A Brief History of The Writer, Slenderman's Memory

Edgar Allen Poe.... Known to all humans by that very name...

A name that's remembered by everyone... But not I....

I knew him as a different man, with a different name....

With a secret purpose unknown to mankind except those who fell victim to his words...

Yes....  

The one you knew as Poe, was known to the monsters as..

The Writer.




His creativity was unmatched.  He did not simply MURDER his victims, and retrieved their souls...  He made it an art.


He was one of my favorite underlings, hardly an underling at all in fact... More like an old friend throughout the years...


I never missed a chance to watch him work... One of my favorite performances had to be the pit and the pendulum.  I felt the suspense just watching it happen.  

In the end, he let me have the last laugh, as I "rescued" the victim from their torment.

...................... . . .

However......

One night, in October, I was to take out a man called Albert Reynolds...

You see, What I did not realize was that this man... had dabbled in some very dangerous magic...

And he had the full intent to obliterate me...

The Writer had joined me this night, eager to learn from me as always.  Though when he learned of the danger I was in, he made no hesitation in trying to protect me...

Reynolds' magic was amazingly strong, I might have ceased to exist that very night... But he... The Writer... Did exactly what he was born to do...

Protect the Master at all costs...

And so... Having collected more than one-hundred souls, The Writer performed the curse of Quill, and I watched as the ink consumed him.....

It stained him....... Blotted him out....

His power was beyond measure, and he defeated Reynolds with ease... But the cost was all too great...

He lost his sanity, every last bit of it. The ink left his skin, but his mind was still stained...

He was completely unresponsive, the ink was slowly killing his brain cells....

I took him to a populated area in Baltimore, Maryland, where I watched from afar as the humans attempted take care of him...

...All in vain, for he passed four days later....

As I held his book and quill, I felt sure the story of The Writer had ended.

But 144 years later, I was proved quite wrong.

I was in a small town surrounded by woods in Mississippi.  I always carry the book and the quill on me as a memory of my old friend, when I felt a small surge of power from the book.

Examining it, I noticed it and the quill were both radiating energy!

I was surprised to feel the objects tug away from me!

I let the items slip from my grip, and fly off deeper into the woods!!

Of course, I was able to keep up with the book and quill, and found myself at a small house.

The book and quill had placed themselves neatly on the sill of an open window...

Upon looking inside... I see a newborn.

This child seemed to share a connection with the book and quill...

Going into the home, I observed the child, Placing the book and quill next to them... And the child's energy matched the energy of the items perfectly, as if they were made for each-other...

I knew then the child's destiny...

I marked their right hand with the quill and left the child.  

For 18 years, I watched them grow.  They shared so many traits with him.. The personality almost identical.

They began writing stories at a young age, slowly growing in taste and skill.  When they developed an amazing talent for the arts of horror, I knew it was time to reveal to them their destiny.

The next Writer was born...





It's been two years since The Writer has live amongst us....

I know Poe lives within them.. this child....

However, I have come to feel uneasy of late...

Perhaps I should reveal to them their origins...


You see...



They have retrieved their 100th soul...