the local hooker that worked nightly to pay off the debt on her rent and support her baby boy. Dead.
And so it continued, you dashing away only to find another body, your frenzied state making you blind to the blood trickling from your nose or the massive migraine attacking your temples. Your heart was in your throat, your sanity fraying by the minute as foreboding threw you off the deep end and left you to drown.

The worst of all being the final body, with the spill of familiar (h/c) hair and glassy (e/c) eyes, the shape of the slender body hanging limp from the skewering branches as her blood dripped to the floor.

Mom...

The realization brought you to your knees, the sudden crushing blow of grief sucking you of fight and energy as the cold filled you, icy shards piercing your flesh.
That was when he showed up.

At seven feet tall, he towered over you, his shadow covering you in darkness as he appeared from the folds of the trees. His lanky body was clothed in a dark business suit, his tie crimson red as the blood that flowed from his victims as he approached you. Tentacles as pitch as night slithered about him like serpents, darkness coalescing like flames in an intimidating aura that had your very insides trembling. His skin was as white as ivory, his fingers slight and bony as they folded before him. But what was worst, what was far worst, was glancing to view the face of your possible killer and finding none. No features, no eyes, nothing but a blank surface as if an artist had sketched him and forgotten to add facial features.

I'm being stalked by a faceless Doctor Octopus. Fuck my life.

Before you could as much as blink, you were pinned to the tree, a slick tentacle coiled about your waist as the faceless entity teleported before you to steal the air from your lungs. Your injuries flared to life at the brutal action, your bones convulsing within you as the muscular tentacles bound you to the surface. The faceless entity leered inches from your own face, the tips of its tentacles brushing at your hair, the skin of your collarbone, the trail of your exposed legs to make you shiver in revulsion and physical response.

His skeletal fingers reached for your face, tracing the skin of your cheeks with the rough pads of his fingers as he observed you. Your sanity was a second away from snapping, the fragile chords diminishing by the moment but you still had to ask, had to get the answer before you dissolved into nothing.

"Why?" you question throatily, you voice course with emotion as you stared up at the monster for an answer, some form of response.

The suited creature tilted his head in response, all motion pausing as static began to spike as pierce your malfunctioning brain. The cool brush of fingers skimmed over your mind, the voice that infiltrated it as cold as raw ice.

"Because I collect the depraved and the lost. You will be my greatest prize," he answered coolly, the deep bravado of his voice humming in your mind as his tentacles moved to nudge aside the blouse of your uniform, skimming over the bare flesh he exposed. "You are mine."

And the delicate strand snapped clean, sending you tumbling into blissful darkness as the creature of legend and lore collected its newest trinket.

A/N: I can't believe I just wrote that