Slenderman Stories

Just Got Back from Black Star Canyon

Where I'm from, there's a canyon a little bit inland that has a checkered past called Black Star Canyon. In about 1878, Indians were brutally killed for stealing horses. Later in the 1970s, a driver lost control and crashed bus full of children in the canyon and killed almost all of the children along with a teacher and the driver himself. Recently, a cult formed in the canyon and is known for kidnapping and sacrificing a young girl. So as you could imagine, this canyon has spurred some haunted lore.

A few days ago, I was with a few friends playing some games like Slender. After a while, someone mentioned, "Hey, lets go wander around to find Slenderman!"

A quick quiet pause entered. Suddenly, my friend Peter had to blurt out the words: "Let's go to Black Star."

We all looked at him with mixed feelings. But hey, we're all big kids. We can handle it, so we all agreed. We piled into his truck and off we went.

We drove up to the canyon road and got out because the road is blocked off at the entrance. As we walked away, my friend quickly locked the door and we descended into the canyon. It felt as though the darkness engulfed us the deeper we went. We would pass by random shacks and trees that looked like people. Suddenly, we heard a loud unholy screech. Goose bumps consumed my body and my blood curdled at the sound. The blood escaped from my face as all else went quiet. We waited. There was no sound, except for a cold breeze. Peter turned to me and whispered, "We should go back."

Someone at the front of the group quickly responded with: "No, you brought us here, we should see what else is out here!"

Reluctantly, we pressed on. It felt like that screech put a curse on the canyon. Everything felt like it started to move. The trees branches reached out like arms, the wind changed temperatures on a whim. This canyon picked away at our sanity. We eventually saw a hole in the ground next to a shack. I realized it was an old pool. It looked really old and weathered as vines crept in and cracks grew in the walls. The pool was filled with what looked like trash, but as I looked at it longer, I noticed a table with four sets of ropes at each corner, candles, and a large white star. One thought came to my mind:

Satanists.

The whole group came to that realization at the same moment. Someone in our group yelled at us from a distance, "Hey guys, you gotta see this!"

We walked over to the shack and my body went numb with fear. The shack was like a necromancer's workshop. There were diagrams for rituals, a chalk pentagram on the floor with candles at each point, what looked like a ram's skull, some dead rabbits hanging from a laundry line, a chalice, a bloody knife, and a cut-open animal.

"We have to get out of here!"

I was paralyzed with fear. I sputtered, "We should leave. Now."

We didn't get very far when Peter announced: "Someone is walking towards the pool!"

We hid as fast as we could and waited in fear. About ten figures cloaked in all white emerged from the darkness. They wore white robes with hoods. All of their faces were shrouded by darkness. A few of them were carrying a large bag as they all descended into the pool.

They went in and put the bag on the table and began to light candles. They went to open the bag and pulled a goat out and laid it across the table. One of the hooded figures emerged from the shack with the knife and chalice. They began chanting and the person with the knife approached the goat and began some sort of ritual by putting his hand on the goat and muttering words. He then lifted the knife and thrust it into the goat's heart and drained its blood into the cup. From there, they passed the cup and drank the blood.

We couldn't take it any longer. We had to leave. I looked around and the entire group was ready: sprint back to the truck. On the count of three we all ran. As we ran through the canyon, I felt as though we were being followed. I looked into the darkness and saw one of the hooded white figures in the distance, no two! There were dozens of them in the distance looking at us chanting. They were surrounding us slowly, as if to capture us. We made it back to the truck where Peter unlocked it and we piled in. As soon as the last man stepped into the truck, Peter locked it and peeled out on the road. As we drove, an old, stained note on Peter's dashboard flew in my face. It said:

Please, go away. Don't come back.

My blood curdled and I asked Peter: "Where'd you get this note?"

"What note?"

"There was this note on your dashboard."

Peter took it and as he read it, all the color disappeared from his face and he began breathing became shallow. None of us knew how the note got in there, and none of us want to know. I don't plan on ever going back, but I think that canyon permanently took some of my sanity for good.