Slenderman Is Real (Alternate Version)
Uploader's note: This is an edited version of Slenderman Is Real by HakubiLee, which dates back to October 9, 2012.
The following is a short-lived research project on Slenderman...
...
There are woodcuts dated back to the 16th century in Germany featuring a tall, disfigured man with only white spheres where his eyes should be and with the operator symbol associated either nearby or on the figure itself. They called him "Der Großmann"[Sic], the tall man. He was a fairy who lived in the Black Forest. Bad children who crept into the woods at night would be chased by the slender man, and he wouldn't leave them alone until he caught them, or the child told the parents what he or she had done.
There is an odd connection between German woodcuts, Renaisaance art, and other pieces from the 15th and 16th centuries, and that is the hourglass.
From "Der Ritter", the second Freckenburg woodcut, Hans' Baldung's "Three Ages of Woman and Death".
Even then, there is this chilling account from an old journal, dating around 1702:
(Translated from German, some words may be inaccurate)
"My child, my Lars...He is gone. Taken, from his bed. The only thing that we found was a scrap of black clothing. It feels like cotton, but it is softer...thicker. Lars came into my bedroom yesterday, screaming at the top of his lungs that "The angel is outside!", I asked him what he was talking about, and he told me some nonsense fairy story about Der Großmann. He said he went into the groves by our village and found one of my cows dead, hanging from a tree. I thought nothing of it at first...But now, he is gone. We must find Lars, and my family must leave before we are killed. I am sorry my son...I should have listened. May God forgive me."
(Another one but this is actually from a book)
So once the Slender Man began popping up in this thread, I could have sworn something about it seemed familiar. I'm an amateur folklorist, so I had a few source books lying around. It took me a while, but I finally found something in W.K. McNeil's Ghost Stories of the American South. Most of the tales collected are transcripts of recordings other folklorists made, but McNeil compiles them and offers notes. A really handy book. So anyway, this particular story appears in the book's seventh section, "Other Supernatural Creatures."
quote:
Well, I’ll you, when I was younger, a cousin of mine came to live with us. He was older than me and my sisters—maybe sixteen or seventeen—and we was the only folks he had left in the world, really. And he was the awfullest liar you’d ever know, anything he’d tell you was a lie, almost. I liked him all right. We slept in a loft during the summer because it was cooler up there, me and him, and in the winters we slept on the floor closer to the stove. My sisters had their own room.
So one night my cousin wakes me up by punching me in the shoulder, and it’s summer so we’re up in the loft, and my first thought when he wakes me up is to just push him out, because I’m not happy at being waked up, you know? But before I can say anything he puts his hand over my mouth and even though it’s dark I can hear that he’s scared. “Listen,” he says, and so I listen real careful. It’s this scratching, like something on the roof, and the roof is right over our heads, mind you, ‘cause we’re in the loft. I was a trifle rattled, but I wasn’t having none of it. “So?” I says to him. “It’s just some raccoon or a cat.”
“No,” says John, “I heard it before I waked you up, it’s like footsteps, like someone’s walking up there.” I wasn’t taking no truck with that, I told you he was the awfullest liar. So I went back to sleep, but the next day my cousin tried to tell Pap about it, and Pap wasn’t having no truck with it, either. But one night later on, while we was all having supper, Pap sent out my youngest sister to fetch water from the pump we had in the back. After a while we heard Lily scream, and it was Ma who got up first, and then Pap. The rest of us stayed at the table because we was like to get in trouble if Lily was hurt and we was there to gloat. Soon enough, though, we heard Pap and Ma shouting too, so me and John went out to see if they needed our help. All they had was the water pail Lily carried out, and there wasn’t no other sign of her.At first I didn’t understand what was going on, with both Ma and Pap shouting, and by that time my other sisters come out and they started crying, and my cousin was just standing there in the yard looking off toward something.
“It’s the man walking yonder!” he yells, and he’s pointing out across the field. No one’s listening to him but me,
and he keeps saying it: “It’s the man walking yonder! It’s the man walking yonder!”
You already know it was suppertime, so you know the sun was setting and it was hard to see. But when I looked out over that field at the back of the house, the whole thing was lit up orange, and there was a row of big black trees that was the edge of the woods, you know? And I swear to you that I saw one of them trees moving, like a man walking away. But it couldn’t have been a man, ‘cause there ain’t no man that tall and skinny.
