For starters, the slender sickness is real. The thing about it is it affects everyone different. Like you could feel nauseous but your good friend, Bob, could feel achy. But for me, it gave me amnesia, to a degree. See, I had already had problems with my memory. But when it got worse, I thought it was just karma, or stress, or, heaven forbid, God. Those were the only answers I could come up with. You wanna hear some real irony? A boy, raised christian, was now a national headline for media. Every anchor man or womans o****m. But anyway, there was one option that I hadn’t considered, the Slenderman was real, and that he was following me. See, when your on the road, alone, you get to thinking. And the more I thought about it, the more I remembered seeing a guy in a yellow zip up sweater, black jeans, and boots. And my mom did say she saw a pale, bald man in her office that she didn’t recognise. I shook my head, those two things together could’ve been coincidences. But again, the more I thought about it, I did see Slender standing under the power line outside my house, light eerily light by the garage light. And, I lived in the perfect place. We lived on a gravel road outside town, with maybe two cars per night. And that’s not assuming it’s storming out. I kept thinking until my gas gauge started to blink.
” Oh, gettin’ low are you?” I asked my motorcycle. It was midnight, and I was all over the news. So I pulled off onto a dirt road, and stopped about a quarter-mile away from the first house I saw. I shut off my bike, and pulled the keys. I silently approached the garage and entered through the side door and flipped on my flashlight I had stolen a few days ago, and started looking for a gas can. I have always been a scavenger somewhat. Pencils, dimes, other things like that. I found a rusty machete, oil, a five gallon Jerry can, a handgun and bullets to match, and a few vodka bottles and oily rags.
” How convenient.” I whispered. A shoulder bag to hold all the s**t I found. I heard scuffling outside. I reached for my bowie-knife, and slowly pulled it out and went into a kneeling position. The light clicked on and I clicked mine off. A young girl, no older than me walked in, chefs knife next to her face, arm parallel to her body.
I stood, bowie at my side, and spoke gruffly, ” Hold your blade like mine and I would’ve been scared.”
” Who are you,” she squeaked.
” Glitch.” I said. ” And keep that cute ‘Lil mouth of yours shut and I don’t have to kill you. Understand?”
She shook her head yes. And I pushed past her. I heard the door of her house open and close, and a mans voice ask her what she was doing outside. She kept our unspoken promise and said she thought she heard something outside. And they walked inside. I refilled my tank and suddenly got dizzy. I felt a hand on my shoulder and a quiet praise. I turned and looked up, and saw seven feet of horror. Pale, no face, and a black suit and red tie. Then a sort of static and then, nothing. Confused,I sat back on my bike, started it, and got back on the highway. I suddenly felt a pang of pain in my stomach, I hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours. I need to stop somewhere, anywhere, to get a bite to eat. I hid my mask and pulled up to a local drive through. And pulled off my vest. The intercom buzzed and the person on the other end welcomed me and asked me what I would like. I ordered a double cheeseburger with bacon, ketchup, mustard, lettuce, tomato, and a large Pepsi and fries. I got it and ate it and was back on the road in five minutes. It was the best burger I ever shoved down my maw. It was midnight by the time I got out of the town and pulled off into the forest to pitch a tent. I slept for two hours and woke to rustling in my bikes saddlebag. I pulled out my handgun and checked to see if it was loaded. Three bullets, I had to make them count. I opened the flaps and saw a girl in a dirt-stained hoodie and a mask with a slit over the mouth.
” Hey.” I said confidently.
Her head snapped up. Her gaze drifted down, and started laughing.
She pointed at my legs.
” Did you forget something?” she giggled.
“Oh, for f**k sake.” I answered. I forgot to put on my pants.
She got up and handed me a sheet of paper. It was a note. It was asking if I would be willing to help her on occasion. I agreed and she asked me what city I was heading to. I simply answered north.
” Do you even know what state you’re in?” she asked with a cocked head.
” Ugh, duh.” I answered.
” Oh, really,” she asked ” What state?”
” Uh. Poland?” I answered.
“No. I’ll meet you in Seattle.” she said. Turned and sprinted away.
” Hey!” I called to her. She stopped and turned.
” Whats your name?” I asked
” Kate.” she replied.
She darted away. I stood there for about an hour before I ducked back into my tent, pulled on my sweatpants, sat for another half-hour, and pulled out a pocket-size notepad, and jotted down a small note. It read
” get a map ASAP!”
I flipped it shut and laid back down. I got to thinking and remembered my dog, Kota, a miniature pincer/chihuahua mix. I broke down, I cried. I missed her. I started to feel something I never would’ve thought possible. Regret. If I hadn’t almost killed my dad, Kota would still be in my arms. I felt so sorry for her. I cried for two hours. I stayed awake until the sun came up. I tore down the tent, packed up my s**t, and pulled my bike out of the trees and drove off. I rode for an hour before I saw a gas station. I filled up, walked in and asked for a map and got a bag of beef jerky with some water. I found the city I was in. Denver, Colorado. I spotted a woman planting flowers.
” Excuse me? Ma’am?” I called to her.
She turned and looked at me. I motioned with my hand to come to me.
She sighed, stuck her trowel in the dirt, and approached me.
” Can I help you sir?” She asked, annoyed.
” Yes, you can actually,” I replied, gesturing to the burnt trees,”whats their story?”
” A few months ago my husband was killed and the killer took my hatchets, gas, and a box of matches. Set the place on fire.” she explained.
” May I ask who the killer was?” I asked.
She stared at the trees before turning back to me, tearing up.
” Please… Go.” she whispered.
I kicked my bike to life and pulled away.
” Sir?” She called.
I stopped and turned. She told me to wait and went inside. She came out again with a three by four-inch picture and handed it to me.
” His name is Toby.” she told me, tears running down her face, ” If you see him, ask him to come home. Tell him his mother misses him. Please.”
” Will do.” I said.
” That fire you asked about. Toby did that.”
” Thanks.” I replied.
I pulled out my notepad and wrote down what the lady asked me. I drove back to the freeway and prepared myself for my long ride to Seattle.
I made a promise that I intended to keep.
Thanks for reading
Note: I do not own Kate the Chaser or Ticci Toby’s origins or other stories. Those got to their respective owners. Please do not alter Glitchs story. Thank you. And please, give Glitchs motorcycle a name. My favorite one will be chosen for the bike. Again, thanks