Today was the day. Finally. I had gotten the grant from HQ-- the real HQ, back at the EBI-- to bust Arch nemesis's hotel room down and catch him in his base of operations. So that's precisely what I did.
For the record, it really hurts to kick a door down. Do not try it.
After I had recovered my leg from the bust, I pointed my gun at the figure sitting on the bed.
"You're under arrest, Arch nemesis. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
At this point my Arch nemesis said something that surprised me. Namely, he said "rhubarb."
He was a background character all along?
"For this scene, he is."
I turned around again. I saw a figure taller even than myself. A figure wearing a gas mask. I figure whose name I recognized from one blog I had read: The Feared One. The foul vagrant lurking behind all that is Fearblog of Fear.
"Of course. It was only a matter of time," I said, "before you poked your head into another story that doesn't exist."
"I'll have you know, Slender man, that this story does exist. Things go far deeper than you could possibly imagine in your feeble faceless brain."
"Easy, bucko. My father was a brain."
"You're right, I'm sorry."
I offered him a cigar. He offered me one in return. That exchange got awkward fast. "You were saying?"
"I was saying, Slender man, that you exist in one hell of an abstract matter."
"Of course I do; I'm a character in a story."
"But who do you think is your author?"
"..God?"
"No, not alliterator. Your author is Christoph Magreat, with the occasional post by Jesus Archangard. Your general concept was a collaboration by both."
"Huh. Well, I'll be damned."
"You are not confused?"
"I mean, I hadn't heard of either of those, but it's not a big deal."
"Oh, that is where you are wrong! You see, Magreat and Archangard don't exist either! In fact, they could be said to exist even less than you do!"
Oh man. This was heavy. "What? How is that possible? They wrote me! As Fearblog of Fear fanfiction!"
And then The Feared One lifted the next veil: "Understand, detective, that the Billy Everyblogger who wrote Fearblog of Fear... also does not exist."
"Wait. Wait." My brain struggled to comprehend this. "I was written by authors who do not exist in response to another story by a nonexistent author?"
"All of these stories, you see-- both your own and Everyblogger's-- are the product of one DJay32."
"I. Was created by an abstraction of one author as fanfiction for another abstraction of the same author?"
The Feared One handed me a cup of coffee. "I understand this must be hard to hear."
I took it. "I have never felt so insignificant in the grand scheme of things."
"There's one more twist I must lay on you, Slender man."
"What's that?"
"I, all along, in both stories, was never The Feared One."
"Then what were you all this time?"
"I'm Camper James Joyce."
"Good god."
"That's me."
"Are you going to.. flood me away in a whisk of wordflowers or something?"
"No, son. I shall leave you, for you are amusing. CAMPER JAMES JOYCE, AWAY! BABABADALGHARAGHTAKAMINARRONNKONNBRONNERONNTONNTUONNTHUNNTROVARENAWNSKAWNTOOHOOHOORDENENTHURNUK!" Or however that word goes.
And then he was gone, leaving only my Arch nemesis and myself.
He was still muttering "rhubarb." This was the perfect chance to arrest him.
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