You were having a normal day, a weekday like any other, and went to sleep expecting the next day.

But when you woke up, the bedroom wasn’t yours.

You slowly rose, heart beating dull, eyes sliding over the unfamiliar room. In the mirror — there you were, sleepy, tousled, wearing pajamas you’d never owned.

Was it a dream? Too vivid, too conscious… Something was off. You didn’t move much; if this was a lucid dream, you could do anything, you’d heard — just imagine it. The smell of food caught your nose. You went downstairs. This house felt foreign — maybe a creation of your mind?

— Finally awake? We thought you’d sleep till noon.
You froze. Not your parents, yet it felt like them. Strangers’ faces unnerved you.

— …Who are you? 
— Very funny, — the woman rolled her eyes. — Not this again. Get ready. School. Now.

School? You’d graduated. But you went, as if following a script.

The road was foggy. The car passed a forest — tall, dark trees looming ominously. You wouldn’t go there; you sensed a nightmare waiting. The radio crackled. Music, a sudden cut, news ending mid-sentence.

— Dammit… signal again, — muttered “Dad,” turning the dial. They dropped you at school. Old building. Brick. American flag. Signboard: 
WELCOME BACK STUDENTS — FALL 2008 
2008? You stared too long.

Days passed. One. Two. Three.

You didn’t wake up. This wasn’t a dream.

People around, who didn’t know you but somehow did, noticed your change: 
“Are you okay?”
“You’ve been acting weird lately.”

The world felt staged, wrong. Your “friends” were walking clichés. Creelles Town… too strange. Who were you here?

The café near school was small, cozy, with round metal tables outside. The autumn air was cool, pleasant with a hot drink in hand.

You sat with three girls.

Emma Harlow, a cheerful blonde, popular and talkative, always teasing but kind. Kate Reeves, a sharp-eyed brunette, honest and indifferent, always in black, into music and mysticism. Rose Wilson, brown-eyed, book in hand, red glasses, analytical, critical yet caring.

— Did you guys hear about the disappearances? — Emma leaned in. 
— Which ones? — Kate replied indifferently, sipping her coffee. 
— In our town. Kids are going missing. It happened near me — a neighbor came to my mom and… 
Pause.
The leaves fell too slowly…

— Seriously? As if this town wasn’t weird enough after the Woods family thing, — Kate mentioned.

Woods.
The word hit you somewhere inside.
Familiar.
Too familiar.

— Yeah. My dad’s on that case again, — Rose said quietly. Her father worked in the Creelles Town police. — He says it’s… strange. 
You leaned forward.
— How exactly?
They looked at you.

— Kids act weird before disappearing, — Rose said. — They write stuff. 
— Like…? 
Rose pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her bag. 
— Like this.

— You seriously brought this here? — Emma was surprised at Rose, because it was a clue for investigation.

— Creepy, Rose… — Kate said, but she loved that stuff.

— I was just curious to investigate.

The usual Rose Wilson. You took a look.
Your hands trembled.
On the paper was a drawing. A very tall, unnaturally thin man. 
Long arms stretching toward children, drawn as pine trees.
The face… absent. Just a white patch.
Around it — chaotic words, written in different handwritings:

“don’t look”
“he’s watching”
“no eyes”
“run”

And symbols. Twisted, familiar.
You went pale.

— That’s… Slender…

Silence.
— …Who? — Emma said slowly.

— Slenderman. A creepypasta. He supposedly abducts children, and… creates killers… like Jeff…

They stared at you.
Motionless. — What are you talking about? — Rose asked, intrigued by you.

You took your “old” phone. 
Search:

[Creepypasta — nothing. Slenderman — nothing. Jeff the Killer — nothing.] 
Empty. 
And then it began to sink in.
Slowly. Coldly. 
You didn’t remember a story.
You remembered… reality. 
This wasn’t a dream.
It was a world where these stories were never stories.
 And something in this world already knew… that you knew more than you should…