Slenderman: Origins

1: The Birthday

He woke up to the sound of fighting. They were arguing about him, he knew it. They always did. Sometimes it was about money, but he cost a lot of money (they'd told him so), and that meant it was his fault. He couldn't hear any words, just the angry rumbling of their voices through the floor. He hid his head under the pillow and counted to a hundred.

When he finished the fighting stopped. A moment later the front door slammed open and then banged shut. The house was quiet. Had he made it happen? It seemed like a kind of magic, and he remembered that it was his birthday; he'd never had a very happy birthday, but maybe this year would be different.

He got out of bed and crept down the long flight of wooden stairs in his pyjamas. He could see his mother in the kitchen. Her back was turned. She was wearing her Sunday dress, the pink one with the bow at the back. Her hair was done up, and she was humming; as far as he knew she'd never hummed in her life.

"Mom?" he said. She turned, beaming.

"Good morning birthday boy!" she said. Her lips were painted red, and the upper part of her eyes a deep green. She looked like a different person. "Dad's gone out, so we're on our own, but look!"

She moved to one side, her arm sweeping in front of the kitchen table. There was a cake there, a real birthday cake with candles and everything. He we dumbstruck; his mouth hung open and he blinked. His mother offered a brittle laugh.

"Well don't just stand there!" she cried, sweeping him up and into a chair. "Let's have some cake!"

"But it's breakfast," he said. "I can't have cake for breakfast." She pretended not to hear him, busying herself with setting out a plate.

"Now blow out the candles dear!" she said. "And don't forget to make a wish!"

He stared at her; the smile she was wearing began to waver. A line appeared at he forehead, the one that showed she was angry. Quickly, without thinking, he blew out the candles. His mother clapped.

"Well done! Now you go ahead and eat your cake."

He took a nervous bite. The frosting was horribly sweet, and he had a hard time swallowing. The line in his mother's forehead deepened.

"What's the matter? Don't you like it?"

"No!" he said. "It's good."

He took another bite and his mother relaxed.

"Good," she said. "Good. Now I'm just going to step out for a minute. You be good and finish your cake."

He nodded. His mother left the kitchen. He watched her put on her shoes and leave the house. He was alone, but he knew if she came back and found the cake untouched he'd be in trouble. The cloying sweetness caused him to gag once or twice, but he kept working. When he was finished he left the kitchen to get changed. He spent the rest of the afternoon in his bedroom, playing with his friend. This was a rag doll he'd found in the woods behind his house. Its eyes were black buttons, the left one literally hanging by a thread. It smelled a little mouldy, and it was dirty and stained, but it was the only friend he had.

Slowly, the afternoon gave way to evening. He grew very hungry, and returned to the kitchen. The only thing in the fridge was leftover pasta. He wasn't allowed to use the stove, so he ate it cold.

Only when it was very dark outside did his father return. He was carrying a large bottle full of brown liquid and he smelled the way he did when he was drunk. The boy kept his eyes down, wishing he was invisible.

"So she really went and left did she?" his father said. The boy was smart enough not to answer. "Well good riddance."

His father got out a fork and started to eat what was left of the cake. White crumbs spilled to the floor.

That was the last time his mother was ever mentioned. The boy never learned where she went, but he knew it was his fault. Whenever he thought of her a taste would rise in the back of his throat, terrible, and sweet as vanilla icing.