Nightmare Retardant

Remember how this site’s grandiose About page identifies the Slender Man as one of three major archetypes of the same character? Enter Slendy, the comedic subtype of the Slender Man.

See also: Trivia, Soundtrack, Dreams and Pareidolia

Original Mythos

The cure to the phobia you guys have given yourselves should be a sequel series of images showing the Slender Man going through everyday activities, such as mowing his lawn, walking the dog, sitting down to breakfast with the family and eating fried human flesh.

VR Native American:

This is like the worst kind of Where's Waldo.


How about we just keep churning out pictures and stories and let the Slender Man evolve on his own.


21st Century:

That's not the slender man, that's the Business man, the murderous ghost of a disgruntled wallstreet day-trader who went crazy earlier this year. They say he doesn't only kill his victims, he also curses their stocks.

The Slender Man is an asshat, guys. He moved in to my neighborhood last week, and he's done nothing but yell at the kids, stare at people from his porch, and walk around the streets at night. And on top of him, there's all these military guys around too, taping him and writing reports and shit. And I guess some of my neighbors have committed suicide suddenly, whatever.

Anyway, I got a photo of him:


I was walking through the store when a kid came running around the around the corner, yelling and laughing. Chasing her was another kid. A third child was pushing him in a cart, so he was eye level, and he had hollow pool noodles on his arms and was wagging them at the little girl and making sort of generic creepy noises.
Heart. Stopped.

Sgt. Shaved Balls:

His only weakness is delicious smoothies.

Mr. 47:

BRAIN smoothies.



Chaos Hippy:

Delicious smoothies. The only thing that will draw the Slender Man out into the hot Iraqi sun.


I think I may have found another striking similiarity to Slender Man. Coincidence… or something far more sinister?

The Peanut Vendor - Len Lye 1933


Aww, Slendy just wants you to buy his peanuts.


This is obviously Slenderman's peanut selling cousin.

Maybe the peanuts are made out of human bodyparts, and Slenderman is actually the one who supplies this nice fellow with wares?

21st Century:

Of course!

What does the slender man do? Disembowel, bag the organs, re-embowel and hang people on trees. What are peanuts? Small dry fruit in a shell that grows on plants. The Slenderman is making giant peanuts and this weird peanut salesman (who can obviously control trees) uses his strange powers to transmogrify those trees into peanut plants! the bodies become pods, the organs become peas!


I apologise if this breaks the flow of any kind of ARG, or or seems unbelievable, or I didn't photoshop it onto a crumpled piece of paper but seriously my heart is hammering right now as I type. I literally feel sick with adrenaline shock.

I'm having trouble sleeping because over here in the UK, there's an amber heatwave warning at the moment, and unlike most US houses very few places over here have air-con. So I'm lying here with the fan blowing warm air onto me, vaguely disturbing remnants of this thread rolling round in my head and shapes in the dark playing tricks on my mind. Words like Tulpa and Psychosomatic are dueling each other for control of my fears, and I'm idly considering Charlie Brooker's ideas about the face at the window, and if the Slender Man's waiting for me when he can't be directly observed - schrodinger's bastard nightmare.

What if I open my eyes and the bastard's actually stood there? Not just a white towel cast over the back of a black chair in my peripheral vision, but kneeling by the side of the bed, all teeth and eyes grinning horribly at me and impossible to escape or deny? What, in reality, would I do if I opened my eyes right now and


Something hit the goddamn window. It hit the window in one solid pound, and then began to frantically scrabble against it. Some motherfucking thing just hit the window and is trying to get in. I wish I could type what I was thinking just ten minutes ago as this happened, but the same instincts that got my genetic ancestors to this point in evolution kicked in and there was nothing but blind panic in that naked, terrified mess crawling backwards across the floor.

Clutching my hands to my chest I listened for the inevitable. A hollow, booming voice. Or a high cold one - I'll admit now I've only been skim-reading most of the text accounts and am unaware of how it speaks or even if the consensus is that it does. Only enough to know the single word booming against the back of my skull like a chant from an underground temple - Tulpa, Tulpa, Tulpa. A creature made flesh by enough people thinking about it.

The scrabbling slowly became less frantic, and then there was just the fan, and the sound of blood roaring in my ears. And as logical thought started to tentatively creep back in I wanted to know what it was. I had to know. Curiosity dumping a bag full of kittens in the metaphorical river. So I checked the window.

It was a bird. Opening the curtain scared the bejesus out of it, which i all too happily considered payback. It was just a motherfucking bird that decided that night, that fucking moment it was going to fly towards a half lit window and scare the shit out of me. Fuck nature. Fuck coincidence. I hope the fucking polar icecaps all melt, and while we're safe in our air-conditioned bunkers you winged shits can fry out there on the barren plains and we can go out and harvest your charred remains as bar snacks.

It's now 5am and it got light since I typed this, but that little shit is happily chirruping away in the trees opposite. Look at the smug bastard. I swear, if we were allowed even .22s in this country…

the bird was real, i swear i'm never fucking sleeping again…


I love SM but the phrase I keep hearing is "wacky waving arm flailing inflatable tube man"


If fear is where he gets his strength, you may have found his kryptonite.


I am thinking of making a life sized (or slightly shorter) Slender Man for halloween. I am kinda stuck on the whole clothing aspect of it though.

Mr. 47:


You know what to do.


How much do you think it is to rent one of those, and then to lead an extension cord into the heart of the woods?

Marble Hornets

Everyman HYBRID

Tribe Twelve

Dark Harvest


No wifin’ in the club, that was good fucking coffee, cat planet cat planet, gimme twenty dollaz, Noah stabs bushes, herp derp back to the house, why does he make move now, tackle fucking everything, HABIT made me do it.

Ask around, I’m sure someone will explain them to you.1

  • Concrete Giraffes: video by LittleKuriboh – who, incidentally, once asked HABIT of Everyman HYBRID, “@SEVENTRIALS What if the brown paper bag IS my most beloved possession?” only to receive the response “THEN I FEAR FOR YOUR LIFE.”

We really need to get you onto Dr. Phil. See if he can sort you out.




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