Spookyness

20%

*Credit to AP Matt on Facebook*

I don’t post here, or anywhere, really. My occupation doesn’t leave me much time for browsing the internet. After my last job, I needed a break. My boss, Harry, insisted on it, actually. So, I’ve had time for surfing the web lately. I Google things a lot now, not that anything you find is a reliable source of information. Mostly, I’m trying to find answers. I didn’t really know where to start. Torn-up shirts. Doll heads. Big-ass spider things. Nothing really came up.

But then I found it. I found the bastard. Given the shit I’ve just been reading about – and the fact that you kids seem more familiar with the thing than anyone else, I decided to write this down.

I am a bail bonds officer in Kansas City, Missouri and I was tracking a man, Denny Bucknell. I was supposed to earn 20% off this simple little rundown – and let me tell you, I was excited. This time, he was worth it. I’d cash in one of the biggest checks of my career. You see, Bucknell was usually arrested on drunk and disorderly charges. A colleague of mine had chased him down three or four times before when he failed to show up to court, so I knew he was an easy paycheck. Bucknell was usually passed out drunk somewhere and slept through his sentencing. My colleague would find him, sober him up and drag him down to the courthouse, collecting an easy $200 bucks for half an hour’s work. That’s what a man like Denny Bucknell used to be worth. Harry would post $1,000 dollars bail, Denny would enjoy a few nights freedom to continue drinking and then we’d get $200 in our pocket while the douche did community service. That’s how it used to be.

Not this time. This time, if I lost him, I lost my chance at 20% of a $50,000 bail. $10,000 to bring in the drunkard. He was a loser, a half-wit. It should have been an easy gig. But fear does strange things to people. I know that. I know that real well at this point.

To be honest, I didn’t think he’d actually leave the city – most fugitives like him don’t. This time, Bucknell did, though. I had to chase him down and what I found when I caught him… Jesus. The whole thing was different, right from the very beginning. First, he disappeared right after the preliminary hearing. Didn’t even say thank you to Harry for posting bail. Just… poof. The regulars at the bars he frequented said he hadn’t been there for days. His friends – if they could really be called that – said he spent a lot of time at this pawn shop on Truman Rd. Apparently, that’s where he bought himself two old pistols – a revolver and a semi – a 20 gauge shotgun and this rusty machete-looking thing. Granted, we didn’t know all this until later, until after I found him.

I don’t know why Harry fronted him the money, especially given the circumstances. Harry normally paid his bail because Bucknell’s wife and Harry were old friends from grade school and Bucknell’s old lady didn’t like being home alone with the kids, blah blah, whatever sure. She was cashing in a favor and Harry knew it. Besides, Denny Bucknell was a drunk but not a bad guy. Let him stagger home to his family.

But after what happened this time… His wife and two kids, 12 and 8 years old, had gone missing. There were a few spots of blood at the scene – nothing too awful, just in the carpet and in the kitchen. But forensics matched it to his wife, who was missing. It was enough for the police to bring him in for questioning. Nothing from the children, no blood, no prints, no sign of a struggle. Nothing. Bucknell was found locked in a closet, clinging onto a baseball bat and shaking. Eyes wide and bloodshot like he had been staring for hours. When the cops opened the closet door, Bucknell screamed and took off. Didn’t swing the bat or anything, just went right for the door, trying to run. Didn’t make it very far before they tackled him.

I reviewed the basics of the report. I don’t normally care how it happened or who was hurt or why it went down, I just want to know how to catch the fugitive. This time, however, I was interested. I wanted to know why the judge set his bail so high. So Harry got some information from the detectives, including a bit from his interrogation tapes and we watched it.

He didn’t say anything. During interrogations, he just looked around, his shoulders slumped, arms drawn in close to his chest and his eyes darting around the room looking at every shadow. After a while of this, he said he wanted to be let go. He demanded to be let go, that he wasn’t safe. Denny Bucknell said one thing that got him into more trouble than anything else. He said “I tried but I couldn’t hide her in time. I didn’t want to… It’s all my fault.” The detective got in his face and Bucknell flipped his shit. Denny Bucknell screamed. Not like an angry scream, like he was trying to intimidate the detective. No, Denny was fucking terrified. The tone of his voice, the pitch he went to, how long he held it… the shape of his mouth, how his hands shook and the look in his eyes. I didn’t like to think about it then and I sure as hell don’t now. We turned it off.

