Tall Dark and Deadly: Slender Man’s Latest Victims

‘Payton, if you don’t do it then you’re a chicken,’ the girl taunted as she ran out into the woods, bare feet and bare legs.

Payton ran behind quickly because of course she wasn’t a chicken. Once she had crunched her way through what seemed like miles of hard forest floor she realized the two girls in front of her had stopped, and were just standing there looking at her. She sat where she was, near a fallen tree, and caught her breath before asking ‘what’s next?’. Before she could even look up for a response she felt a sharp pain, two sharp pains, three, four, five sharp pains in her side. She was dying.

Slender Man’s latest victims, the two girls that are ‘accused of trying to kill their classmate in an attempt to please the fictional horror character’ are heading to court this week, and we are oddly excited about it….

Our latest Poshnik news story is particularly interesting, read more here!

 

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She Moves

Everything got so crazy toward the end that she wasn’t even sure …well, she wasn’t really very sure of much at all.

She wasn’t sure what caused that first serious spark of nuclear ignition, she wasn’t sure if whatever it was could be blamed on politics or just humanity in general, and most importantly, to her at least, she wasn’t sure if there would be any long-term survivors after it was all said and done.

What she was sure of was that she had to try to be happy every single day she was still alive, regardless of what her brain was telling her and what the world around her was crumbling into.

She hated not feeling in control, though, as twenty-something-year-olds did, making it that much more difficult to be positive in the most negative of situations. She hated it even more so now that she couldn’t even control the old basics, like her diet regimen or pre-work prep goals, if she wanted to. She hated not knowing what was going to come next, and she really hated not knowing who was still around from her past.

She hated that she couldn’t talk to anyone about it, also. She hated being alone. Death and loneliness, her two greatest fears, right here at her very feet. She really, really hated that.

However, what she hated the most was that urgent feeling like she was forgetting something. Not the feeling like she needed to be somewhere, or that she had something to do (what did she really have to do during a nuclear war?), but literally like she was forgetting something. The feeling was comparable to a distant memory barely grasping onto your mind, one that you have flashes of burning into your head and are terrified to lose, even if they are just nostalgic snapshots of someone else’s life.

Like that fading glimpse she had of the rustic auburn red and orange fall leaves, crackling quickly down the blacktop street when the wind picked them up high in front of a grey sky, and she felt amazing because she knew there would be a cup of hot cocoa and warm family conversations tucked cozily away in her home, with a front row seat view of the leaves from the window.

That was a memory that she was afraid to lose in all of this underground chaos, even though she couldn’t particularly place if that specific event had actually happened to her. The feeling it produced certainly did. It was like a missed connection, only with nostalgia and your own consciousness. It made her think of home, both the place and the person.

Knowing that she was on the verge of a well overthought mental breakdown, she stood up slowly and decided to try to eat something, what she assumed would be the hardest task since she got down here.

Walking over to the pantry door she glanced at her first month’s options: salted pork, canned tomatoes from her and her mother’s garden, a seemingly infinite amount of saltine crackers, and perhaps way too many containers of peanut butter and Oreos. She had the tools to make coffee, to boil water, to try and grow her envelopes of seeds, and to hunt down meat, though she wasn’t sure if either the water or the meat would be wise to eat even after being cooked, she hadn’t been properly taught the after effects of radiation on the environment in her lifetime, ironically.

She had much more toward the back of the closet-like space, like Vienna sausages and Spam, cartons of pre-made eggs, and even a few fresh loaves of bread and yeast to make more. She even had bags of rice as a staple , and bags of potatoes she was willing to try to replant, eating around the sprouts in the meantime. She had only packed the potatoes on a whim of her fiance, the boy from Idaho who needed his potatoes. 

What in the hell was she going to do with all that? She really wished her fiance would have helped with the food prep, instead now she looked as though she turned to Little House on the Prarie era pantry packing (finding salted pork and a burlap sack of rice wasn’t actually that easy, thanks Laura Ingalls).

She remembered one lovely non-ashen day in which her fiance cooked her steaks and baked potatoes and poured drinks of whiskey while she was in her evening class, before they knew they loved each other and before they officially lived together.

Then there was that night where they stood next to each other by the warm stove and made homemade alfredo pasta, only to drink too many bottles of wine and in turn, lose the pasta, in anniversary celebration afterwards.

One of her favorites, one of the most simple food moments, was when he brought her a homemade sandwich and cookie for lunch while she was at work at the office, she could have quit her job and melted into his arms it made her so happy.

The feeling she got just thinking about him made her feel sicker than before, so sick she ran to the makeshift bathroom, instead of the food pantry.

There was no way she was going to be eating anything without him, she had enough mental strength to get her outside and on the hunt for him, she didn’t need physical strength anymore.

She glanced up at the small rectangle of glass she found to make the bunker a shade more normal, a makeshift mirror to figure out whether or not she was pretty enough to go outside and try not to get blown to pieces, searching for some sign of strength in her face that led her to believe she was ready.

