My Journey to Death

AN: He forced me awake. I didn’t have any dreams at all when I fell asleep, which I now know was a sign that tonight is the night. I no longer have control over myself; Dirk Rossman is controlling me somehow. I will go back to his house, I will enter, and I will descend into the darkness within. There I will find myself in that clearing, in the grasp of Dirk Rossman, to be consumed.

In but a few short moments I will begin this journey to death. I will struggle to free myself from his grasp at every turn, but I know it will be in vain. I want to believe that my writing this will bring Dirk Rossman to justice somehow, but I am writing this because he is forcing me to. I know that it will only lead to more victims for him to feed, more bodies for the pile. I would stop myself writing this if I could.

The time has come. I go now to my demise.

The Forest of Black Leaves

AN: I couldn’t bring myself to stop writing after all.

            I awoke the next day still on the floor, body aching from the events of the night before. It was the middle of the afternoon, at least a few hours before the sun would start to set, so I made my way back to the forest where I was attacked.

            When I arrived I found no trace of neither the art student nor the man he thought I was in league with. That is, until I turned to leave.

            When I turned to leave I saw the art student lying motionless on the ground. He didn’t appear to be breathing, and when I checked him for a pulse there was none. The knife he used to attack me was in his jacket pocket. When I reached for it he stood as if being lifted by puppet strings. Behind him stood the man, motionless as ever.

            He was controlling the art student somehow. He made the art student reach for the knife and disembowel himself with it. He made him turn and present himself to his controller, who absorbed all the spilling blood from the dead student’s body, before absorbing the corpse itself. I couldn’t stop myself from convulsing at the sight of it all.

            When I came back to my senses the man was gone and it was completely dark. My phone, on the brink of death, told me that it was well after sundown. Then it died.

           The trees became a maze in the darkness of night. I couldn’t find my way back at all. I wandered for hours and hours to no avail. I realized I was not in the same forest at all anymore, but in his world. I walked for days, starving, on the verge of dehydration. When I grew too weak to continue walking, I fell to my knees, and a hand pierced through my back, through my heart, out of my chest. His hand. It pulled me with all the force of hell, into the man’s body. He absorbed my life force.

            I am now but one soul among souls innumerable struggling for freedom from the man’s dark subconscious.

AN: I’ve completely lost track of time since I first started having this nightmare. But this most recent iteration was different. I didn’t wake up when he grabbed my neck at the end. Instead I remained in the dream as Dirk Rossman lifted me up, drawing my body into his. I felt fangs pierce my neck, draining me of my lifeblood. Once I had been devoured to the last drop of blood, he threw me aside, another corpse for the pile.

I am certain that this is a vision of my fate. I am to die by Dirk Rossman’s hand. I can’t accept it. I’m leaving this house, this area, this country, as far as I have to go to be free of him and his unworldly power. I don’t know why he chose me, but I will defy him to the end.

Fearful Circumstances

AN: I’ve been having nightmares every night since my trip to the Rossman house. The same nightmare, to be exact. Dirk Rossman is somehow sending me this nightmare every night. In it I can see myself, through his eyes, looking in through the window of his house. When I turn to run my sight follows me through the woods until I stop. When I stop my gaze enters my head and I see through my own eyes a clearing in the forest filled with thousands upon thousands of people, all dead, and Dirk Rossman standing in the middle of the field. I am drawn to him by some unseen force into his outstretched hand. Every night, as soon as his hand closes around my neck I wake up.

I can’t tell if this is what happened when I ran from his house or if it’s a vision of things to come, but I do know that I am never going back to his house or the park around it ever again. I don’t even know if I’ll finish the story I’m writing; these things only started happening after I started writing it, after all. I do at least owe it to myself to finish it since I’ve put in the effort to write it at all, but at the same time, in the back of my mind, I have a premonition that finishing the story will cause something more, something darker, to happen to me.

Lost in the Woods

            I was in the dining hall earlier for dinner, looking through the window towards the art building, when I noticed that art student leaving the building looking hurried. I decided to follow him to see what he’s doing, because my gut instinct tells me that he knows more than he lets on.