The judge wasn’t going to allow bail given that Bucknell was a flight risk, after all. Something happened during that preliminary hearing. Two suits walked in, all sunglasses and earpieces and just stood at the back. Harry noticed, but no one else seemed to. He said they didn’t say anything. The judge changed his entire demeanor after that, he looked grumpy and spooked all at once. He went easy on Bucknell from that point on. He was released on $50,000 dollars bail. No one said anything for a while. Then Harry said he’d front the money and my teeth nearly fell out of my skull. Who was going to pay that back? Bucknell would be going away to prison and – hate to say it – but it’s not like his wife could pay that back – even if she wasn’t missing. Denny Bucknell was not worth that much. He should have let him sit in jail until his court date.

His court date came and went. As we expected, no Denny Bucknell. So I immediately took the case and began canvassing the town. After I spent 6 hours of hitting his usual haunts and running down a list of known associates, I heard what I needed to hear. They all confirmed that he was headed out of town. Harry called with a report that someone matching Bucknell’s description had jacked a car with a shotgun. Bucknell? Carjacking? I started to take this more seriously. I called in a favor from a friend of mine and found out where this car was seen at a Phillips 66 gas station right near Antioch Rd. That was a few miles north of Kansas City, right off of I-35. He was leaving town, alright.

$10,000. That was my reward for bringing him in. It was worth a bit of a drive. I had to move fast, though. Besides the state appointed time constraints on pursuing a bounty, I-35 was a straight shot north toward Iowa. If he hopped states to Kansas, no big deal; it’s right across the river and I track fugitives there all the time. They know me there. But north? To Iowa? It would make my job much, much more difficult. I didn’t have many contacts in Iowa, so gathering information would be much more difficult. When a fugitive crosses state lines, the Marshalls tend to get involved and then it’s a race to apprehend him. They usually win. So, the idea was to nab him before he crossed over into Iowa.

I drove north as fast as I could, my 10mm Colt holstered under my left armpit and my small Smith and Wesson CS9 on my ankle. Handcuffs, pepper spray, a mini Mag-Lite and a Taser X26 pistol on my belt. $10,000. The sun was setting and night was coming fast. I’d find him. I had to.

He made it past Kearney and Haynesville. He was almost at Cameron when I caught up to the car he’d stolen. I almost didn’t see it in the dark. It was in the grass on the side of the highway well past the shoulder of the road, just rolled gently there next to the trees at the side. When I got out of my vehicle and approached Bucknell’s car, I drew my Taser despite the urge to pull out my Colt. I crept around to the driver’s side window, making sure to keep a safe distance and be ready in case he pulled that shotgun he’d used in the carjacking. I swept the beam of my flashlight into the driver’s side window.

Denny Bucknell wasn’t inside. Airbags were deployed and the passenger door was open. Blood on the seat cushions. He was gone.

I started to see the front of the car. The front bumper and the hood were fine but the windshield was trashed. It looked like several objects had flown through the glass. At first, I thought that his shotgun had gone off and the holes were from the buckshot. But I’ve seen that before. I know how it would have looked. The way the windshield bent and buckled inward, the way the seats were peppered with chunks of glass… something definitely went from the outside in. The holes – maybe 6 or 7 of them – were all the same size, a little smaller than a baseball. Nothing was inside the car. No rocks, nothing. What the hell was it? What did he hit? It was as if something – half a dozen things, pointy and all the same diameter had impaled the windshield. If so, was it a tree branch? There was nothing there.

An orange flash lit up in the woods. Half a second later, a gunshot rang in my ears. I clipped my Taser to my belt and drew the Colt from under my armpit. I remember thinking, “He better not have killed himself, he’s no good to me dead. I can’t get my 20% if he’s in pieces. He better not have blown his head off.” In hindsight, he probably should have.

I entered the woods in a hurry, the first of the thin trees passing by me in a blur. More shots rang out. I quickened my pace. I clicked my Mag-Lite off as I got closer. I didn’t want to give myself away and give him something to shoot at.

