Amnesia (The Slenderman)

Amnesia

The darkness of the forest consumed me, taking possession of my soul. I knew what I had to do. With shaking hands I pulled out my torch and flipped on the battery. I began walking, with seemingly confident steps, but instead I was writhing. I seemed to be pointing my torch in every direction, looking and looking for that mystery object that I knew I’d never find. My heart nearly came to a halt when I saw him again. His pale, blank expression, his tentacles thrashing and squirming. Yet again, he was outside the rusty, red truck, he started to pace towards me, my vision seemed to cloud, like static taking over my eyes.

My nightmare ended. I gasped as I woke up, a cold sweat pouring down my face.

Just a dream I reassured myself. I hastily turned on my bedroom lamp and reached for the glass of water beside my bed. I poured the liquid down my throat, its coolness aiding my dry, coarse throat. I jumped manically as I heard a bang on my bedroom door

“Cathy are you okay honey?”

My mother’s voice was extremely reassuring.

“Uh-mmm-erg” I stumbled, still prominently shaking. My mother entered my bedroom

“I heard you screaming” She whispered. He face was as pale as a dove, make-up stains still etched on her face

“B-bad d-dream” I stuttered. My mother climbed into bed with me, her soothing smell of lavender calming my shaking body. She wrapped her arms around me and stroked my hair

“Was it him again?” she murmured. I nodded

“What did you call him, the Bender-man?” She chuckled

“Slenderman” I whispered.

Even saying his name sent shivers and goose bumps down my body. I had been dreaming about this monster since I was six, always the same thing but in a different location, but still in a dense, haunting forest. For instance, last week I was in a bathroom, a damp, fermented bathroom, with moss and fungus growing from the ceiling, and a single chair placed in the corner. I’ve always had the feeling that I had to look for something. But I never know what. I’m always equipped with one item, an un-reliable torch, with a limited battery. And he’s always there. He can show up whenever he wants, wherever he wants. His blank face-less head and his crisp grey suit. And possibly the most petrifying thing of all, his eight tentacles. He’s seven foot tall, and lurks in shadows of my nightmares, tormenting me until I can’t take it no more.

Slowly, he has destroyed my life. My confidence has been shattered, my paranoia increased. I’m fifteen next month, and I’m still a shaking wreck. Everything that has mattered to me before has lost its meaning. Sleeping has become my phobia. For I know he’ll be there. Watching me, torturing me.