Sunday, July 1, 2012


"I'm a wreck, and I know it,
And I tend to show it every chance that I get.
Butterflies in the skies,
They just fly on by. Yeah, they're making me sick.
They don't flutter about;
I'd do without.
All they do is kick."

I remember standing very still, in a shaft of sunlight that pierced down through the tree branches that netted together above me. The sunlight was the safe spot, the one place where there was silence - the right sort of silence, the kind that didn't smother, but cradled. When I pressed my hand against the edge of the shaft, where light met shadow, there was a moment's resistance, the slightest amount of force that pressed back, and

there was a small tune on the wind, like the tinkling of bells.

All I've done since is follow the sound.

I'm able to follow the sound.

In all the stories, there's been a pattern. Victims come and go, but their actions, their reactions, are so similar as to be circumstantially simultaneous. Everyone does the same thing when placed into this situation because there's only one thing we can do that makes sense.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

You tell someone about it. Whether it's someone you know or a total stranger, or even just a page in a diary, when what's real becomes undefined, you need to solidify something.

However, there are different types of people in the world, who all have quite different reactions to your reaction, usually varyingly informed about the subject.

There are people out there who know about this, yet do nothing.

There are people out there who know nothing at all, yet feel compelled to help anyway.

There are people who will do their research before they dive in.

There are people who know nothing and assume it's all lies, and wouldn't be much inclined to help anyway.

And... I can't help but wonder about that last group. The parents who assume that their children just have vivid (and curiously identical) imaginations. The psychologists who put down their patients' fears to paranoia and schizophrenia. The investigators who can find no proof of anything but suicide, and do not pursue the matter further.

Especially the investigators, the police officers, the whole law-enforcement institution.

And in all the stories, there's been a pattern.

This whole mess has been left a secret for so long. A shamefully obvious, poorly guarded, yet nigh-unanimously agreed upon secret. We fear infection, imprisonment, or an even shorter version of our already drastically shortened lifespans.

Yet... from an objective standpoint, the first fear seems fundamentally untrue. True, the number of victims is growing, but compared to the tens of thousands of people who know about the Slender Man and remain uninfected, I can't help but wonder how much of it is really due to simple exposure and how much is due to some intrinsic quality about the stalked themselves - especially when it's a documented fact that the beast deliberately hunts down adults who somehow got away as children. Are we marked from birth? Would things have been different if we never clicked that link, never met that person, never opened that window on that one dark night? We can't know.

The other two are common fears of anyone on the run from virtually anything. And this is because there are other forces, human forces, who oppose us. People in the government, who want to keep this quiet. Yet where does our knowledge of these people and organizations come from? From people whose word is not exactly gold.

I'm not saying the reports are false, oh no. I believe there are powerful people in the world who conspire to keep things out of the news and under the rug, either for the benefit of many or for the benefit of a few. My point, rather, is that such people are always in positions of authority. Pretty high up on the food chain, if you will. Never the people at the bottom, never the ones who actually investigate the matter when disappearances pile up on their desks. They are the ones who interact with the hunted, but know nothing about any of this, and they are the ones who assume imagination, insanity, and suicide. They are the ones who let the matter rest, when it seems like it has come to an end.

But what if this were not the case? What if these people, these bottom-rung civil servants, actually recognized the signs when they saw them? Not in the sense that they knew everything, but that they simply... recognized something. The words SEES ME. A tensor symbol. Drawings of trees. Something to make them just the slightest bit hesitant to make that final call to close the case.

Maybe a random coworker left a picture of a tree with eyes on his desk one morning. As a joke. No one thinks anything of it, no one pursues it. But it is now a thing that exists, for him. And the ability to inspire recall is a powerful thing.

True change never starts at the top.

I can't be the first person to have thought of this. Operator symbols wouldn't have spread as far as they have if I was.

I know I'm not the first person to have thought of this. It's been on my mind since a lawyer named Adam showed up on the blogs, just over a year ago, and reminded me that government assistance is not a one-way street.

Michelle's brother Steven pretty much solidified the idea for me. He wouldn't have vanished so abruptly if he wasn't onto something.