There he was, shooting his pistol limply into the trees with his left hand, dragging the barrel of the shotgun in the pine needles with his right. Bucknell was whimpering, murmuring to himself hysterically. I took cover behind one of the tall, thin trees, flinching at every shot from his pistol. He’d gone mad. Denny Bucknell was insane. How could I get close enough to zap him without getting shot? The X26 had a range of maybe 15 feet – and it wasn’t as if I could shoot it twice. I did have pepper spray but that required me to get even closer than the Taser. Could I get close enough without him hearing? With my boots and the leaves and twigs and pine needles underfoot?

I decided to call out to him. Maybe I could talk some sense into him.

“Denny,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say, I just tried to level with him, see if I could calm him down. “Denny, what are you doing out here, man?”

“Who? Who’s there? Who is that?”

“Harry sent me to come find you, Denny.” I said calmly but firmly. That’s how it’d worked for me before. Be certain and absolute but not threatening. And don’t lie to them. They can tell if you’re lying. “I’m not here to hurt you, okay? I’m just going to-”

“You… you stupid, stupid son-of-a-bitch! Run! Get the fuck out of here!”

“Denny-” I tried to explain, but he wouldn’t let me continue. He was screaming, yelling, shouting at me. He was using every ounce of his energy until his voice gave out and his lungs ran out of air. Then with a gasping, frantic breath, he’d start yelling again.

“He’s out here… He’s out here! He fucking found-” Denny’s babbling came to an abrupt stop. The silence was eerie. I didn’t know what it meant. As hard as he was screaming, did he have a stroke or something? An aneurysm?

I chanced a peek around the tree.

I am going to pause here for a moment to make sure I get this all down right. I think it’s important to describe what I saw as best I can. It doesn’t really make sense, but I think you guys will understand. That is why I’m posting here, after all.

I saw a man standing in the trees behind Denny. Denny had seen him too and I guess that’s why he shut up so quick. He was tall and thin and pale. Really, really tall. Seven, eight feet maybe. I’m 5’11” and he was… I don’t know, he was very tall. Wore a suit and tie. That’s all I saw the first time I looked.

It pierced the silence. Denny’s scream. It was the same from that interrogation tape. The tone, that pitch. The terrible sound of a man feeling pure, awful fear. And then… It went away. Not like Denny had stopped screaming. It’s like… Have you ever heard a siren go by? Or someone playing music in their car, windows down, speeding by real fast? How it just kind of goes away, like it’s getting softer and softer and lower in pitch? That’s what his scream did. It went away. Denny got pulled away somewhere.

I know that, because when I rounded the side of that tree and flicked my flashlight on, he was gone. His pistol was still falling to the ground, shotgun tipping down into the pine needles. It’s like something snatched him. Denny got pulled away into the trees, into the darkness between the trees, into the shadowy spots that my flashlight couldn’t reach.

I froze. I didn’t know what to do. What would you have done? I freaked out. I wasn’t even thinking about the 20%. I was trying to remember how to breathe. The back of my neck tingled and my gut felt like it was falling down into my legs. All of me went hot and cold at the same time. I did what anyone would do. I turned to run.

I turned around to run, at least. But I didn’t run. I couldn’t.

The thing was there. Right behind me. Didn’t even hear it move. I looked up at its face… at where its face should have been. It didn’t have one. Chalky white and no eyes, no mouth – nothing. Just a thin, bald head. A white shirt, a black tie. The blackest suit… Terrible white hands hanging limply at the ends of thin black arms. It didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t do anything. I took all of it in, frozen for two seconds. Two seconds that took forever before my brain clicked back in.

The Colt, heavy in my hand. I lifted the pistol and fired vaguely at its chest. Nothing. I couldn’t have missed the thing; it was not even five feet from me. It passed right through the thing. Before I could squeeze off a second shot, the thing moved. It wasn’t its arms. Something came from behind him. It was as black as its suit, long and spidery and thin. Whatever it was – tentacle or insect leg or whatever – it whipped over its head from behind its back and smacked the pistol from my hand. It stung like being stabbed in the wrist with an icicle.

