Chapter 5: Dream?

I walk through the woods, as my knee practically screams at me every time I try to use it. I'm leaning heavily on my staff, following the red, continuous streak. I yawn, followed by immediate anger from being tired. I hear another scream, more to my left as I run as fast as I can. My heart is aching and my lungs struggling to keep up with me. I keep moving until I find a horrid sight. Alex is hanging over a branch high up in the trees, he's too far up so I can't identify if he's alive or not. What scares me more is that there is a feasting creature against the trunk of another tree. It's wearing what looks like a black cloak. It's certainly not eating anything cooked, evident by a lack of campfire or any cooking surface. I move forward, limping, readying my staff like a spear. It hears me and twitches, then begins to turn to face me. My heart gets floored when I see the creature's face.

It's Michael, but he's no longer himself. He has pieces of his face torn off and he's bleeding from a few remaining open wounds, while the rest have been scabbed over. His skin has developed sores and blisters. His eyes are bloodshot and it looks like his spinal column is damaged, causing him to resort to use his hands as secondary feet. He snarls like a deranged animal at me. I'm not backing down. If he can hear me, I hope he's still alive. Somewhere under all that disgusting flesh, he's my friend. "Michael, is that you?" I ask, still braced for an attack. The man I once knew as Michael growls at me. I have no idea his vocal cord condition, so, he might be alive, I have no idea. "I will put you out of your misery, Michael." I say, preparing to swing at the creature. I feel a direct cold chill across my back as I turn around to see nothing. Michael jumps on my back, attempting to claw at my back, but only managing to scratch the back of my hoodie open. I throw him off, scurrying for my staff. I turn to face Michael running at me, I charge my swing and with one extreme swoosh, I knock his head clean of his neck. His body squirts blood from his neck, then slowly collapses. I collapse into a sitting position for a second, realizing I just killed a friend.

After a few tears shed themselves from my eyes, I notice something amongst Michael's remains. In his cloak, is three pages. I take them out, investigating each of them. Two I recognize instantly as the ones from my room. Another has the words, "Don't look or it takes you" written in equally terrible handwriting as the others, however with no drawing, unlike the others. I fold all of them up and stuff them in my pocket to take back to my house. I wonder why Michael took the pages from the house. A drop of something lands on my shoulder, catching my attention, I look up, realizing Alex is still hanging. As much as I hate climbing up unsteady branches on a rickety tree in the dark of the forest, it's for Alex. He isn't incredibly high off the ground, so I could drop him and he shouldn't break any bones. I climb higher and higher as my leg fatigue catches up with me, slowing me down significantly. I reach a few branches prior to Alex's, about ten or so feet off the ground. I reach up, pushing against Alex's body. It rolls like a basketball off the branch, landing with a meaty slam against the forest floor. I make my way down the tree, softly filled with hope for Alex possibly being alive.

I climb off the tree and grab my staff, limping over to him on the ground. I crouch down near him, checking his pulse. No pulse; shit. I begin CPR, as I realize his chest feels like a pillow, rather than a ribcage and organs. Out of the blue, while I perform CPR, he starts laughing. I get startled and crawl away from his carcass. His eyes are pure white, the pupils too. While laughing his mouth begins to seep maggots and spiders. I feel my insides twisting, ready to throw up any remaining liquid in my body. His laughing continues as he pulls up his shirt, revealing tons of hay, grass, and mud with hundreds of bugs crawling around, in and out of the disgusting pile. There's no bones, or organs or anything, but, he's laughing like nothing's wrong. I suppress my urge to vomit up my own organs, swallowing with disgust as Alex slowly stops laughing and begins speaking, "He was hungry. Don't worry, 'he' will find you. He will save you, like me." And with that, his head smacks back down against the ground, his eyes closing. The pile of mud spills apart like an unsecured pile of pudding. I feel a presence behind me, then a cold chill nearing my head, I quickly spin, as I'm met with nothing. I investigate this horrid mess, not touching anything, but observing closely. The mess Michael was eating was human insides. I vomit when an insect around the size of my head wanders out from behind the tree and drags a piece of flesh out of my view. Wiping my mouth, I hear tree branches crack behind me, as I quickly look in the direction of said noise. I notice a page on a tree near the disgusting mess that was two of my friends. I walk over to it. It has blood on it, not sure who's, but the words are, yet again different. This page says, "Leave me alone" in the same terrible font as the others.

I begin hearing a noise I can't identify, as I spin to try and look for it's origin. I begin walking forwards, towards where I think my house is. Unfortunately, the noise follows me, it's an irritating droning noise. I walk faster, for fear of what is making the noise. I slow down, as the noise slowly fades. I breathe heavily, before hearing the noise directly behind me. It's the same droning sound, a perfectly quiet C-flat, with small inhaling and exhaling noises. I slowly turn, as The Man is standing mere inches from my face. His face is still blank and causing my body to be completely cold. I blink repeatedly and he doesn't vanish. I shudder, before taking a step backwards. He doesn't move. His head tracks my eye movement. Out of pure curiousity I reach out towards his face with my left hand. My mind begins to get hazy as if fog has covered my primary thought process. I feel dizzy and lightheaded when, The Man leans forwards; a mere two or three inches from my hand, face opening like a cracked egg, his mouth a pure black void, and bites my index and middle fingers off my left hand, like a hot knife through butter. I scream in terror, falling down and crawling away from him, as blood runs down his white face. He looks at me, then vanishes once I blink again.

"I quickly get up, grab my staff and stumble my way through the woods at top speed. "What the hell just happened?" I wonder to myself, sprinting towards somewhere. I'm shaking from blood loss, staring at my remaining three fingers on my left hand. I've never had to patch up missing pieces from humans before, so I might need to return to the hospital, if I could ever find my house again, that is. I ponder my survival, concerned for my open wounds, where my fingers used to be. My heart is pounding in my ears like a drum. Suddenly, it goes silent, and that's how I ended up here, presumably. I don't know." I tell the man in a suit across the metal table. My handcuffs clinking against the table, reverberating in the white room. "That's all for now. Thank you for your input." The man says, getting up from the table, and walking away, his shoes clicking against the concrete ground. I know I'm in some insane asylum because I've heard screaming, I've heard whispering, and there is a large black one sided window in this room. I'm wearing a white jumper, with food that comes in every once and while. I know the experience with, what these people call, Slenderman was real because I'm still missing my two fingers and they have shown me photographic evidence of "Slenderman". I sense I won't be here for much longer, but I am unsure wether or not it'll be of my own doing or not. They don't believe I'm dangerous, or at least not entirely, because I've been given metal silverware with every dish, which is usually just oatmeal or hash or something.

Later that "evening", I lie down to relax, as my mind drifts across the past. I'm not sure how long I've been here, but I feel like I've been here for years. I hate these dry, colorless walls. I am no longer chubby, I'm almost entirely slim. A few of my muscles still remain, but not much. They aren't the friendliest bunch, the suit-wearing dweebs, that come in to get my story every few months. Or weeks. It's hard to tell how long each gap is.