Now, admittedly, my head has not been in the best shape lately, so I'd like some opinions on this matter. Naturally, this will not be a strictly democratic decision, because there are some of you out there whose judgement I trust even less than my own at the moment, so the overall decision will still be left up to me. Nevertheless, however, outside input is valued. This isn't a move to be taken lightly and I know this. Don't think I don't know the risks.

Regardless, there's no reason to waste time, at least for now. So I'm going photo-hunting tonight.

Hey. Wanna know how to not be accused of doctoring photos?

Use a polaroid instant film camera.


  1. a mind's eye sees what the eyes mind seeing. framing what's periphery, especially to those untouched, won't encourage inquiry. or their inquiry won't matter, if they aren't lionized in its eyeless sight as our kind are.

    roots enjoy teeny spaces, where wedging awaits. our acquaintance has enough gaps already with blogger's online material. these photos may open more doors for it, not us.

    1. Literally only the last sentence made any sense, and I'm pretty good ad deciphering bullshit like that. Maybe I just need more sleep first.

      As mentioned, I'm no longer convinced that infection is that easy, but I'll keep it in mind. So long as you keep in mind that I plan to be extremely subtle about this, should I go through with it. Also, I'm not trying to encourage inquiry, not really. Just hesitation. A greater likelihood to believe the impossible and doubt those who try to hide it.

      It is a very narrow target reaction, I'll admit.

    2. apologies. that first sentence makes absolutely no sense; it should be "a mind's eye sees nothing eyes mind seeing". sleep's blessing withheld. penitence for bed-sinners rife with aphorisms.

      what's relevant is it seeing you. you can see it in all shapes and forms: as the Black King, as my specter TV, as the Gentleman, as the Duke, as the Beast, and if it does not see you, why care? if tens of thousands know of its nature and are not seen, why would they help us now? what reason do they have for involvement? there's a maddening pattern of madness that checkers the thin road, lockstep in its progression. walk the path enough and eyes lull to its hypnosis.

      what are our qualities, anyway? us lionized by notice, housecat-timid in exposure to a real monster? a deep terror? what unites us who are actively stalked? how do we diminish our fold? no one should be forcibly initiated into our congregation, subservient to Eye-Tee (its shape, in a sense, stacked one on the other), tithing sanity and life for escape chances. what if this recall triggers its attention? or a plunging introduction to a world of death-filth and love-burns.

      what if, what if, what if.

  2. As a psychiatrist who refused to believe at first before actually encountering the thing I refused to believe in?

    We assume the victim is mistaken or hallucinating or lying simply because we cannot conceive that they are telling us the truth. A faceless monster? That something your child tells you is hiding under their bed or in their closet. That's not something that "normal" adults believe in or they are punished by society.

    Have you heard of the minimisation? It's a type of denial, where a person won't outright deny something never happened (usually because they can't), but they will rationalize it. They will minimize their guilt or the importance of the event.

    I believe that most adults use minimisation when it comes to the Slender Man. They can't outright deny something happened, but they rationalize it away with "it was a hallucination" or "he was just crazy." When confronted with evidence, they assume it's faked; they rationalize everything in a way so that their world can stay "normal," so that everything will make sense.

    Because, if I'm being honest, the Slender Man? Doesn't make any sense. It doesn't obey any natural laws, it's behavior doesn't fit any pattern, different people even describe seeing it different ways. There is nothing about that makes sense.

    So we rationalize; we distort; we lie to ourselves to make it all better.

    Until we are confronted with the truth. And then we wake up.

    1. I can't help but think that it's more difficult to rationalize with that small nagging doubt in the back of your head. The lie is made too obvious to really believe it.

      Though in this case, I wouldn't say rationalization would be necessary, at this point. Just recall, as I said.

  3. And now you've got me sitting here wondering if that's why they stopped making film for those things....

  4. You can try and try to convince people, but I'm not sure they won't just pretend everything's fine until the monster is staring them right in the face.

    But good luck in your endeavor. I truly hope it works out.

  5. I guarantee you, even pictures from a Polaroid instant film camera can be faked. Anything can be faked.

    For proof, let me just point you towards the Cottingley Fairies.