I stumbled backward and fell into the crunchy leaves and pine needles behind me. I dropped my flashlight. It lit the floor of the woods and nothing else, the light brown from dirt and tree roots and dead leaves. I could see the legs of the black thing, thin and long with shiny leather shoes. It took a strange step forward toward me. I saw… wriggling. Behind it, like a dozen terrible black tails thrashing and twisting and curling, the tall man opened itself.

I don’t know why I did it. I had another pistol on my ankle. I could have reached for that. But instead, I pulled my Taser from my belt. I had one shot. I only had time for one shot before it took me anyway, but I knew I couldn’t miss. Without seeing anything to aim at, I just pointed vaguely ahead of me, up at where its body should be. I pulled the trigger.

I don’t really remember what happened. It didn’t make a noise. I don’t think the bolts struck it. There was no pulsing, zapping sound, I know that much. The only sound I heard was a soft plop in the leaves. A couple of plops, actually. I caught my breath and looked around. It wasn’t in front of me anymore. I could still feel its presence. It felt hateful, furious.

I scrambled to my feet, pulling the small Smith and Wesson from my ankle holster as I stood. With rubbery knees, I quickly went to collect my flashlight. I spun 360, scanning the trees for the thing. I didn’t see anything. I caught my breath and shook my head. Had I imagined it? Did I really see that?

The woods were quiet. I dropped to my knees and sighed. After a moment, I swept the beam of the flashlight to search for my Colt. My hand still tingled from where I was struck. I only thought I saw something once, something out of the corner of my eye. When I focused the light on it, there was nothing there. But I swear, I saw something black, a giant shadow crawling away into the trees like a spider or a long centipede. I shuddered and shook the thought from my head.

Before I found the pistol, I saw something at my feet. The sight of it made me tremble – it still does, to think back on it.

There, on the forest floor on a bed of dead leaves and pine needles, was the thing’s head. Blank and faceless and devoid of emotion, the pale white head came down to a cleanly cut neck. In the bottom of the neck was a hole and I could see that the thing was hollow. It was a large porcelain head, like a doll’s head. The hands were there, too. Porcelain, ceramic hands. There was a torn piece of a man’s dress shirt, just the collar and the front of the shirt down to the third or fourth button, a black tie looped around the crisp collar. An empty pair of shiny black leather shoes.

I didn't understand what I’d found. I’d lost Denny. I didn't get my 20%. Officially, Denny Bucknell is still missing. I've had more than a few visits from various police forces. Kansas City Police Department, Missouri State Police, even the U.S. Marshalls dropped by to hear my story once. I didn't connect the dots until after the suits showed up. Gave me a fucking heart attack, opening the door to see two men in black suits and a tie standing at my door. They asked me about my experience in the woods. I told them. They were the only ones that didn't scoff at me – but then again, they didn’t register any recognizable emotion to begin with. They thanked me for my time and left.

That’s when I remembered Harry telling me about the two Feds that were at Bucknell’s preliminary hearing. I think someone out there knew what took Denny Bucknell’s wife and kids. I think they knew it would come after him, too. That’s why they made the judge let Denny go. I don’t know why they wanted it that way. Maybe they wanted to catch the thing in the act. Maybe they wanted Denny to go. Maybe I screwed up by telling them the truth and they’ll be watching me now, waiting for what you kids call the “Slenderman” to find me.

There’s one bit that I don’t like, though. The head. Those hands and the shoes, that shirt and tie. I think it was wearing them, using them like props, like a costume. There was no suit coat, no pants. The darkness, the black awful darkness that came out of it, those legs or arms or tentacles that reached out from its back, it was the same as its suit. Just pure shadow, as black as it gets. This thing doesn’t really have a head. It’s pure shadow, fear incarnate. It’s just pretending, trying to fit in and move amongst us. How often do you walk through a crowded street and see every single person’s face? Can you say for certain, without a doubt that you’ve never walked past someone who didn’t have a face? I’m trained to see every little detail, to pick out faces in a crowd and even I can’t say for sure. Maybe it’s been hiding in plain sight. I am certain it will come for me someday. Probably soon. I’ll be ready, though. I’m not running, not like Denny. I can sit here and wait this thing out.

The bit that I don’t like is this: without that head, without the shirt and tie, when this Slenderman thing isn’t masquerading as one of us… How can you see it? How can you tell it apart from every other shadow you see? In a dark room, he is everywhere.