The Man in the Suit

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a story about one's experience's with slender man, a mythical creature, which is rumoured to capture and kill children. This story does not necessarily follow the lines of the classic Slender man tale, but has its own details and forms a better story rather than some dude just getting captured by slender man. I hope to come out with a article on slender man after I finish my book. This is the intro, when I get it done it will be sold on Kindle books.

Submitted: September 06, 2012

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Submitted: September 06, 2012

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A A A


 

The Man in the Suit

By MrMcShroom

It was a chilly September day, crispy but not enough as to shiver. Mr.Johnston walked down the half dirt half gravel road thinking about how if he were to step on the grass it would break under his foot. He watched an old cow munch on the grass and wondered if it was crunchy. Then he scolded himself, thinking that it almost implied that he had the intent to eat frozen grass. He tugged his flannel shirt up and noticed a group of houses up ahead, and tried to consider odd jobs that he could do to get a place for tonight. He could easily move anything that needed to be moved, he could trim hedges and sweep up shops, maybe chop some wood and tend to the animals.
Mr.Johnston finally arrived at a small town called Humbrick. It was a small place with farms pretty much surrounding it, with huge forests beyond that, unless you went straight through town, in which case there was another road similar to the one he had just walked, well, at least according to the map in front of the town that Mr.Johnston had been studying for five minutes. He seemed to make a decision on what he was going to do, and continued down the road at which point had pretty much converted to a gravel road rather than a dirt and gravel.
Mr.Johnston stopped at the window a corner store and pulled out his wallet. He pulled out the neatly placed dollar bills in his wallet and counted them, he then returned them neatly as they had placed and walked into this corner store, which was surprisingly open this early, and bought a pack of Basic’s and quickly scanned over something to eat that would do him well for the rest of the day. He took a large sub sandwich in a cheap looking plastic bag and walked back up to the counter. “How much is this, Guv’nor?”
“That’s a quarter, sir, those haven’t really been selling, so if you buy two it’ll only cost you 30 cents.”
“O.K. I’ll take two.” Mr.Johnston fished the change from his pocket and picked out a quarter. He didn’t have a nickel so he picked gave the clerk a dime. “Change is on me,” Said Mr.Johnston. “I’ve been looking for a place to settle down for a week or two. I don’t have much on me, so I need to find an income so I can get a place to stay down at the motel, so you know any places I can get an odd job or two so I can stay at the motel?”
“Actually sir,” Said the clerk, who Mr.Johnston took notice of the nametag with Bill on it. “I can give you one of these maps, and I can circle out a farm that you would probably get work at. But I suggest you come ready to work, because this man will make you sweat more than you can believe.” He pulled out a map from under the counter and showed him that if he went back aways a little bit that on the third farm on the left there would be a heck of a lot of odd jobs. He circled it out and handed it to him.
Soon enough Mr.Johnston was trotting down the road eating a subway sandwich in such a way that you would walk away from him if you saw him and heard him eating it. Though he was careful to not get the mayonnaise on his clothes, he ate it with a slurping noise many did not know was possible to make while eating a sandwich. Mr.Johnston, realizing that he was close to the farm that he was looking for, rushed to eat the last 3 bites and quickly looked himself over, making sure that he would suffice for work but did not look too sloppy.
After approving of himself, he began to walk down the dirt road examining the sheep and cows in the wooden fence and beyond that empty fields that had been harvested. Beyond that were some dark looking woods, that looked like it had just endured a wild fire, all the leaves were gone, yet it still looked Dark with no sunlight breaking through. Mr.Johnston stopped the impulse to shutter and looked for the place the farmer had made his residence. All the little path that broke off of the main one didn’t seem to go there, so he continued and began to jog, not really even wanting to be near the forest.
He arrived at a small shack that looked like it was ready to fall over. He slowly approached and stepped on the porch, which creaked with such a ferocity that he feared it would break with all his weight on it. He made sure his weight was even and rapped on the door.
“Who’s there?” Said a very old sounding voice that children would likely fear and run from because it sounded like a mean old man’s voice. Even Mr.Johnston, approached by a voice spiked with that sour an attitude, took a moment to pull himself back together.
“Hello Guv’nor, I’m travelling and want to stay in town for a couple weeks, but don’t have any money and was wondering if I could work for you so I can get a room at the motel back in Humbrick.”
Apparently he heard him, because he emerged from wherever he was listening from and approached his screen door. He was a middle aged man, wearing a flannel shirt similar to Mr.Johnston. Though his looked like it had never seen the wash, and was ripped and full of holes. The man had strands of gray in his hair, even though it looked as though he shouldn’t. Mr.Johnston wanted to suggest deodorant, but forced himself to use ethic.
“Why didn’t you say so! You look like a good lemon to squeeze the juice out of!” He said with a hearty laugh. He jabbed out his hand and said “Hi, I’m Paul Coulton,” Mr.Johnston grabbed it and gave him a hearty shake. Though this man was sloppy, he had a way about him similar to Mr.Johnston. A simple man, who gave not a thought to what others thought about him, though this person would probably not be polite to a pedestrian he met on the street, while Mr.Johnston was a more rational person in that way.
Mr.Johnston smiled and accepted it. “I’m Mr.Johnston, what kind of work can I do for you Guv’nor?”
Paul gave Mr.Johnston a look. “Two quick questions before that, are you british? And why do you call yourself Mr.Johnston?” He said this in a curious and almost a suspicious manner. This confused Mr.Johnston a little bit, but he decided to be truthful anyway.

