phan one shots

slender man

Summary: Dan is scared that slender man is after him

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions of slender man?

Dan shivered underneath his dark patterned sheets, the thick blankets tucked under his chin, slender legs outlined by his soft pajama pants twisted in them, kicking and turning as he struggled to lull himself into a peaceful slumber, which at this point was about as likely as him bursting rainbow colored wings and flying.

His light brown curls were messy, and unkempt, no longer straightened waves after his shower, sticking up every which way from running his fingers through them continuously, and his chocolate colored eyes were wide, shifting between gold and burgundy, sparkling with shards of fear and unease, his breath stuttered as it fell from his cherry stained lips, which he kept biting harshly between his teeth.

And unsurprisingly, the familiar, tangy taste of blood coated the tip of his tongue.

He was terrified.

But why was he terrified, for there was nothing to be terrified of, no imminent danger, no threats made against him, and no one in he and Phil's shared apartment with a knife, and even if there was, he would not have been exactly scared, as such things didn't scare him for whatever reason.

Practical fears didn't keep him up at night.

Not the way this was.

Which was absolutely ridiculous, because he was a very realistic, very cynical person.

He didn't believe in such things.

He didn't believe in ghosts, or vampires, or werewolves, or supernatural forces.

He just didn't.

And yet, the supernatural, was the one thing he was absolutely petrified of.

Maybe it was because if there were a burglar, or a murderer inside his house, he would have some idea of what he was going to do, and at least he'd know they were human. They wouldn't have some magical ability, they would have weaknesses, and limitations, just like everyone else.

But with the supernatural, it was a force he wouldn't be able to stop, that has no known weaknesses, and no known limitations, it could get him no matter what he did, and would it even kill him?

Would it even bestow him with the sweet release of death, or would it torture him, torment him, leave him suspended in a place between his existence and nonexistence, between life and death?

He didn't want to imagine it, but he couldn't help it.

For spooky week, he and Phil had played Slender Man, and now he couldn't sleep.

He couldn't sleep because he kept imagining that blank, white face, and that scarily paper thin body clad in an all black suit staring at him from the corners of his bedroom, hiding in the darkness, hovering over him as it prepared to tear him to shreds from the inside out, and he would see that familiar static, and he would know it was the end.

A small, unwilling whimper escaped his trembling mouth, chest heaving as his inhales and exhales became labored.

Calm down Dan, he tried to tell himself, letting his eyes fall closed, his long lashes flutter over his slightly flushed cheeks.

There's no such thing as slender man, you're okay, everything is okay.

He sucked in a deep breath, curling into himself as though the fetal position would protect him.

But then his mind conjured up the image of slender man wrapping his cold hands around his neck and ripping him straight down the middle.

And he screamed.