I know what you're thinking.

Who's this douchebag, and why do I care about him and his idiotic shenanigans?

Well, imaginary recipient of this twenty-something's frivolous and largely inconsequential thoughts, allow me to begin by saying:

Fuck you.

You know, normally when you're approached by some chick, mid-30s at the most, who beckons to you with a coy grin and an even coyer wink, you initial reaction isn't holy shit, this woman is going to be the bane of my FUCKING existence from now until somebody takes this miserable piece of shit out of his, well, misery. No, no, of course not. In a display of genre-savviness for the goddamn record books all I could seem to think about was the valley that was peeking out from her practically non-existent neckline, and how I could see the black lace of her bra through the sheer fabric of her blouse. It's about the time that I managed to separate one head from the other that I realized that she'd already walked up to me and, purring soft as a fucking summer's breeze, said "Let's have some fun, honey. Just you and me." 


'Course I followed her. I'm a college kid who hasn't been laid since he dropped out. So when she took me to some shady-ass hotel in the middle of nowhere and sat down, crossing her legs in the most ladylike goddamn fashion and undid another button of her blouse, what do you think I had in mind?

I was grinning like the horny asshole I was, but didn't even get a chance to take my jacket off before she raised her hand, saying:

"Just a moment, little moth. I have a proposition."

A couple thoughts struck me then.

One, she just called me little moth. Alright, so many this chick's into nicknames - I'm cool with that. Whatever. She can call me Emperor Saggynuts, Lord of the Crooked Dick Dynasty if it means I'm getting laid at the end of the night.

Two, I was in some seedy hotel that I didn't remember the name let alone the location of, with no car and no money for a taxi. How the fuck this happened and where my wallet went remain mysteries to this day.

Three, I might still get laid.

Wait, I said two didn't -

oh fuck me.

Whatever. I'm beyond caring at this point. I was beyond caring a long time ago. Looking back I should have noticed that she was smiling like a bird of fucking prey and her nails were cherry red and sharpened to points and that behind the layers and layers and layers of blush, eyeshadow and foundation I could see crow's feet and frown lines.

Hindsight's a bitch, huh?

Well, it at least explained why she called herself Cougar.


I guess somewhere in that network of hers, somebody's got a sense of humour.

"A proposition?" I asked, still standing awkwardly with my jacket half off. I'm a little struck by how quickly she's become disinterested in me and the room around her, tapping impatiently with black pumps against the carpet.

"A game," she continues, and it just occurs to me that her voice has this really acrid tone under it; a sharp hiss over the purr (and now I'm staring to see why the name is so fitting) that flows from her mouth like silk. "Cat and mouse, little moth. You Run. We chase."


We?

... No, no, I think I said that.

"We?"


Much better.

"Have you heard of the one called Slenderman?" and with that, her interest in me seemed to fade completely. There's an emery board she's somehow managed to keep wedged in one of the tiny pockets of her shirt (neon pink zebra print. Classy.) that she used file down her nails, refining the already near-perfect tips to points. "Surely you've seen the blogs, watched the videos? The series dedicated to Him have gained quite a following lately. It's become something of a topic of interest among people. What with all the..." Her lips twisted at the corners, grinning at a distant memory. "Disappearances."


It's about this time I started thinking

oh


shit.


Oh.


SHIT.


I'm not sure if it's curiosity or stupidity or some bastard child of the two that kept me from ignoring the common fucking sense currently screaming in the back of my mind to run as far and as fast away from this chick as I could, or maybe the party in my pants hadn't figured out that sticking around, regardless of what she might do, is not worth losing any vital - or non-vital, for that matter - parts of me.

So of course I just kept standing there like the idiot I am, gulping loudly before choking out: "I - I'm sorry?"


She laughed at this. It was the laugh of the Wicked Witch of the West; a demented cackle I swear should've been followed by when shall we three meet again or preceded with a massive neon sign with the words CAUTION: ABSOLUTELY BUGFUCK; WILL CUT YOU and about a dozen others with warnings like DANGER and HAZARDOUS MATERIAL and  AVOID AT ALL COSTS.

"We're going to play a game, you and I," oh god, oh god, oh sweet and merciful lord in his cloud palace up above, she stood up and started walking towards me, running one of those razor-sharp nails along my skin. Not enough to actually draw blow, but enough to leave a pink trail wherever she went. Could nails even get that sharp? That's another thought I didn't have until I was above five miles down the road, out of breath and without any idea of where I was.

"You're going to Run, as far and as fast as you can..."


And somewhere in the back of my mind I thought wow, I'm so stupid that my possible murderer is even telling me to run away. 


Of course, the front of my mind was just screaming at me.

"... And I'm going to try and catch you. And when I catch you, little moth..." her mouth formed into a delicate pout, blue eyes widening in feigned innocence (and at the same time, my own widened to reach the size of dinner platters) before she continues. "I'm going to kill you, present you as a trophy to my master, and then cut you to pieces."


Her voice never wavered from the silken purr.

And what did I do?

I ran.


I fucking ran. I ran and ran and ran and I swear, I could her hear laughing even as I flew out of the doors of the hotel and onto the street.

And I kept running.

And I'm still running.

Two months later.

And you know what?

She hasn't caught me yet.


The name's Reynard. Welcome to my hell.