 

“I actually was raised in England, but I decided to come here because I heard about how great it was from my cousin Jeff. And I call myself Mr.Johnston because my first name is completely ridiculous, and I prefer you not know it.”

“Very well, then, we have work to do anyway,” He said, looking Mr.Johnston over while Mr.Johnston wondered if he was guessing how much work he could take or paranoid because he would not tell him his first name, Bailey.

He led me outside and back down the road and went down one of the small paths breaking off. It stopped at a dog cage. All of the sudden Paul started running frantically towards the dog cage, and stopped and just stood. As soon as Mr.Johnston caught up he realized why. First thing he noticed was the smell, which he was completely surprised he didn’t notice earlier, and the noise of flies, buzzing all around. He looked in and saw a ripped up carcass of what looked like was at a point a dog. It looked mauled by another animal, chunks of flesh laying apart from others, with flies everywhere around.

“This can’t be good,” Paul said rubbing his stubbled chin making a sound like he was rubbing sandpaper. He began to walk away and added “Well, let’s go, we gotta get rid of that corpse, there are gloves in the house.”

Mr.Johnston followed closely. He wasn’t sure if this was an everyday occurrence because he seemed to be quite unaffected by it. He curiously followed and asked timidly “What will we do after that?”

“Oh, yeah, we’re going into the woods to find the other dog, the one that killed the one we’re about to get rid of. We’ll shoot it, can’t have it running loose, might come back and attack me’ livestock. You shoot well?” Paul said in a casual voice, which sounded real and really convinced Mr.Johnston that this was an everyday occurrence.

“I’m pretty good, didn’t really start shootin’ til’ I got to America 7 years back,” He said, trying to talk like a country man. “Does this happen often?”

Paul laughed, “No, but it’s the way it did happen, no reason to show emotion over it.”

Mr.Johnston realized he was right and picked up the pair of dirty bad smelling gloves that Paul offered him. He put them on reluctantly and picked up a garbage can that they were going to use to move the corpse, he looked up in the sky and watched some hawks circle over the area of the dog pen.

“We’d best hurry, let’s go before we lose our chances of getting that dog,” Paul said, not looking at Mr.Johnston but almost as if he was telling himself and Mr.Johnston.

A few minutes later the corpse had been tossed into a hole away from the rest of the farm, where the smell could only be sniffed from the forests beyond the farm. Paul led Mr.Johnston into his basement and pulled a string which turned on the light. It revealed a mostly empty basement, with a table with hammers wrenches and other miscellaneous things that would be of use at random times on it. He led Mr.Johnson to one of the cabinets facing the wall, and pulled out a keychain with 3 keys on it. He opened the cabinet to reveal a shotgun and a hunting rifle, and 3 boxes of rounds for each. “Pick one,” He said and jammed his finger towards the cabinet.

