The Slender Man

“Again Barbara, it was only a nightmare. Relax, close your eyes, remember. And tell me what you see.”

Strapped to a chair, she looked to her leather restraints, tightly holding her wrists and ankles to the arms and legs of the wooden furniture piece. Wiggling, trying to escape, it was to no avail, the straps giving no slack, diminishing all hope of release.

She sat, or rather, was forced to sit, alone in a dimly lit room, the only thing differing from the dark brown paint walls was the door positioned directly in front of her, the paint chipped everywhere, the door in terrible disrepair. Screaming, her voice was heard by no one but her, leaving her in a frantic state, panicked, wanting to know what was going on, and who had done this to her.

Feeling her baby kick in her stomach, she was only weeks away from finally holding what the doctors had said would be a baby boy. He was going to be her first child, and the situation she was in, restrained against her will in a room that she knew not how she had arrived, she worried more so about her unborn child then she did herself.

“What do you want from me?!” She yelled over and over again, hot tears streaking her cheeks, the words becoming a struggle to get out past the sobs. “What do you want from me?!” With no answer, no response from anyone or anything, the panic only rose in her. She wanted to move a hand to her stomach, feel her baby’s kick, reassure herself he was going to be okay.

Hearing a faint noise, she looked to the door in front of her, the knob beginning to turn slowly. Her breath caught in her throat, she waited to finally see her captor, to see who would dare lock her up, dare harm her or worse, her baby.

The door opened completely, and wide eyed, she was shocked. Who, or what was he? Walking in, pushing a metal cart with two things on it, an old vinyl player and a worn-leather doctor’s bag, a man, or what she guessed was a man, walked in wearing a black suit, black tie, white under shirt, and black fedora.

She guessed he was a man, fore he had no face. No facial features of any kind, no ears, no nose, no mouth or eyes. And his skin, looked like candle wax, yellowed with age, melted and shaped to resemble a man, only, without any facial features. That part scared her more so than just his presence. He walked like he could see, looked right at her as he stopped the cart next to her. Just looking at her with eyes he didn’t have.

Pushing the brim of the fedora up with a gloved hand, the man, tall and sickly slender just kept eyelessly staring at her, pulling one glove off at a time, revealing fingers made too from the yellowed candle wax, nails, blackened and long, coming to points like they were filed that way.

“Who are you!?” she yelled at him, or it. “What do you want from me?!” Yelling, it was almost to no use other than self gratification, the man not having a mouth to respond anyways. Just staring at her, letting her get it out, he allowed her to scream what she had to, exhausting herself from her pointless efforts. “Answer me you bastard!? Say something, do something?! WHY!?”

Pulling, tugging at the straps that still held her, she was trapped, not going to escape the bonds, and her captor, the strange man that just stood before her, frightened her so. Tired, catching her breath, angry, she wanted to attack him, escape and keep her baby safe. Safe from whatever the man had planned to do.

“Why?” she whispered, again crying, giving up in her attempts to escape, giving up a majority of hope for anything other than some sort of pain that the man had ready to deliver to her. Looking into his featureless face, she knew not what he was, nor did she care to know.

Raising his index finger to where his lips should have been, making the motion for her to “shhh”, be silent, the man rotated the handle on the vinyl player, the record beginning to spin. Lifting the needle from its rest, he slowly lowered it down onto the spinning record, careful to not scratch or damage the disc. From the speaker horn began to play music, first just crackles, then the softly growing instruments and vocals.

Tip Toe, through the window.

To the window.

That is where I’ll be.

Swaying his head to the music, patting his foot in rhythm to the song, the man undid the clasp holding the doctor’s bag closed. Opening it, wiggling his fingers, getting them stretched out, he turned his attention to her.

Lifting her shirt, resting in on the top of her exposed, large belly, he ran his hand over her skin, his feel so cold to the touch. Stopping, he could feel the baby kicking. Gently scratching that spot, much like a person would scratch behind a dog’s ear to please them, he pulled away, returning to the contents inside the bag.

Oh, Tiptoe from the garden.

By the Garden of the willow tree.

Reaching inside, pulling out a scalpel, he examined it without eyes, looking at it in the dim light that came from the ceiling. Satisfied, his attention was again returned to her, the scalpel held with the expertise of a trained surgeon. Placing his hand on her belly where the baby’s kick had been felt, his face was towards hers as she pleaded with him to stop.

“You don’t have to do this,” she begged. “Please, please, please. You don’t have to do this. Stop. You don’t have to do this… PLEASE! LEAVE MY BABY ALONE!” Shaking, pulling with all her might to get free, she was only hurting herself, the straps not daring to give way to her pleas of release.

Still tapping his foot to the song, swaying to the music, he raised the scalpel high, preparing to make the first cut, and then, in the blink of an eye, his hand moved, the blade slicing through her flesh, cutting from one side of her belly to the next before she even felt it.

Spilling forth, blood, amniotic fluid and of course her child. Catching it with one hand, the other setting the scalpel down on the metal cart with a light CLANK, the man without looking reached into the bag, pulling out a large pair of metal scissors. Snipping the umbilical cord, he set the scissors with the scalpel to hold the child in both hands.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” She screamed, the shock and pain from the incision making it difficult to stay conscious, but she found a way. “Give me my baby! GIVE ME MY BABY!!”

Ignoring her, just playfully shaking his head in front of the motionless, blood covered baby, the slender man finally turned to her, head tilted to the side in either aggravation or confusion. Slipping into the room by itself, an all black stroller, the wheels creaking and squeaking as it rolled to a stop by the man. Setting the baby, down inside, tickling its stomach one last time with a pointed nail, he went back to finish his work, reaching into the bag once again as the stroller, by itself, wheeled out of the room.

Will you pardon me?

And tiptoe through the tulips with me?

Pulling a needle and stitching from the bag, moving quickly, the man stitched up the incision, closing the wound, faster than any surgeon could, or safely would have. Pulling his gloves back on, putting all his tools away, closing the bag, she, half conscious just watched him, staying silent, though it would have been difficult to find any way in her to speak at all.

Wheeling the metal cart back out of the room, the music still playing, coming to its close, ending just as he began to close the door, he left her tired, dying, and all alone in the room. Taking one last look back at her, he tipped his hat in farewell, slamming the door shut, leaving her to her bonded isolation.

 

“Is that everything Barbara? Is that everything that you remember?”

“You fucking fool! You took my baby! It wasn’t a nightmare, it was god damn real. That thing, that bastard took my baby!”  Feeling her stomach, there was no kick, the stillborn baby having been delivered months before, two weeks after she had awoke in a pool of blood next to her husband.

“IT was only a nightmare Barbara. It was only a nightmare.” The same thing he had told her before, and the same thing he would tell her again and again. “Come, let’s go outside, let’s get some fresh air.”

 

Tip toe through the tulips with me…