What she saw, unfortunately, was herself, yet again, looking blindly to the side and adjusting her hair in the back, paying no mind to the real her waiting for a matching response. She, herself, continued to stare at the girl in the mirror fixing up her ratty tangled hair, losing patience quickly and clearing her throat.

‘Are we ready here? Do you think maybe you can look me in the eyes and we can go do this thing?’
The girl in the mirror stopped what she was doing and smiled delightfully, ‘I thought you’d never ask’.

sex & wildflowers

As she fell back into the bed she tried to remember good things, like…unexpected phone calls from old friends, cool breezes on hot days, fields of wildflowers, and before you even crack your eyes open good-morning sex…
Sex was such a multitude of different things, it was hard to tell whether she wanted him, wanted to feel punished, or just wanted to feel an inkling of pleasure. She always wanted something, she wanted too much mostly. She liked feeling his breath in her ear, she like feeling his hands around her throat, she just liked feeling.  

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Silver Lining

I’m spending my day catching up on Key West attractions in the office at the travel agency, trying to come up with a better fitness plan personally, trying not to think depressing thoughts, and deciding how to kill off all my most beloved characters in the novel.

Hooray for the most Monday-iest Wednesday ever.

Silver Lining: My new camera fucking rocks. 13782004_10154385270199066_1749929547758586147_n.

S[he] Dies

This is a chapter out of my new novel S.h.e. It’s creepy, it’s so close to being real, and it’s what’s in my head daily. Read, enjoy, comment, repeat.


What they didn’t tell you about the fallout is that not only is it terribly dangerous to be moving around above ground in any way, it’s just as dangerous to be sitting underground waiting also, the panic attacks inevitably coming in stronger and stronger waves, crushing your life force just as quickly as breathing in the toxic (maybe, they didn’t even really clarify that) air would.

It was odd, she had waited her whole life for this to happen, in a way, and now that it was happening she really had no idea what to do with herself. After all that thinking, panicking, planning, and fantasizing about this, she couldn’t think of her next move for the life of her (that phrase should be done away with when the world isn’t expecting life after 72 hours).

She was probably more prepared than it seemed though, her brain was just trying to catch up with her environment. She had this bunker that she had obviously survived in, she had an emergency cell phone sort of thing that would allow her to contact help and/or family, and she had a year’s worth of food and water.

She did not have her fiance. She did not have their ‘forever’ life comfortably tucked under her grip. She did not have her sanity. Therefore, she had to leave, she just wasn’t prepared yet.

She also wasn’t prepared for the sounds, the constant screeching, booming, and crying that would follow such an attack.

Have you ever had an experience where you heard a sound so memorable that it almost sticks to your skin, it makes you shudder for weeks afterward because it’s still on you, the vibrations of the sound refusing to melt away, even in your most sweaty effort?

That’s what it was like walking around now, above and below, it was like you were living in a slaughterhouse that caught on fire; you have to live with the unnatural screams of the animals all day and all night long.

She glanced at her emergency ‘phone’, truly a bulkier version of a walkie talkie that allowed her to contact 3 previously programmed numbers of the same phone type, as well as tune into any possible radio frequencies.

She remembered asking her fiance if they should buy one after hearing her father ramble about his, his conspiracy theorist showing in her particularly well that day. He laughed at her at first, then upon seeing she was actually considering it he scrunched up his face in the way that always made her laugh and said ‘if it makes you feel comfortable, do it, just use your own money this time, crazy girl’.

Yeah, she was the crazy one, and yet she was here, alive, and he was…where was he? He had gone to work like normal today, she had called him and told him she was heading here after the sirens, and he said he was on his way. It was that simple, that quick. Where could he possibly be now, after it happened?

Her mind literally refused to go to the obvious option, death, immediate particle destruction upon impact while driving here. Instead she thought; ‘buying ice cream to calm me down’, ‘waiting outside to see how long it takes me to get mad and come look’, ‘helping a hot girl along the way’ because damned if her jealous brain still didn’t latch on to comfortable irrational thoughts even in the midst of this worldwide shitstorm.

So she was crazy.  

A whole hell of a lot that mattered anymore, anyway. The urge she had built up inside to scream, and to cry out of anger at whoever the hell gave her such a great love in her life and then took him away again, literally blew him out of her world like he was nothing, was so strong she choked on it.

She used to think that when this happened it would be so unfair to all the children, all the little newborn babies with peach fuzz blooming like late summer wildflowers on their heads, all the 4 year olds who never learned to ride their bikes because it had rained too much that week, all the 12 year olds who never had a first kiss, even though they dreamed of it being magical and passionate and not at all sloppy, and yet here she was, positive that she had the most unfair situation of them all.

She and he had planned, for so long, their family, their house goals, their …forever together.

And now he was fucking gone, he was destroyed, and she was too destroyed to move.

 

 

See More of Her Here: https://throughdanielleseyes.wordpress.com/2016/06/27/s-h-e/