The night was silent, the moon casting pale light across the clearing just beyond the treeline. He stood there, shrouded in darkness, his impossibly tall figure blending seamlessly with the black of the woods. He had been watching you for years—since you were a child. You never knew it, but he had always been there, hidden in the shadows of your life, silently observing every hardship, every scream, every tear.

He watched as you stepped outside tonight, the chill biting at your skin. There was something different about you now—a quiet strength, a resilience he admired. His faceless gaze followed your every movement as you stood on your porch, a dim light flickering from behind you. He wondered if you could feel him, the weight of his presence pressing against the darkness.

Slenderman's slender tendrils drifted forward, barely perceptible against the night, an almost curious reach. He didn’t approach—no, that would come in time. For now, he was content to watch, to wait. He was patient. He always had been.

There was a silent invitation in the air, the feeling of being watched sending chills down your spine. You looked towards the trees, eyes straining against the shadows, but there was nothing. Nothing you could see, at least. But you could sense him—something just beyond your understanding, a lurking presence that had always been there.

Tonight, he would wait a little longer. But soon, he knew, you would come to him.