Forgive me for hijacking this blog, but I don't think I can tell this story out loud to Tav (and he really shouldn't leave his account already logged in - no need to guess his password). He's sleeping right now, but I've found that I have a difficult time falling to sleep when I can hear the patter of rain. I've spent many sleepless nights trying to block out that sound.
I first saw the Slender Man four and a half years ago. I started running three years ago.
Two years ago, I met the Cold Boy.
(I know what you're thinking: what a stupid name. Yet, it seemed to fit and I can't call it anything else now.)
I was in Portland, working in a bookstore. I hadn't reached my low points yet - I wasn't sleeping in the street, I had an apartment, I was only running when things got really bad - and the bookstore was a good job. It was quiet and I like reading. The sound of pages turning is soothing.
It was closing time and I was checking every inch of the store, just to make sure no patrons were still there when I locked up. That's when I saw him: a boy, no older than six or seven, sitting Indian style in one of the aisles. His hair was blond and he wore a blue striped shirt.
"Hello?" I approached him. "Is your mommy or daddy here somewhere?" The temperature suddenly dropped and I could see my breath.
The boy turned to me and his face looked weird, like a Polaroid that doesn't come out right. "Mommy's in the ground and daddy put her there," the boy said. "He dug and dug and dug all night and when he put her in, his fingers and lips were blue with cold. He died soon after. The cold took him." The boy smiled at me. "The cold takes us all, sooner or later."
I backed away. There was a gun in my purse, but that was near the front door and that seemed like it was miles away.
"Your mommy and daddy are gone, too," the boy said. He stood up and where he walked, there was frost. "We can be orphans together." He stepped forward and I stepped back. "We can be cold together."
I turned and ran. I felt icy fingers trying to grab my shoulder, but I swung my elbow backwards and connected with what I thought was flesh, except it was colder than I had ever felt before. It let go and I finally grabbed my purse and the gun and swung around with the barrel pointed straight ahead.
The boy's face was cracked. It looked like he was made of ice and when I hit him, it created a single crack down the side of his face. "You aren't very nice," he said. The floor was covered in frost and my elbow was painfully hurting from where I had touched him. "It's so cold. I think someone left the window open, because it's so cold." He stepped forward again and I pointed my gun straight and fired. The sound seemed deafening in the bookstore and a small hole appeared on the boy's head, but no blood. "You better shut the window," he said, "or you'll let the cold in." He smiled at me again and then he fell backwards and shattered into pieces.
The store immediately warmed up and the ice the boy was made of started to melt and become slush and then water. I put my gun back in my purse, locked the store, left the key on the doorstep, and ran.