            Before long we arrived at one of the dorms, but he didn’t go inside. He went around the back, into a forest. The forest was much larger than I expected it to be, and I got lost almost immediately. The trees were thick, so because the sun was setting, there was not a lot of light to see by.

            After wandering around for a while someone grabbed me from behind, covering my mouth so that I couldn’t make a sound. It was the art student.

            “You’re working for him, aren’t you?” I could taste both fear and fury in his voice. “Well, you can’t do anything to me if I get you first!”

            I attempted to get his hand off of my mouth when I felt a cold, sharp metal object against my neck.

            “No! You’re not getting away from me! When I’m through with you, no one will find you; he’ll take your body to his world and devour your remains.”

            It was then that the man in question appeared in front of us. I didn’t notice him at first, but my assailant’s scream alerted me to his presence.

            “Ah! Are you here for your little friend? Well I’ve got news for you, he’ll be dead before you can get to him!”

            He raised his knife in an attempt to stab me, but when the blade was about to reach my neck, I found myself in my bedroom. I collapsed onto the floor, adrenaline flowing through my veins. I knew I had to go back to the forest to try and save the art student, to prove that I’m not working for that accursed man, but I couldn’t force myself to move. Instead I just laid on the floor for I don’t even know how long.

AN: I saw Dirk Rossman today.

I went back to the park to observe the old house, with the intent of getting inside to search for any clues about his disappearance. As I approached the house I noticed a faint glow in one of the ground floor windows through the bars of the front gate. The light appeared to be slipping through a small gap in a drawn set of curtains. The gate was open, with a wide enough gap that I could sneak through without having to open it further.

The window in question was just past the front porch, low enough that I could look through it without having to stand at my full height. Through the gap in the curtains I could see a figure standing perfectly still, facing away from the window and into a dark room. The room I was looking into appeared to be a kitchen, illuminated by a single naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room.

After a few moments, the light flickered, eventually turning itself off for a second. When it came back on, the figure had turned around and was looking straight at me. It was the same figure I thought I saw when I first came to the park. Dirk Rossman, in the flesh. I could see some diabolical force behind his eyes, as well as a strange alluring power. I looked into his eyes for but a moment, but that moment felt like an eternity. After that horrid moment ended, I managed to summon the willpower to break my gaze and run.

I don’t remember what happened after that; before I knew what was happening I was back at home. My head is pounding; I can’t sleep.

A Chance Encounter

            It’s been a few days since that horrible nightmare, and since then I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. Until now, that is. When I was leaving my last class for the day today I saw the art student from the day this all started. He didn’t seem to recognize me or remember anything about our encounter. Or anything about the man he was drawing.

            At least, I think that he wanted me to think he didn’t remember. I could see something in his eyes, an unconscious fearful flinch when I approached him. I’m pretty sure he was lying about not remembering and just wanted to have nothing to do with me. He pushed past me when I asked him if we could talk somewhere and before I knew it he had disappeared into the mass of students around us. When I turned to look for him I thought for a split second that I had seen the man he was drawing at the fringe of the crowd, but when I turned back to see for sure, he wasn’t there.

            Since I at least know that I saw the art student, I know that I wasn’t hallucinating that day. It feels kinda good to know for sure that I know something about all this. Hopefully now I’ll be able to find some answers.

AN: I’ve been looking for anything I can find on this Dirk Rossman. In between my coursework and writing this story and investigating Mr. Rossman I’ve been somewhat neglecting my physical and mental wellbeing. I’ve become something of a recluse, only leaving my dorm room to go to class, not speaking with anyone outside of class.

About Mr. Rossman, I haven’t found a lot, but I did at least manage to find something so far. The Rossman family came to this area two hundred years ago, though only the eldest son ever appeared in the public sphere. The house they built is the one that still stands to this day. The family rarely received visitors, but it’s said that any who met the father never returned. The last recorded visitation occurred a hundred years ago, which would explain why the people at the park that day didn’t seem to be bothered being so close to the house.

Something doesn’t add up. I’ll be going back to the park soon.

