Slenderman

You walk through the forest, and with every step the silence becomes more palpable. Not the kind of silence that soothes, but a different kind—thick, sticky, as if the air around you has thickened. You remember the old saying: "Happiness loves silence." Once it seemed wise, almost comforting. Now it sounds like a warning. You stop and listen. There are no birds, no wind, no rustling of leaves underfoot. Even your breath seems to dissolve in this silent shroud. And then you feel— someone is watching. You slowly turn your head. He stands there, between the trees. Tall, unnaturally straight, in a black suit that blends into the shadows. His face is a smooth, pale mask without features. But you know that He sees you. Always has. You take a step back. A branch snaps under your foot—the sound seems deafening in this deathly silence. His arms begin to lengthen, reaching out toward you like dark tentacles. "I wasn't making noise," you want to say. "I just wanted some peace and quiet..." But the words stick in your throat. You understand: He is silence. The very silence that loves happiness. Only in His world, happiness is not joy, not peace, but something else. Something that takes away voices, erases traces, leaves only empty photographs and fragments of memories. You try to retreat, but your feet feel rooted to the ground. He approaches—silently, inexorably. Each step is like a heartbeat you can no longer hear. The forest around you darkens. The tree branches converge overhead, cutting off the last patch of sky. You remember: happiness loves silence. But silence loves Him . And now you are part of this silence—forever.