Friday, February 15, 2013

THE NIGHT BLOGGER: Slim To None part six 'Who Can It Be Now?'

February 14th: Since the disappearance of Gigi (REDACTED) things have only gotten crazier. Some of the surviving members of the Colonie Village Nine have cut off all contact with yours truly, others are checking in with me every few hours or so.

There are three folders on my computer desktop, 'Confirmed Sightings', 'Possible Encounters' and 'Assorted Bullshit'. The first two folders are pretty empty, the third is overflowing with nonsense and possible facts.

A lot of people dismiss the entity as a meme. For those of you that don't know, a meme is defined as an idea that passes from person to person within a culture. That's the Slenderman in a nutshell, an online urban legend sustained by a legion of frustrated writers and struggling filmmakers. 

And that is my problem, how do I know what's real? How do I separate the true-life lousy pictures from the carefully constructed photoshops? Is there a way to tell the difference between a true account and an Alternate Reality Game. 

And how many fucking Youtube videos are there about this guy anyway?

It was inevitable, I suppose, that my punishing schedule of work, online paranormal investigation and InuYasha viewing marathons would catch up with me...

Slim To None
part six
Who Can It Be Now?
Al Bruno III

a noise startled me awake. I had a few moments of not knowing where I was and what the Hell was going on.

Then my backache and eyestrain brought it all back to me. I had fallen asleep at my desk watching a Marble Hornets compilation. 

Oh well, I'd fallen asleep watching worse. I closed my laptop and stood up. When I stretched my back and neck crackled in protest. I had been drooling in my sleep so I dabbed the moisture away on the edge of my sleeve. It was dark in my apartment, the radio alarm clock was turned at just the right angle to keep me from being able to tell what time it was. 

The sound came again, it was a creak. Once I was sure it wasn't coming from my spine I started to look around. The building I lived and worked in was old and full of little noises, it settled and sighed all the time. If that wasn’t enough my boss and landlady Mrs. Vincenzo lives above me so hearing her puttering about is a fairly normal occurrence. And have I told you about the time a family of skunks got into the walls? 

That was one long and stinky week.

But this sound wasn't coming from above or below, this was coming from right outside my apartment door. It was that board on the landing, the squeaky one.

Someone was right outside my door.

Being a total dumb-ass I called out, “Is somebody there?” There was no answer of course and the noise continued. It was like someone was rocking in place.

I held my breath and waited. I switched out the lights, then after a few minutes of sweating in the dark I switched them on again.

In case you’re wondering my door doesn’t have a peephole. I always thought they were for wimps, that’s the same reason I don’t have a welcome mat.


Since I didn’t have any better ideas I called again “I said who’s there?” and instantly hated myself for it.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

This was a stand off in every sense of the word. I let ten minutes pass by before I actually got the nerve up to do something. I tip-toed to the kitchen.

Yeah, now I decided to be stealthy. I should probably have thought of it before I started shouting like every slasher movie victim ever. I got a knife out of the silverware drawer.

Truth be told if my residence had been blessed with a rear exit or a fire escape I would have been halfway down Central Avenue by now. I still hadn’t worked up the nerve to confront whoever might be outside my apartment so I put my ear to the door.

What did I expect to hear? Heavy breathing? Show tunes? Damned if I know but I didn’t hear anything  at all.

The creaking had stopped. I closed my eyes and prayed I’d hear the sound of someone retreating back down the stairs. I waited like that for a while.

When I opened my eyes again, my gaze was drawn to the upper left hand side of the doorway. Something four somethings were slipping between the door and the frame.

Four inhumanly long fingers that curled like smoke...


...but it was all a dream.

Well, either that or I blacked out.

All I know for sure is that I woke up in my bed buried deep under the covers. Yes I did shriek at the sound of my own alarm clock, thanks for asking.

I still don't know if I really saw what I saw or if it was just a dream. On one hand I'm not one for nightmares, after dealing with a vorvolaka you point and laugh at nightmares. On the other hand how did I get from my desk to my bed? I checked the silverware drawer and the knife is still there and my laptop is still open.

It would be so easy to dismiss the whole thing as my subconscious having a little cruel fun with me.

Well, it would be easy if not what I found waiting outside my door. I was heading downstairs for work and nearly tripped over it. It's just a cardboard box, a shoebox probably. It's been carefully wrapped in newspapers that are at least fifteen years old. There are no stamps or delivery labels on it. When I shake the box I hear a soft rattling.

What's in there? I haven't looked, I’m not ready yet. But we all know it sure isn't Valentine's candy.

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