Mr. Pepper and the Slenderman

(The stage is a mixture of an office, bedroom and a lounge. There is a desk at up left stage that stretches out to left center stage. On it is a lamp, clock, laptop and not much else. At up center and up right stages are a shelf and closet. There is a couch at right side of center stage stretching out to up, down and right stages. There is a table at the center of right center stage and two chairs pushed under it.  There is a door against the wings at up left corner and a lone lamp at the corner of downright stage.

The room is lit by both lamps that give a warm, but eerie glow to the room. There is a short man in his mid-thirties. He is in a black suit, white shirt and a black fedora hat is on the desk. It is important to note that he doesn’t have a British bone in his body. The glow of his computer casts a strange shadow across his face and he is in deep concentration. He is very careful when he speaks.

Walking in is an older man. He is in the clothes of a butler and looks exhausted, but keeps his head up high. When he speaks, he sounds annoyed unless otherwise noted. He walks down center and addresses the audience. The man doesn’t seem to notice.)

Butler (to audience): Good evening, or whatever the hell of the day it is, to you all. While I dread this part of my job, I must give you my name. (Takes deep breath) For obvious reasons, I prefer to be called by my surname. My name is Al. Al K. Seltzer. The loon back there goes by the name Pepper, his first name being Zoltan. Now Mr. Zoltan Pepper is the kind of man you do not want to work for. And, of course, I was blessed with the occupation of slaving over the atrocious creature for minimum wage, a tiny bedroom, limited phone calls, and scraps.

Mr. Pepper: Mr. Seltzer, get over here!

Butler (sighing heavily): In a second, Sir. (returning to the audience) Anyway, don’t you worry about me! I’m given the miracle of patience! You see, butler-ing is what my family does. It is in my blood to sacrifice an arm and leg for these rich bastards. According to my great-great-great grandfather’s uncle’s wife’s mother, we Seltzers are better wives than the women of the family themselves!

Mr. Pepper: Al! Get your ass over here and read this!

Butler (sighing and rolling eyes): Oh, sir, I’m sorry. I’m coming, but can’t you read it for yourself?

Mr. Pepper: Yes, I can bloody read, but I need you to! To prove a point!

Butler (looking around): Prove a point to whom, sir?

Mr. Pepper: Who do you see in this room? Me of course!

Butler: What do you want me to read? (He moves to Mr. Pepper’s side of the desk and peers over his shoulder at the computer.)

Mr. Pepper (pointing): This right here.

Butler: The Slender Man, sir? Who on earth is the Slender Man?

Mr. Pepper: Just read!

Butler (clearing his throat): It says that the Slender Man was created on some forum. That he’s some made-up, paranormal creature.

Mr. Pepper: How on earth can he be made up, Mr. Seltzer! He’s real, I know it!

Butler (in an exhausted, unbelieving voice): What makes you say that, sir?

Mr. Pepper: Because he’s right here in this very room!

(The Butler looks about the room, then at the audience and shrugs.)

Butler: I’m sorry, sir, I don’t see him.

Mr. Pepper: What on earth do you mean you don’t see him! He’s right here, sitting in front of you! (He turns his rolling chair to face his butler)