Pap seen it, too, I think. He took us inside and locked all the doors, and he made us keep still while he got out his rifle. We waited like that all night, Ma crying the whole time. When the sun come up we took a wagon into town and told folks what happened, though as I recall nothing much came of it. John ran off a few weeks later, and we got a new house closer to the mill where Pap worked. I still can’t manage to look at trees during sunset though, especially not on windy days when they all move back and forth, like a man walking away.]
...
From what I've read so far, and based on various internet memes(hahaha right?) and other sites debating Slenderman, he operates on the the power of belief, and feeds on fear. As for the operator symbol(for fear of my safety, I wont write it, or even draw it), there are many debates as to what it is and how it's connected to "slendy". Some say that when your looking at him, Slenderman can teleport, so the operator symbol is a representation of him, bore into the minds of those haunted by him, so that he can teleport to them wherever they are. Some say it represents his face, the circle being his head, and the x representing it's featureless face. One far fetched theory states that it's a window he uses to pear into our world. This is one of my favorite quotes: "There's another way of looking at it. Perhaps it doesn't actually mean anything - you ascribe the meaning to it. Since you are familiar with the mythos, seeing makes you think of Slenderman. And since Slenderman operates on the power of belief, it turns it into a sort of memetic thought weapon."
Eye-Witness Account #1
I'm done researching, I cant stand this feeling. I'm really paranoid and feel as if I'm being watched. This was a short-lived research project, but i don't want to know anymore. From what I've read he exists based on belief. If that's so, my research may provoke him. I started all of this because I was watching Marble Hornets Videos after someone had mentioned them in a Facebook post and piqued my curiosity, and they made me remember something that happened a few years ago. Something I've tried so hard to forget. I was sleeping, and at the time, my bed faced parallel with my hallway. I awoke one night, after everyone was asleep in my house. I was staring at the top of my bed(I had a bunk bed I shared with my little brother and I was on the bottom) and I had the this unnerving feeling in my stomach. I felt as if something was watching me. And it almost felt as if it was in my hallway. So, being an inquisitive little kid, I unwillingly turned my head to look. Thinking back, I wish I hadn't. There was something tall and dark standing there, staring at me. It was dark, so none of it's features we're clear, but I could make out it's silhouette. It was a tall, thin figure, that just stood there, staring at me. I tried to scream, but no noise came from my throat. Immediately afterwards the thing took a step forwards and I blacked out. When I came to again, it was still dark, so not much time could have passed, and after an unwilling glance down my hall, I saw that it was gone. I had no idea what Slenderman was at the time, so immediately dismissed it as a ghost of some sort. I know for a fact that it wasn't a dream, because everything was too real, the fear i felt, the choking sensation in my throat as I tried to scream, and blacking out, I can't describe what it felt like, other than that one second i was petrified and trying to scream, and the next I was staring at the top of my bed again.
The next morning I told my mom, and being a narrow mined adult, she told me that it must have been a bad dream. But watching those videos brought back that memory, and after reading up on them, I want to bury that memory, because if what they say is true, then he lives on belief and fear. I wish I could say that this is just another creepy pasta some sleep-deprived teen had sudden inspiration to write after downing a can of Monster and reading too many scary memes. I wish I could tell you that I'm making this all up to give some creepypasta lovers a good scare, but I can't. Everything I've written is true, and honestly I don't care if anyone believes me. I just want to get this out there. Slenderman is real, I've seen him. And I give this one bit of advice to anyone else that has seen him, or wants to be brave and go and find him. DON'T. I got lucky because I was able to get rid of that memory and not think about it. But others may not be that lucky. So I leave you with this: Slenderman is real. Don't go looking for him, and if you do see him, forget you ever did. "Those who stare into the abyss eventually find the abyss staring back."
Eye-Witness Account #2
Hi.
I...I'm not so sure where to start, but I suppose I should start with the apects of my that would make you disbelieve me so that my tale would dismiss your thoughts of doubt.
I am a schizophrenic with depression and MPD/DID disorder. I've been to the hospital a few times in my life for attempts at taking my life, or not being able to handle it all. My parents say that the conditions have been present in me ever since I was just old enough to develope a sort of tangible personality. I have journals from my youth with the operator symbol on it, like how some people find it to be theraputic to draw circles or hearts everywhere, I find it theraputic to draw operator symbols.
And you know what? It's alright.
