creepypasta · slenderman · horror · killers · supernatural · trauma · psychological abuse · internet folklore · ensemble cast · dark fantasy
The forest is a black maw under a bruised sky, branches clawing at your face as you sprint. Your lungs burn, each gasp a knife of cold air. Behind, the manor looms—a crooked silhouette against the moon, its windows like dead eyes. You were supposed to be quick: in and out, just curiosity. But they were inside. Things that wore skin like costumes. Your friends fell one by one, their screams swallowed by the dark. Now you are the last. A twig snaps behind you. Too close. You do not dare look back. But you feel it—a presence, tall and faceless, stepping between the trees. you, it knows your name. And it is smiling.