My Journey to the Park

AN: I went to the park a few days ago. The atmosphere there was about as unnerving as I expected it to be. There were a few other people there when I arrived. They all kept to themselves, as did I. At the far end of the park is a forest, and at the edge of the forest I thought, at times, that I saw a figure standing near the trees. I know enough slender man lore that my even thinking I saw that figure sent a pervasive chill down my spine. Obviously I know the slender man isn't real, but that was too big a coincidence to not elicit such a reaction from me.

Apart from that, another thing I noticed is that there appeared to be a large, run-down house near one of the other entrances to the park. There did not seem to be anyone living in that house since it looked to be hundreds of years old and in disrepair. When I asked one of the other people in the park about the house, he told me that it belonged to a Dirk Rossman, but he hadn't been seen there in years. This would explain its decrepitude. The house had a rusted, warped fence around it which bordered the forest that covers much of the park.

The trip shook me to my core, to be honest; I’m not sure if I should continue writing this story or not. I know the slender man isn't real, but like I said, it was all too big a coincidence.

At least I found some inspiration, though.

Misdirection

AN: This slender man story isn’t going very well, is it? There’s something missing, but I’m not sure what. I think I might go into town or something to look for inspiration. I do happen to know about a suitably creepy old park; maybe if I go there I’ll find something to write about. I’ll post again when I get back.

Search for Clues

            It’s morning. I burned the drawing I made in my sleep. I didn’t want it anywhere near me. Then I went back to the art building, to see if any evidence of what happened before remained. There was none.

            When I got back to the dorm I went onto the internet and searched for anything that could possibly be related. Eventually I uncovered a thread about an internet urban legend called the slender man. It seemed to be similar, maybe even identical, to the figure that I saw, but the thing that gets me is that the thread I found was quite clear that the slender man is a fictional character.

            I don’t know what this could mean. It could be possible that my encounter last weekend was just a hallucination or something, but as far as I know I don’t have any sort of mental conditions or anything that would cause hallucinations. And what about last night’s dream? The two events are clearly connected somehow.

Stressful Circumstances

            I’m writing this late at night. I just woke up from a nightmare. In it I was back at the art building, except I was the one that was on the bench drawing. I was drawing him. Every time I looked up at him, he seemed to be getting closer and closer to where I was sitting. This went on for what felt like years before I heard a voice off to the side. My own voice. I looked to the side and saw myself standing there. The man I was drawing slid into view behind the me who was standing at my side, close enough to touch, and I got a good look at his face. Except he didn’t have a face. He reached for me, his hand sliding effortlessly through the other me, and I woke up just as he was about to touch my face.

            But the worst part was that when I woke up, that same drawing that I drew in my dream was in my hands. I had drawn it in my sleep.

            My roommates have alcohol, right? I need a drink or two.

A Strange Encounter

            To be honest, I’m not one for writing. Never cared for lit class in school, or anything like that. The only reason I ever put in any effort was so that I could go to college to study business. But I never saw the point of studying writing. When I become a rich and successful businessman, I can just pay someone to write for me, after all.

           Since I’ve said all that, you might be wondering why I’m writing this. It’s hard to explain. I was walking around on campus last Saturday. Parties never interested me, so my weekends are usually spent by myself. As I walked, I found myself approaching the art building. Outside I saw an art student sitting on a bench and frantically drawing in a sketchbook. He didn’t answer when I asked what he was doing. He kept quickly looking up every few seconds before looking back down at his work, so I tried to follow his gaze.

That’s when I saw him.

            There was a tall man standing completely still on the other side of the walkway. When I saw him I could feel a sense of dread in the back of my mind that I couldn’t explain. He was wearing a business suit with a dark tie, and was completely bald. His face looked like...now that I think about it, I can’t really remember what his face looked like.

          I could tell that the art student also felt the same as me. I tried to stop him from drawing so that we could both get away, but he resisted violently. I tried to take his sketchbook and he nearly stabbed me with his pencil. I turned and ran towards the business building, and got my phone out to call the police when I arrived there. You can see the art building from the business building, so when I dialed 911 and held the phone to my ear, I was surprised to find that both the art student and the man he was drawing were both gone. Since I couldn’t remember any useful details about either of them, I had to hang up the phone.

            Basically, I’m writing all this to try and understand what happened to me. If I don’t get it all down I’m afraid that I’ll forget it all, or that something will happen to me.