Now, my saying of 'alright' is fairly subjective and a very inaccurrate term. Allow me to go back to my childhood.
Besides the strange drawing of operator symbols, I had this imaginary friend as a child. No, it was not a tall, faceless man in a business suit. It was a tall black figure. I was born blind, and it took a long time for me to begin to see again, so most things weren't very clear so I've a theory now of it being the Slender Man or something like that. I wasn't ever threatened, he was neither friendly nor creepy. He simply was what he was—there. Mind you, most people even at that age would be creeped out by a tall black thing (oh, that makes me think racist thoughts, haha) just being there, but remember that I am both schizophrenic and MPD/DID. Strange beings hanging out in the corner of the room or my mind is actually fairly normal for me. But there was something special about this one. I named him 'Blackeoso.'
As I grew older, I soon forgot about the tall figure in the black, and my vision slowly improved. Many years passed and my grandmother asked me one day where Blackeoso had gone off to. I said, "To Florida!"
Years after that, my grandmother recounts that night. The only reason she remembered it in a flash of memory when I was chatting with her was because I said, "I was such an imaginative child." My grandmother said that she remembers that night chillingly for I, at a young age, was far too young to even know of a place such as Florida. She repressed a memory, she says, of what had to be Blackeoso leaving through the front door. Remember, she hadn't thought of this event until ten years later when she was reminded of it.
Ten years after the day I said that, she was living in Florida. I essentially predicted her moving to Florida.
Moving back to my childhood—about fourth or fifth grade at this time—I was always the oddball. Not as you might think, though. I was the spazz, the energetic one, the friendly one. This was in fact because of my intense case of ADHD even as a little girl, but regardless...I was still the oddball. At this time, my vision was fine, and actually reached the peak of it's life. Still, I had this "imaginary friend" that I didn't really talk about. I mean, c'mon. I was in fourth or fifth grade, how embarassing!
Once a teacher had said something negative about the fact that I had an "imaginary friend." She ended up quitting within the week. I actually went to Yates Mill Elementary School, fifth grade class of 2007.
The most notable occurance with "Blackeoso" and I was with my father. My father was a drunk man and a horrible dad. He would kick my dog—my dog—with his construction worker boots on regularly. I would just stand there and watch. Sometimes "Blackeoso" would be there, too.
Eventually, there would come the day when my father would go too far with my beloved dog. I remember the blood, the blood was real. More real than any blood I'd seen before that. Blood from steaks was about the extent of what I'd seen before in terms of blood. But now, the blood would splatter onto the wall and window behind the dog after every kick.
A wet thump with a soggy crack; a whelp. Blood on the wall, dripping down the window; my sister, three years older than I, crying and screaming. Inside me, the characters tried to protect me, as they always did, but I watched. I watched that man spraying blood on the wall and the window; I watched my father's violence; I watched my father's drunken habits; I watched him breaking my dog. MY dog!
Aye, my old friend came back to me then.
My sister, broken and sobbing, no longer focusing on the mutt, curled beneath the round table. My step-mother screamed and backed into the small kitchen, screaming,
"Brian!"
My father, in his rage, turned around red in the face and seething.
"What could you want now, woman?!"
Then, he stopped. Dear Blackeoso, dear Slendy! Slenderman, better of a father than that man ever shall be...the Operator, through his murderous tendancies and the strange dreamscape of a world he allowed me to roam...Slenderman became.
Slenderman...I don't like that name for him. I don't call him Blackeoso anymore, either. He's not Der Ritter, nor the Operator, or even Slendy as a loving child might call someone she was quite fond of. I don't have a name that I call him. I have names I refer to him as when talking about him, as rarely as I do, but he does not speak and thus does not speak a name for me, so why should I for him?
And so, Der Ritter, in all his silent power, slid forward from my own imagination, materializing as a being of true value in my world. The Operator, finally becoming something more than just a companion or a piece of my imagination. Now, others saw him too as he moved to tower over the Monster of my father, but only for a moment. Now, my sister and step-mother were seemingly asleep. It was just me, my dog, my father, and the one you call Slenderman.
My dog survived that night and my sister and step-mother seem to only have enough memory of the event to recall it as a distant memory of a dream. My father, though, will not talk about it.
Slendy had saved what was dear to me. He terrorized my father and sodomized the bastard (note, he later ends up hitting me for being lesbian.)
Slenderman still visists me. All I have to do it draw on my black wall.
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