My name is Damien O'Connor. Until recently, I thought I had escaped the insanity that stole my family away from me. I was wrong. One month ago, my best friend, Ted, died. I had a psychological breakdown, and never realized it. My mind created an alternate personality that took control of a story blog I created. As TheArsonist, I attempted to awaken my conscious mind to things locked away inside of myself. It didn't work.
Emily, a friend I've known nearly my entire life, and her husband died because I didn't understand my own second personality. I was stopping in to see them one last time before they left again. I saw the police as I pulled up. I spoke with them about what had happened. And I thought I saw... My first response was to run. But I couldn't. Some force kept me from leaving the town I grew up in. Instead, I went back home, sat down, and, finally, I seemed to ask the right question. The question: How did TheArsonist know Emily and Vincent Ellison (EVE) would die next?
The answer: Because I am TheArsonist.
I spent four days locked inside my room, trying to understand. I had somehow knew they would die, but I couldn't figure out how that could be. On the third day, I realized the only logical way was because I was their murderer. I was the one who ripped them apart, leaving parts of their bodies strewn across a hotel room. I was the one who wrote those cryptic letters on the wall in blood. I took the next logical step: I killed Ted. I lured him into the woods. I gutted him. I dragged his body up a ladder and high into a tree, and hung him there.
It was me. All this time it was me. I am the Slender Man I see. I was just projecting my sins onto an outside hallucination. It's why I saw him, acted as him. Disassociated personality. I am three-in-one: Damien, Arsonist, Slender.
My room still smells of vomit from when I came to this realization.
I tried to kill myself after I understood. Put the .22 in my mouth, closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger. The click echoed in the hollows of my twisted mind. I'd never loaded my gun. Shaky hands forced a single bullet into the magazine, and then the gun was back in my mouth. Drenched in sweat, my finger slowly squeezed that tiny nub of metal that separated me from the void. My phone rang, breaking my calm. It was a short text. Amelia was about to leave to start her way back home. She was worried about me.
For a moment, I considered sparing myself to spare her the pain of my death. I could turn myself in, and be institutionalized. I thought of my mother. The gun went back into my mouth. And the phone rang again. Another text from Amelia.
"This really tall guy across the street keeps staring at me. Weirdo. Going back in to get stuff, then heading. Luvs you *kisses* :)"
The gun fell to the floor. With shaking hands, I called her. I explained everything to her, even the insane parts. She believed me. I told her I wanted her to stay on the line the entire way home. That she'd get back, and we'd find a way to beat him.
Amelia died in a car accident. I heard her last words. "He's here. I love you. Oh god."
I lost my best friend. I lost my first love. I lost my true love. I have been driven to the edge of despair. I have gazed into the abyss. I have lost everything.
Now it's his turn.