Mr.Johnston immediately grabbed the rifle, which had a sleek black scope on it. He looked through it and noticed the newer looking type of crosshairs. Boy, this guy is paranoid, he thought to himself. For a sloppy guy when it comes to guns Paul cleans up nicely. Each looked polished and cleaned. Paul picked up his shotgun and a box of ammo which he shoved in his pocket.

Grab an ammo box and let’s go boy!” He said after loading his shotgun, and cocked it like a gangster with his tommy gun would.

“Why so much ammo? It should only take two shots two take down the dog, tops.” Mr.Johnston asked, making theories on how Paul’s paranoia called for it in order for him to feel safe.

“You ever been in these woods boy? This is Montana, those woods go on for for hundreds of miles, the road is really the last bit o’ civilization yer’ gonna see if you’re headin’ to the woods.” That made sense to Mr.Johnston, so he decided to go with it, he grabbed an ammo box and followed Paul upstairs, pulling the string killing the light on his way up.

As soon as the two men were in the woods the creepiness of it all began to inch up Mr.Johnston’s spine, there were no leaves, yet he could only see 20 feet forward, because of a thick fog that he never even saw at the farm. He  was pondering this phenomenon when he heard Paul say slowly “Shhh... Look with that scope of yours.”

Mr.Johnston pressed the rifle butt against his shoulder and looked down into the scope. He slowly did a 90 degree sweep in the area in front of him.. Nothing worth interest, but the shapes of the trees were creepy. They were twisted in such an unusual way. And branch like vines hung down from trees, not jungle vines, they were covered in bark. As he zoomed and unzoomed the rifle, things far away turned black and faded into the fog, while things within a 10 foot range were quite clear.

Mr.Johnston lowered the rifle “Nothing,” He said in a whisper, which for some reason seemed appropriate for the scary forest scene.

Apparently Paul accepted his answer, because he gave the signal to inch forward slowly, this was a military signal, revealing a lot more to Mr.Johnston about his character. Being in the military could explain the gray streaks of hair, which were probably from stress. This almost completely changed his perspective of Paul in general.

The crunches of leaves from uncareful feet jolted Mr.Johnson from his thought and he looked around. There was the dog, running like a mad thing. It had foam in it’s mouth and it’s eye’s were wide from desperation, which Mr.Johnston feared he would soon find out why.

BANG! “Boy! Shoot the damned thing!” Mr.Johnston flinched and immediately flicked the safety and took aim. He shot, the noise was not as loud, but surely had the potential to kill. It hit a tree and splinters flew everywhere. He cocked his gun again.

“Damnit! Pay attention!” Paul yelled as the thing turned around and sprinted the other way. He sighed and began to walk the direction it went, less careful, because they’d already blown their cover, it’ll be watching for them. Mr.Johnston followed, more alert now than ever. Mr.Johnston thought about how he needed to enlarge his attention span, when he realized that he was zoning off again.
About 15 minutes later, the two men heard a squeal, Paul whispered “We’re getting close,” They made eye contact and Paul signalled to move forward. As the men inched up, they pressed their guns against their shoulders, ready to fire, full of anticipation. Mr.Johnston looked into his scope. It was so far off it looked black and white, but it was horrifying.

 

There was this thing, looked almost like an octopus from what Mr.Johnston could see. Only it was like a human too. It was a human with tentacles.  It had the dog by above the chest. Another thick tentacle grabbed it by below the chest. The thing pulled and literally ripped it in half. You could see its internals literally falling out of it’s body. Then it broke a branch off of a dead tree, leaving a sharp spike jutting out of the tree, and stuck the top half through it. It dropped the bottom half and grabbed another branch and pulled itself up. It had no face. Yet Mr.Johnston could see that it was looking. It looked around, hanging from a branch with a tentacle like a monkey, and started going from tree to tree towards the two men.

All of the sudden Mr.Johnston realized he was going to die. He dropped the rifle on the ground and heard the scope break. “Paul, we have to get out of here, NOW,” He said and started sprinting back the way he came from.


© Copyright 2017 MrMcShroom. All rights reserved.

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