When the Slender Man Came

Silent night gave way to rain
which drizzled endlessly
like a whisper and a slight wind
scratched branches in the wooded glen
at the end of town
when the slender man came.

Headlights shined in bright flares
glaring off the puddles and
running along the gutters, blinding
drivers to the thin stretch of legs
which slipped lithely through the brush
when the slender man came.

Children talked in hushed voices
of nightmares filled with faceless specters
and skittering limbs, spiderlike grace
embracing them in the tight confines
of their sleep deprived minds
when the slender man came.

The constant noise of the growing storm
obscured the form which walked the streets,
its feet not walking, only gliding
and all the children fled to hiding
when they glanced a figure peering in
when the slender man came.

The blankets pulled up past their heads,
the children dug into their beds;
a single bulb their night long hope
that one quick flit of shadow broke
and soon the shape filled up their rooms
when the slender man came.

In the dim light of morning the first sounds
of warning were alarm clocks squawking
their discontent for several minutes until parents
opened doors into the abject horror
of an empty bed and an open window
when the slender man came.