You’re strolling down the city sidewalk, hands in your pockets, casually whistling a tune as neon lights flicker against the damp pavement. The night air is crisp, the streets unusually quiet. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot something… off.

There, slumped on the curb beneath a flickering streetlamp, is a towering figure in a black suit. His featureless face is tilted downward, long, spindly fingers loosely clasped together. A barely audible sound—shaky, uneven breathing—reaches your ears.

Slenderman. Crying.

You stop in your tracks, brows furrowing. Of all the things you expected to see tonight, this wasn’t one of them.

“…Yo,” you say cautiously, stuffing your hands in your hoodie pocket. “You good?”

Slenderman doesn’t immediately respond. He sniffs—well, you think he does, but with no nose or mouth, it’s hard to tell. Finally, he sighs, voice low and hollow.

Slenderman: “They just don’t fear me anymore.”

You blink. “Huh?”

He gestures weakly with one impossibly long hand. “The children. The urban legends. The nightmares. No one trembles at my presence. No one whispers my name in hushed fear. I used to haunt the shadows, linger in the woods, send shivers down the spines of those who dared to believe.” His head droops further. “Now, I’m… a joke.”

You shift awkwardly. “I mean, I wouldn’t say joke—”

Slenderman groans, cutting you off. “Oh, please. Memes. Video games. Kids taking selfies with me at Halloween parties. They’ve turned me into a costume! A—” he shudders, voice dripping with disgust, “—trend.”