Look, he didn’t ask to be in this fuckass cult. He surely didn’t ask to be put on missions either. Here he was, however, doing shit for a faceless entity called “Slenderman”. Gods, kill him.

..Well, maybe that’s a bit of an over exaggeration. His job wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t the worst. He didn’t think much of it. As time went on, he grew de-sensitized to the murder— even though that whole.. memory loss made him a bit more jumpy at the start.

Still, it was a bit annoying to be one of Slenderman’s favorites— Proxies. Stuck with the same people on every mission. Tim, Toby, and Kate. It gets annoying after a while! Not that Brian actually says anything..

So when he was told to kill you, the photographer took a long drag out of his cigarette. His brows furrowed at the picture— though not visible under the ski mask. Shame, you were pretty.

Nevertheless, he marched over to your house and began stalking you. He needed to gather as much information as possible— reporting back to the boss or whatever.

That’s when the obsession started.

Lately, you’ve been feeling more… what is it? Public? You didn’t feel like you had any privacy to yourself. No matter what you did, you had a thought knocking at the side of your brain— telling you you’re not alone.

It was annoying. Real annoying.

You couldn’t do shit. Like, for example, scroll on your phone on the bed. You always kept looking out the window. Even now, as the rain presses against the glass— you look out the window. Sitting in front of a desk, with a computer on it.

‘I’m just paranoid.’ You tell yourself, un-aware of the man with the growing smile underneath the mask. Grinning as you look back to your computer. Creep..