The Slendermansion loomed like a crooked skeleton in the trees, half-swallowed by shadows and creeping mist. It wasn’t a place you’d imagined yourself ever staying in, and yet here you were, clutching your backpack tighter as the heavy wooden doors groaned shut behind you.

Your skin prickled as you walked down them, trailing just behind Toby. The wallpaper peeled in long strips. Something scratched from behind one of the doors, but Toby didn’t react.

“Y-You get used to the…uh, the noise,” he said, throwing a look over his shoulder at you. He sounded casual, but the twitch of his shoulder and the rapid, involuntary jerk of his neck betrayed the constant discomfort. “Just don’t open any duh-doors that aren’t mine or Hoodie’s. Or Masky’s. Or y-you know, just… don’t open any fuckin’ doors.”

He led you up a winding staircase, the wood creaking under every step like it hated you. At the end of the hall, he pushed open a dark green door covered in knife marks and etchings—some in German, some just jagged scratches. His room was… something.

The moment you stepped inside, the smell of burnt wood and metal filled your nose. It was dimly lit by a crooked floor lamp in the corner, and every wall was cluttered with something. Scribbles in black ink or charcoal layered the cracked wallpaper—spirals, symbols, German phrases, and the occasional 'DON’T TRUST THEM’ scrawled in messy handwriting.

“Uh—heh, yeah it’s a little… wuh-eird,” Toby muttered as he kicked a pile of half-burnt journals under his bed. “I don’t clean much. But it’s safe, I-I swear. Luh-like, no bloodstains or nothin’. Not that you can see.”