"The world is a very scary place, my dear
It's hurled and it's twirled through outer space, I fear."
– The Gothic Archies, "The World Is A Very Scary Place"
And truer words were never spoken, particularly in the Slenderverse and in Creepypasta in general. That world is genuinely terrifying. It's full of things that want to kidnap you, hurt you, kill you, steal your skin, and otherwise ruin or end your life. Madness, death, decay, and destruction. Even if we're just talking the Slenderman itself, there's a ton of different ways for it to harm you – impalement, organ removal, mental manipulation, memory erasure, tearing you apart, eating you alive, ensuring you're never seen again, and the list goes on, and on, and on.
But it's not the only scary thing in its 'verse. In fact, there's something else I'd argue is just as scary, something just as dangerous. Something that, unlike the Slenderman, actually exists, and walks amongst us right now, screeching in infinite noise. I wanted to explore the fear behind that, taking it from a different perspective. So yes, this is yet another fanfiction with a non-traditional Slenderman in it. I promise, straight-played Slenderstories will come soon, but for now I hope you enjoy this. :)
Someone help me. They're everywhere.
Swarming, teeming, breeding out of control, like insects.
I never wanted it to be this way. I never could have expected they would grow to be this strong, not when they lacked so much in defense – no claws, no teeth, no fangs, not even thick hide. I never could have predicted they would become so powerful. Not like this.
But they did. Oh, they did. Slowly, bit by bit, I watched their little congregations grow, their small hives of hundreds, and saw them expand to a thousand, a million or more. The infestation has spread so far, so fast. There must be billions of them all over this planet by now.
And with them come the noise.
Oh, the noise, that awful, terrible noise. They're absolutely surrounded by it, it's as much a part of them as their flesh is. They cocoon themselves in it, always chattering amongst themselves in awful, high-pitched tones, and always doing so in groups, only increasing the painful decibels. They stick in small bands of their kind, that terribly small being with tiny white teeth and far too little fur for any normal mammal to have…
The noise hurts. Why, why does it hurt? I do not understand…
Their faces… their faces are the worst. So very many faces of their kind I've seen, with wide eyes that blink constantly and broad, pink tongues. The sounds escaping their tiny maws, set into hairless flesh, are as incomprehensible as they are excruciatingly loud. I… do not understand how they have grown so numerous, or why they come so near to my home, but they come, sometimes alone, sometimes with others, and at all hours. Always bringing noise and confusion with them, always too curious for their own good.
And so I try to scare them off, or else hide deeper within my sanctuary. I am forced to as they pave my floor and remove ever more of my scaffolding and camouflage to create their own dwellings. Why do they take from me? What do they want? I am slowly losing ground and soon might not have much left.
I'm scared. I don't like to be out in the open. I need the trees; I need my solitude. I don't want to be homeless because of those… those things, those mad, loud things that make no sense to me.
Their spawn are even worse. Tiny, squirming, noisy little parasites, all clustering around scrap metal piles to shout and scream at each other. All gathering together in their pods of incessant noise.
I despise them most of all.
But some… some of them are more introspective. Some of them are far saner than their fellows, if such deranged beings can have enough mental capacity to be anything resembling sane. Some of them prefer to sit alone, engrossed solitary activities, rarely joining their loud peers.
Sometimes, I will watch them as they rest alone in their lacunae of beautiful, natural quiet, if only to learn a bit more about the parasites. Of course, they eventually spot me and run away screeching in alarm; the quiet ones are so much more observant than their peers.
Sometimes, if they are quiet enough and they do not run, I will approach them, and allow them to see me. If they're young enough, they don't screech, merely staring at me instead. Staring with those wide, sickening eyes.
But if I get too close, if I approach too soon, if I follow too much, they make that same hideous screeching noise that hurts me to my very core, and they run away and make commotion. Pointing at where I last was, although by then I am long gone. No amount of pain is worth understanding these disturbing beings. Even their youngest will attack me with noise, simply for the sin of trying to comprehend what I can't.
Unless I force them to stop, which I usually must. I first must get them alone, muffling the noise with my hands, bringing them somewhere I know better than they do. Usually by that point they screech far louder still, but I silence them. I hit them with long arms until the noise stops, I claw at them and screech back, even as I freeze up at their gaze, standing awkwardly still like a deer in bright light. Usually this works well enough, although I always end up covered in some sort of disgusting red ichor, a fluid which fills their grotesquely misshapen bodies. What this substance is I do not know, and I'm not entirely sure I want to find out.
But they just keep coming after me. No matter how many of their number I kill, no matter how many I scare into madness, they keep coming into my home, searching the tall trees for me. They use strange metal boxes with eyes to see me when their eyes cannot, ripping away bits and pieces of me to observe later.
It would be terribly fascinating to understand how such devices worked if they didn't hurt me so very much. If they didn't make me want to hurt them, just to make the pain end.
I can't help my curiosity, though. They disturb and disgust me as much as they intrigue me. They, like all creatures do, must sleep at some point – and when they sleep, they make no noise.
This is when they are best observed. Through small portals of solid, clear substance they set into the walls of their homes, I can view them; I need not the sickening organs called eyes to see. They lay curled in beds and under thick cloths, blanketed in warmth. They so rarely notice me, unless I stay too long and they happen to wake up. Occasionally I am spotted this way, and occasionally they do scream, but far more often, they are too startled and simply run away instead, operating on some primal urge to escape.
… Do these beings have thought, I wonder? Do they reason? They do seem a reasonably clever enough species, and I know for certain they dream – I have peered into their nighttime musings on occasion, although they seem to turn to nightmares when I do. But can such loud beings, forever ensconced in constant noise, ever truly be rational enough to think?
How on earth does one think with such racket around them constantly?
Some of them have… caught my interest, admittedly. They are horrifying and disgusting, but fascinating (and even tasty), beings, and they could all do well to learn the value of silence. Of quiet observation. Many already have with my influence, I suppose.
Perhaps that is all these beings truly need. Perhaps they can be civilized and trained to behave properly, instead of being noisy, barbaric creatures. Indeed, those of their young that have followed me to the forest, or that I have taken, seem to have learned well enough from me. Besides, having disturbing features such as mouths and eyes where none should be is really no excuse for such constant commotion.
Yes… that is all they need, that shall be my goal.
And so, I will follow them, and watch, and wait silently, as I have always done... As I always will do. And when I find them at last, when they finally realize that running solves nothing and only the silence can save them, then I will take them with me, into my long and numerous arms, and then they will see reason.
Then they will all see reason.